Page 95 of Blood of Vengeance

“As if you could.” I gave him the bump he had initiated. “The shit with Locklyn is my fault, and I’m sorry it bled into other areas.”

Rush stepped away from Cutter, looking from his prez to me and back again. “You two could work together to fix this, you know. If the girls are best friends, they’ll stick together. You should, too.”

“Fucking right,” Zed chimed in. “Plus, working together to retrieve these women would likely keep you two from killing each other in front of the whole club.”

He wasn’t wrong. Cutter gave me a chin raise, for sure a sign of being willing to work together. I nodded once in response, acquiescing. Especially since the last couple of weeks of working on the Locklyn situation on my own had led to absolutely fucking nothing.

“Let’s bring them home,” I said. The need to fight had wilted, the desire to go up against my brother dissipating into the ether. What remained in my emotional bank was a sadness—a loneliness—that exhausted me and left me wanting to do nothing but sleep to make the time pass faster. And as much as I knew it was probably best to fight through that feeling, I was done for the day in every possible way. “I’m going to head out. Let’s connect tomorrow to start figuring out how to get the women back here.”

Cutter nodded. “Sounds good.”

“Don’t go through the bar.” Zed stepped in front of me, brow furrowed as he blocked my way out. “The brothers will know something’s up and start squawking. Cutter doesn’t need the heat.”

He wasn’t wrong about that. Plus, I had no interest in interacting with anyone else. It was time to retreat. “Understood.”

Zed let me go, giving me a hard stare as I left the office. Likely making sure I turned in the correct direction. But he had nothing to worry about—I slipped out the back door into the parking lot, needing the fresh air and the quiet to calm my nerves. Needing the escape. Fuck, I had messed up my life so badly. Messed up Cutter’s, too. And I didn’t know how to fix any of it.

My phone rang at that moment, and I fumbled to answer it, disappointment hitting me hard when I saw the call was not from Locklyn but from an old friend.

“What’s doing, Flinch?” Were the first words I heard when I swiped to accept the call.

“Rebel. How’s it hanging out there in the Dirty D?”

Rebel was the leader of the Detroit club of the Feral Breed and an old, old friend. I had called on him for a little help when Locklyn had left with Zella. As a mated wolf, Rebel had understood my plight and taken up the challenge, no questions asked.

“It’s good, man. All good. I’ve still got my team on your girl and her friend as requested. I know the saying is no news is good news, but if Charlotte were out of my sight and I didn’t hear shit from whoever had their eyes on her, I’d be climbing the fucking walls, so I figured I’d give you a non-update.”

“I appreciate it, brother. Hopefully we can get this figured out soon and let your guys go back to fucking club pussy and taking Sunday rides out there.”

“My guys need the job to remind them this shit ain’t all sunshine, roses, and Jack Daniel’s.”

That need fit just about every shifter club I’d ever heard of. “I hear that.”

“I’ll let you get back to your night, but just as a reminder, we’ve got plenty of room to put you up in Detroit. If you need to head out this way for anything, you just let me know.”

He likely meant long-term—like if I needed to move to Michigan to be with my mate. I looked out over the desert behind the club, the shadows of the mountains in the distance just a little more black than the night sky, and I breathed in the hot, dry air. Fuck, I loved the Southwest. Loved the desert life. I had fought to find a home like the one I had and a club like the one I was honored to help lead.

But I missed my mate something fierce.

“I appreciate that,” I said, breathing out a sigh. “Just got one question for you.”

“What’s that?”

“How bad is the fucking winter up there?”

Thirty-Two

Locklyn

I was beginning to hate Detroit.

The vibe of the place had remained the same as before I had traveled to the desert, but something about the noise had suddenly begun to get on my nerves. Or perhaps a particular noise. One I hadn’t noticed being as prevalent before.

Because everywhere I went in the city, I heard motorcycles.

Everywhere I drove, I saw motorcycles.

It was as if the city had suddenly been inundated by large men on expensive bikes, and that reminded me of Flinch. I was not in the mood to be reminded of Flinch at every turn. He already took up too much space in my head.

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