Page 84 of Coach
“Keep an eye on my brother,” Saint demanded, giving Raff a hard look.
To that, Syn rolled his eyes. “Did fine on my own for years.”
“In a fucking storage unit,” Saint shot back. “Just be careful.”
It was clear Saint wanted to go. But there wasn’t enough room. And he had to worry about his check-ins with his parole officer.
“Yeah, boss man,” Raff said, putting his phone to his ear. “We’re hitting it now.”
Slash, Sway, Detroit, and Crow were all in various locations on the way out of Shady Valley, making sure there were no roadblocks set up or cops parked anywhere.
Rook was conferenced into the call as well, keeping an ear on the police chatter.
No one was going to be able to take a proper breath until the guys were out of California. Luckily, it wasn’t too far to get across the Nevada border.
The rest of us waited with bated breath until the OG club members made their way in, saying it seemed all clear.
Not long after that, we got the text that they were across the border.
By dinnertime, they were already in Arizona.
From our calculations, they were a solid sixteen or so hours, drive-time, to get to the Texas chapter, but they would likely break that up into two or three days, depending on how many stops they (or Steve) needed.
As for the rest of us, we were antsy and restless.
“Why don’t we go for a few drinks?” Colter suggested. “Maybe play a few games of pool?”
The insinuation was clear: without Raff and Syn, no one was feeling like a big party, but we all clearly needed to get out of the clubhouse for a bit.
“Sounds good to me,” I said.
Did I have the ulterior motive of wanting to see Este? Sure. But who cared? Maybe I could talk her into another overnight.
The pub had the usual crowd, and after catching up with the Murphy brothers, we were all pretty much ready to move on.
Colter and Saint beelined for a table featuring three of the typical club girls—sans their usual club outfits, looking comfy and casual in roomy tees, flats, biker shorts, and makeup-free faces.
As for me? I scanned the hall for a familiar face.
A movement out of the corner of my eye had me turning to find Konstantin and Mikhail watching me a little too closely for it to feel fully casual.
They looked like they’d been through the wringer the night before. Their eyes were red, hooded, and sleepless. Mikhail had a split lip. Konstantin was sporting a decent bruise on his jaw.
Mob business was mob business, though, so it wasn’t like I could ask what was going on.
And the second I saw some gorgeous copper hair, I didn’t give a fuck what happened to the Novikoff brothers.
Este’s head was down, focused intently at something on her phone. Her hair was a curtain, making it hard to see her face until she almost plowed into me, causing her to jerk back and look up, an apology on her lips until she saw it was me.
I got the smile then.
Big, easy.
But I was immediately distracted by the things that were wrong with her face right then.
Angry red cracks at the corners of her mouth.
A big rash down her cheek that looked a lot like carpet burn.
