Page 18 of Blood of Vengeance

When the howling ended, I shifted human and caught Cutter’s eye, rubbing at the ache in my chest. I knew Locklyn would likely hear our call—the Hellion with her definitely would—and she would worry what it meant. I needed to get back to her.

“Tire tracks are here,” I said. “I’ll get the war wagon and bring it over so we can take Chiggy’s body back with us. Collect the evidence and make sure I don’t fuck up the tracks when I drive in.”

Cutter nodded, eyeing me hard. Likely knowing why I had just volunteered to retrieve the van we used as a war wagon. I needed to be the one to tell Locklyn about her dad. Needed to be there to make sure she had support when the truth of her situation was revealed.

I needed to take care of my mate, so I shifted once more, and I ran.

Eight

Locklyn

My dad was dead.

I’d already known that—had seen him die in my dreams—but to have his death confirmed felt different. When Flinch’s wolf had finally come over the rise, when he’d frozen across the sand from me and his wolf eyes had met mine, my entire body had gone cold. They hadn’t been empty eyes. They’d been filled with a rage that could have singed the desert floor. Chiggy’s murder had gone from assumption to fact without a word from the team who’d been looking for him, and I had no idea how to handle that.

“I’ll take him to Popper’s.” Zed walked around the van, taking the keys from the prospect who’d driven it back to the clubhouse from the desert. My father’s body lay in the back. I hadn’t seen it—Flinch had made sure of that. I didn’t want to, either. Not really. Then again…

“Did you find any evidence on him?” I asked, keeping my voice low. Flinch turned my way along with Cutter, both men looking at me with the same anger smoldering under the surface. I couldn’t be distracted by them, though. By their rage. I would eventually need to deal with my own. “You know…fibers or hair or stuff on his clothes? Anything that seemed unusual or out of place?”

“Other than the bullet hole?” Cutter asked, eyes blazing but face blank.

I swallowed, holding on tight to the food I had in my belly as I tried my hardest to avoid that visual. “Yeah. Other than the bullet hole. Any markings or signs of struggle or handprints on his truck or…I don’t know. The stuff they look for on that CSI show.”

“The blue one or the red one?” asked Rush, his brow furrowing in an almost adorable manner. If a man his size could be considered adorable.

But his words hadn’t quite made sense to me. “The what?”

“The blue one or the red one. Vegas or Miami?”

“There’s a gray one, too.” The man—patched in as Ridge if I read his cut right—dismounted his bike and sidled over. “New York. That one’s gray.”

Realization hit me hard in the chest. “You’re right—red, blue, gray. They color-code the shows.”

“Gives them ambiance,” said Cutter. “Vegas was blue because they were the night crew. Miami’s red because it’s fucking hot there?—”

“Like it isn’t in Vegas?” Rush interjected.

“Apparently the producers think Miami is hotter.” Cutter shrugged with his wide, thick shoulders, looking like a mountain in motion. “CSI was the shit.”

Rush scoffed. “Not the gray one.”

That riled up Ridge. “Don’t fuck with the New York show. That shit rocked.”

“Nothing beats Vegas—Gil Grissom? No contest.” Zed stepped into the circle that had formed, staring down at his phone as he tapped on the screen and stealing everyone’s attention. He eventually grunted then tucked his phone into his pocket. “Popper’s got a guy who can take a look for all that CSI shit.”

“Good,” I said, crossing my arms and wishing I had a sweater or sweatshirt to wrap myself up in. Cold from the inside as the sun blazed down on me. “I just wanted… I mean, I need to know…”

But there was no way to finish that sentence. I needed to know what exactly? If my dad had put up a fight? If he had left a clue? Someone or something had made sure I saw his murder in my dreams. I had to assume I had all the clues I needed. What I was supposed to do with them was a whole other question. One I had no idea how to answer.

A warm hand landed on my hip, and the scent of sage and leather surrounded me. Flinch. He leaned down, practically covering me with his big body. Instantly warming me with just his presence.

His lips brushed against my ear as he whispered, “Anything in particular you think we should be looking for?”

I shook my head, my brain spinning in three different directions at once. As sad as I was to know my dad truly had been murdered and as ready as I was to jump into a mystery investigation to find out who had killed him, Flinch being so close to me created a massive distraction. The man oozed danger and excitement, sex appeal practically running through his blood and smelling like some sort of pheromone created by fate to do nothing but attract the females in the area. A lethal combination to my lady bits, while also being a totally inappropriate distraction in the moment.

Focus, Locklyn.

“I just…” I started, sighing when finding words became too hard. “I need to know.”

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