Page 82 of Forty

Heavy shakes his wooly head. “No.” He sighs. “I don’t understand. But I back your play.”

“After this, you make it clear that Nevaeh is one of us.”

“Aye.” Heavy leans back, cracking his spine, tilting his head to stare up at the empty sky. “I do not get what you see in that woman.”

“Yeah? I bet Mikey gets it.” I clap Heavy’s shoulder. “She’s got more kick than you’d expect.”

Heavy snorts. “Call if you need back up.”

“I just need to put her back where she belongs. I’ll be an hour. Two, tops.”

As I hop in the cab, I try Nevaeh again. By some miracle, my phone didn’t get damaged in the melee. There’s no answer. The hackles rise on the back of my neck.

“You sure you don’t want to take Mikey and his RPG?” Heavy asks. Mikey’s poking around the wreckage, grinning like a kid on Christmas.

“Nah. She’s probably just kickin’ a fuss ‘cause I left her at the clubhouse. I’ll text when I’m on my way back.”

“Drive safe.” Heavy slaps the side of the truck as I pull off.

I start the drive back to town, navigating the potholes on the unpaved road leading to Heavy’s cabin, and I try Nevaeh again.

She doesn’t answer.

Odds are she’s fine. Renelli isn’t coming after her. The Raiders are going to be focused on finding Rab, and if they decide to go for collateral, they’ll go after someone with a strong connection to the club. Rab didn’t even know the Ellis name.

She’s giving me the cold shoulder.

She’s never been one for the silent treatment, but plenty of women are.

It’s so late, she could be sleeping.

There’s no need to panic.

But what about the ex? The money man that Renelli would prefer we don’t drop if he shows up.

I call Wall. He’s not at the clubhouse; he’s home with his old lady and the kids. I ask him to go over to Lou’s. Make sure Nevaeh’s okay. I feel like an asshole asking him to leave his family, but cold chills are trickling down my spine.

I press the gas to the floor.

12

NEVAEH

“You dumb bitch!”

Carlo spears his hand into my hair, grabs a clump, and tries to pull me to my feet.

“Stop!”

I fight for balance, grab his forearms, my scalp screaming and everything tilting and careening as he shakes me like a rag doll and then throws me on the bed.

“Where’s my bag?”

“I don’t have your bag.” I scramble to the far side of the bed, huddle against the wall. For some reason, he doesn’t follow. He paces the room.

“You have my bag. God, you’re sodumb. You didn’t even notice I was sitting in the goddamn living room! I tossed this entire house, and I was on the sofa with a gun aimed straight at you.” His voice cracks, hysterical, and he waves a pistol above his head. I whimper and search the room wildly for something, anything.

There’s nothing but pillows and sheets. Lou’s weights are on the other side of the room. So’s the lamp. My duffle has nothing but clothes in it.

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