Page 4 of Killer's Obsession
“How much are we talking about?”
“About three grand is gone since last week.”
I whistle low. “That’s not small-time shit.”
“No, it’s fucking not.” Reign scrubs a hand over his face. “I need to install cameras at the registers. Maybe that’ll catch our little thief.”
“Want me to have Zero set something up tomorrow?” Our tech guy can rig shit up so that nobody will notice cameras are watching them.
“Nah, I’ll pop my head in The Matrix when I get back to the house later.”
My lips twitch. The Matrix is Zero’s tech room at the clubhouse. The dude is obsessed with that fucking movie. It’s always playing on one of his big screens when I go in there.
“Keep me in the loop.” I hold out my fist and he bumps it with his own.
“Yeah.”
He goes back to his spreadsheets, and I slide out of the booth, rolling my shoulders to ease some of the tension.
The wall of humid air when I step outside is a relief after the heavy perfume and smoke from inside the club. I check my phone—just past two AM.
Shit. Hopefully, Memphis isn’t still awake. She gets scared when I’m late.
I swing a leg over my bike, fatigue settling into my bones. The thought of Memphis waiting for me at the clubhouse is the only thing keeping me upright at this point.
The second I fire up my bike, my damn phone is going off again. I swear to the Gods, nobody better need anything else tonight. I’m too fucking tired.
I yank my phone out of my pocket and see the message lit up on the screen.
Memphis: Where are you?
All the annoyance I was feeling falls away.
Me: On my way. Ten minutes
Her response is immediate.
Memphis: K. Be safe.
I shove the phone back into my pocket, warmth spreading in my chest.
Yes ma'am.
The ride back to the clubhouse feels like it takes a fucking eternity. When I finally pull into the clubhouse’s parking lot, theplace is lit up like the Fourth of July, and I can hear the music blaring from inside.
No wonder my baby is still awake.
Chapter Two
Memphis
I pull the pencil across the thick paper, shading in the shadows beneath the streetlamp. The scratching sound is oddly comforting.
It’s after two A.M., but sleep evades me. Not while Killer’s still out.
Ten minutes, he’d texted. That was over fifteen minutes ago.
My chest tightens.
