Page 118 of Dagger

A wave of doubt hit my chest. “Whereabouts did you see him?”

“The dive bar the Sinners used to hang in, where you met Colt. I thought he was goin’ over there to cause some shit.”

“He never said anythin’,” I muttered, confusion lacing my tone.

Grabbing his cell phone, Drix tapped on it, then looked up. “Just sent you something.”

I fished my beeping phone from my inside pocket and opened my messaging app. Staring down, my heart leaped into my throat because, sure enough, there was Shotgun, walking toward the doors of the same bar Colt and I met in when we took on Thrash and his cronies, years before.

“Lemme see,” Atlas demanded.

I turned my cell around to show him the image.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “It’s grainy, but it’s definitely him. I recognize his bike.”

“What the fuck’s he doin’ at one of their haunts?” Cash snarled, his eyes slashing toward me. “I don’t like this, Pop.”

“He wouldn’t do anythin’ crazy,” Hendrix interjected. “Surely the asshole would know I’d see him. Jeez, stop bein’ so damned paranoid.”

The air in the room turned so thick you could almost cut it with a knife.

“The men know you’re here, but we didn’t filter down the details,” Atlas told him. “We don’t advertise shit we want kept on the down-low, like Mason being there, or your recon mission. He thinks you’re set up at my place.”

My chest went so tight it was hard to breathe.

Hendrix tipped his head back. “Fuck.”

“He wouldn’t,” I denied. “Stop jumping to conclusions. He must’ve been out there doin’ something for the club. Shotgun would never…” My voice trailed off because, for the life of me, there was no reason for him to be there. Shotgun was a good soldier, but he was no leader. He was good at what he did, but Shot was more effective taking orders than giving them.

“What the fuck do ya think he was up to, Dagger?” Atlas demanded. “Shotgun’s never been the type to take the initiative. You think he’d volunteer as tribute and go smack some heads on his own time?”

“He stood by me when I fought Colt,” I reminded them. “He had my back.”

“Yeah,” Breaker snapped. “And he went down in my estimations that day, Pop. You had reason to do what you did, albeit fucked up. What the fuck did Shot have to do with it? All he showed us that day was that he’s a snake and a bully.”

“Shot’s our brother,” I insisted. “There’s no way he’d betray us.”

“Have you seen him around much lately?” Atlas questioned. “I noticed a week ago how he’d withdrawn. He used to be the life and soul of the party; now, he’s hardly ever here.”

“There’s no damned reason for him to be over at a Sinners’ hangout,” Cash pointed out. “He’s no lone wolf. There’s no way he’d swing his ass out for us.”

Blood rushed through my ears, and I closed my eyes.

“Fuck!” Kit barked. “He’s got Leesy, Soph, Kennedy, and the kids,” He jumped to his feet and headed for the corridor.

“Motherfucker!” Atlas exploded, following Kit.

“We’re on our way,” Drix barked. “We’re ten minutes closer than you. Boys. Let’s fuckin’ move,” he roared before the line went dead.

I wanted to puke, but instead, I got up from my chair and stormed out of the room and down the corridor until I hit the bar, Abe and Cash on my tail.

“There’s only one road he could have taken ‘em on,” Breaker called out.

“Fuck!” Abe spat. “Rissy’s gonna have my balls for sending her into this.”

“We’ll get ‘em back,” Atlas snarled. ‘I don’t care if I have to put a bullet in Shot’s head. He’ll fuckin’ rue the day he crossed us.”

Scenarios flickered through my head like a movie reel of Leesy lying on the side of a road, the kids injured and scared, and the other women calling out for help.

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