Page 120 of Lamb

“You’re the pot calling the kettle black.”

“Fair enough.” I shrugged. “But it might do you some good to reconnect. Loosen up the old heartstrings. Make a little room for a lonely outcasted brother.”

“My only brother died, Lamb. I didn’t forget that. And neither should you.” Hunter barged past, pushing me to the side as he strode toward his bike.

I frowned, coming to a stop next to my own bike parked on Wolf’s other side.

“How’d it go?” Pretty asked, waiting until each brother had their legs swung over their seat, keys in the ignition.

Both Hunter and I turned to Wolf.

Wolf didn’t turn his head, start his engine, or even address him. He stared hard into the distance, his thoughts traveling around his wide head, growing unhappier with each loop they made.

“Call church,” Wolf growled, surprising Pretty. The boy flashed a concerned gaze between the diner and the door. “I want to be the last one walking into that room.”

Pretty and Hunter wasted no time pulling up their phones and passing on the message. There was no doubt that every single brother would be sitting and waiting in church before our tires even crossed Fellpeak’s boundaries.

Wolf’s bike sounded to life.

Hunter and Pretty followed in tandem, but just as I grasped my own keys, Wolf’s hand rose into the air. I stopped.

“Lamb.” Wolf’s stern tone had me sit straighter in my seat. His eyes stayed fixed in the phantasmal distance. “You know what to do.”

Without waiting a moment more, Wolf kicked up his stand, and his bike propelled him forward. Pretty and Hunter fell in behind their president in a triangle formation. At least Pretty was sympathetic enough to give me a confused head nod beforethey pulled out onto the street, leaving me alone in a cloud of stirring dust.

I waited until their forms were no more than ants on the horizon before turning my keys. My engine roared to life between my thighs, and I took a deep, steeling breath.

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Thirty-One

ASH

Something had changed.

Since the great biker apocalypse two days ago, where every brother and each of their family members had crammed themselves through the clubhouse doors for an indeterminate stay, everybody had been on edge. Knives danced in people’s fingers, guns stowed down every jeans and jacket, and weary eyes watched every window, door, and suspicious mousehole chewed through the walls.

Wolf had burst in from whatever meeting had adjourned out of town with a storm on his face, and all full-time brothers had been locked up in church for several hours.

Or so my sources told me. Well, not so much was disclosedto meas they told others. I just happened to be sitting nearby with an open ear. A few less familiar members had answered my harmless probing questions before gaining insight into who I was and what I was doing there.

The only truth that continued to elude me was where Lamb had gone. He had left with Wolf and his brothers to the meeting and had never returned. It had been fifty-two hours since he’d gone MIA, and all I had been told was that he was still out on “business.”

“You look like shit,” Mint said.

I looked up from the wood-chipped staircase, my fingers pausing on the small bare patch I had been picking at and stared down at the wide man’s form. He lingered on the bottom stair, two small Styrofoam coffee cups shared between his large hands, dark hair mussed from sleep and tired green eyes dulled by the stairwell shadows. I stared at the black liquid swirling inside the cup, steam stirring across the surface.

“It’s coffee.” He gestured to it, climbing his way up the rest of the stairs before taking a seat on the step beside me.

The coffee smelt strong but bitter, mixing with his fresh crisp scent as he settled by my side. There were many large individuals in the club, and though Mint was neither the tallest nor the bulkiest, his body was wrapped in taut muscle, trained and disciplined.

“I know it’s not booze, but it’s better than nothing,” he said as he held the cup out to me.

I took it, the heat transferring into my cold palms like an iron on ice. It burned, and I relished the sharp sting, not realising how cold I had gotten. “Thanks.”

Those sharp, green eyes scanned me head to toe before narrowing into tight little slits. “When was the last time you slept?”

I ignored him, looking into my coffee, watching light flit across the shaky surface.

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