Page 92 of Broken Skulls

My heart stops.

No.

“She got a call from someone who bought one of her paintings last night. He asked if she would deliver it at eight this morning. She left Dirk the address and the guy’s name and number on the table. Her note said she’d be back in an hour.”

Jacob looks at his phone to see the time. “Fuck,” he whispers.

I look over at his screen. It’s two in the afternoon.

How long did we sleep?

My attention goes back to Jackson. “We’ve been to the address she left. It’s a fucking church. The rod was outside. We looked everywhere for her.” He pauses to let his gaze roam over everyone. “The fucking number he called from is a burner phone. There is no answer when we call. I’ve got maps printed and divided into sections. We’ll split up.”

He calls out club member names, very few familiar to me.

The panic in the room is palpable.

“Do you think it’s the Devils?” a young woman whispers to another beside me.

My heart slows, and I close my eyes. I replay every moment I’ve spent with Jesse through my mind. I don’t want to lose her. I’m not sure how I’ve grown to care for her in such a short time, but she was the first person to really understand me.

Did she say anything about the Devils? No.

“Sometimes you have to become the villain.”

Her voice echoes off the walls of my skull.

I focus, blocking out the rush and chaos going on around me.

“Sometimes you have to become the villain,” she whispers to me again.

An image flits through my mind. Jesse with her knife held high … in public.

My eyes fly open, and I push through the crowd.

Jacob tries to grab for me. “Elizabeth.”

“I know something that might help!” I yell behind me, on a mission to get to Dirk before he leaves.

He’s standing by Jackson, his gaze shifting, assessing the club members. He’s looking for any sign that someone here might know something. His intense colored eyes pass over me, but then they stop and slowly make their way back.

I hurry toward him. He grabs my arm the second I get to him.

“The guy at the Harley shop. Could it be him?” I ask, struggling to catch my breath.

One eyebrow climbs high, making me shrink away from him, but his hold is firm. His eyes stay unwaveringly on me.

Jacob reaches us. “What the hell, Elizabeth?”

“What guy?” Dirk asks, deadly calm. “Tell me everything.”

I do. I don’t leave any of the details out. It feels good to give up the bad guy.

Dirk’s face remains stoic and unchanging as I speak, but his eyes are swirling with murderous intent. It makes me shiver in his grip.

“What was his name?” he asks in monotone.

“I don’t know. Like I said, she addressed him as butt fuck,” I admit reluctantly. “Oh, wait! She called him creeper Bob too.”

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