Page 6 of My Dream

Chapter Three

Fallon

“I’m leaving.” The words hung in the air like a punch I hadn’t quite landed yet as I looked at Adalee. She was sprawled casually on the edge of the bed like I hadn’t just dropped a grenade in the room.

“Sure,” she said, voice flat, unimpressed. “You want me to help you pack?”

“I’m not joking.” I yanked the bag from under the bed and tossed it onto the thin mattress. “I’m dead serious.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right about the ‘dead’ part if you walk out those doors.”

My chest tightened. She wasn’t wrong, and that made it worse. I raked a hand through my hair and let my gaze wander around the room—bare walls, mismatched furniture, and a lingering scent of motor oil that seemed baked into the place. It was the clubhouse to a T: functional but not exactly the Hilton.

“I don’t want to stay here, being Yarder’s puppet.” My voice wavered just enough to annoy me. “I need to find Russ. Once I do, we can blow the top off this whole thing.”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds like a solid plan.” Adalee’s tone dripped with sarcasm as she leaned back, her arms propped against the bed like she had all the time in the world.

I glared at her. “You’re supposed to be supportive.”

“Doesn’t it sound like I’m supportive?” she asked and raised her eyebrows in mock innocence. “I mean, I did offer to help you pack.”

“Do you even know what they’re asking me to do?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Totally clueless. I was hoping you’d fill me in when I came in here. Fade’s usually good for the gossip, but I like hearing it straight from the source.”

I dropped onto the bed beside her with a sigh. The springs creaked and strained. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“How about how you know Clay?” she offered with a teasing lilt in her voice. “I’m pretty sure my guess about him being your ex is right. Gotta say, I’m surprised he’s your type.”

“Was my type,” I corrected, the words bitter on my tongue. “Turns out, it doesn’t matter what a man looks like—he’ll turn into a snake the second it suits him.”

Adalee smirked. “You’re talking about the wrong men. This clubhouse is full of good ones—the non-snake type.”

“You might not think that after I tell you what Yarder and the club expect me to do.”

Adalee’s smirk faded, her head tilted slightly as she waited.

“They want me to distract Clay and the cameras by setting up The Cakery with you,” I began. “Oh, and I’m also supposed to pretend to be Compass’s… friend from the past.”

“Friend?” Adalee snorted.

“That’s how they’re spinning it if anyone asks.”

She quirked an eyebrow, a sly grin creeping back onto her face. “The crew’s definitely going to ask. Good thing you’ve got a story ready.”

“But why does it have to be Compass and me?” I threw my hands in the air. “I pitched the idea of being your friend—hell, I’d settle for being a random drifter—but no, they shut that down immediately.”

Adalee laughed, the sound warm and infuriating at once. “You might’ve pulled that off if you weren’t Clay’s ex. If I were in his shoes, I’d see you as a new angle to work. Something to figure out. Sex sells.”

I flopped back onto the bed and stared up at the cracked ceiling. “And that’s why I should just get the hell out of here.”

“And now we’re back to you being dead within days, Fallon.”

Her matter-of-fact tone grated on my nerves, but I knew she was right. As much as I wanted to storm out, I wasn’t stupid. I’d come to the Iron Fiends for protection. Walking away now—especially with Clay in the picture and Russ nowhere to be found—was as good as signing my death warrant.

“I know it sucks,” Adalee added, softer this time. “I’m not saying it doesn’t. But the club’s only got, what, three weeks left to shoot? Just help the club keep them off their backs, and then you can figure out your next move.”

“We,” I stressed, “are going to distract the cameras by opening The Cakery.”

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