Page 11 of Gather the Storm

“Another girl went missing,” Otis reminded me, flipping his blond hair out of his eyes.

Otis’s hair was always in his eyes and I’d long had a suspicion that he liked it that way, liked peering at the world from behind his hair, having something between him and everything else.

“Not our problem.” My chest tightened as I said it, but I wasn’t going to let them know that.

I hated the thought of the sick fucks still out there, stealing girls like Daisy.

Using them.

Hurting them.

Killing them.

The residents of Blackwell Falls had breathed a collective sigh of relief when the cops had taken down the trafficking ring at Aventine University, the fucked-up college for Mafia kids outside of town, but we’d known better.

That wasn’t the end of it. Not by a long shot.

“Daisy is always our problem,” Wolf said, looking at me through the dark.

I swore because it was better than admitting it was true.

We came to the door of the garage and I fished in the pocket of my jeans for the key. It still felt weird to be in possession of anything — and to have pockets — but my keys had been waitingin the top drawer of my dresser right where I’d left them the morning we’d surrendered to start our prison stint.

“She asked us to come,” Otis pointed out. “We can’t just ignore her.”

I envied Otis sometimes. Life was simple for him: someone asked you to do something, you did it. Someone told you how they felt, they meant it. Someone told you — or showed you — who they were, you believed them.

“We can and we should.” I forced myself to unclench my jaw — tobreathe, like Wolf always said — as the door to the garage swung open.

“Daisy’s not the enemy.” Wolf fell into line behind me and we stepped inside. “What happened isn’t her fault.”

The motion-activated lights in the garage came on one at a time, gradually illuminating the gleaming cars and bikes stored inside its concrete walls.

“She picked up the fucking knife,” I said tightly. It was something I’d thought about over and over again in prison.Why the fuck did you pick up the knife, Daisy? And why were you out in the woods, alone, looking for Blake instead of at the party where you belonged?

I knew what she’d told the police — that she’d wanted to leave the party, that Blake was her ride, that she’d dropped her phone and had been fumbling for it when she found the knife instead — but still, I couldn’t help picking at the what-ifs, like a scabbed-over wound I couldn’t let heal.

What if Daisy hadn’t gone looking for Blake?

What if she hadn’t picked up the knife?

It pissed me off. We’d had a plan, had everything under control — until Daisy picked up that fucking knife.

“She was in shock,” Wolf said as we made our way to the back of the garage where several bikes and cars were draped with drop cloths.

I pushed down the sympathy that swelled in my chest. I couldn’t afford to have sympathy for Daisy. I couldn’t afford to have any feelings at all for her.

They would fucking ruin me. Had already ruined me.

“I don’t fucking care.” I stopped in front of the tarp-covered bikes and cars. “Bikes or cars?”

“Cars,” Wolf and Otis said in unison. They liked to ride, but it was recreation for them. They hadn’t been raised in the MC like me.

I started tugging at the drop cloths covering one of the cars while Wolf worked on another one.

“We just got out,” I said. “We should be steering clear of her, trying to get our shit together.”

“This yours?” Otis asked, looking at one of the covered bikes.

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