Page 103 of Brew
Is this how things are going to be between us? ‘Club business’ and not telling me when he’s putting himself in danger? I know he’s been investigating. I know he does bad things to bad people. But I thought we had an understanding.
He got shot.
He could be dead, and then what?
“Brew wanted to protect you, just like any of the brothers would do,” she says.
I know she’s trying to be a friend, but I don’t need the pep talk.
“Really? Is that how you see it? Because he could’ve been killed, Amber. Putting himself in this kind of danger is crazy, and not even telling me about how dangerous this was? That just makes me realize that I’m not as important to him as I thought I was.”
“That isn’t true, and you know it. The police were involved, too. The Rebels cut a deal in exchange for this ringleader guy. I don’t know all the details,” she says. “So even though he got hurt, they brought down an entire shipment of girls in a trafficking ring, Erica. This is serious shit.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I swallow hard. “I understand that, and that’s good news for the girls.”I shouldn’t be this selfish.But I’m worried about him. “He also can’t keep doing this without any warning. I knew he had stuff going on, but a raid? With guns. I get he has this vendetta, and I’ve been supportive of it, but that was until he got hurt. This is not cool.”
“Not saying it’s cool, but this is part of what it is to be a Nomad Brother, hell, a Rebel.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. I need to see the bigger picture here, but that’s becoming increasingly hard.
“So he’s just driving himself home?” I shake my head, unable to fathom it.
“He’s Brew,” she says as if it’s obvious. “Though I’m sure someone would’ve offered to give him a ride.”
Is Brew Dawson the only man on the planet who gets shot and still rides home without even batting an eyelid?
I feel the anger, fear and trepidation — not just simmering — but it’s at boiling point.
Brew’s hurt.
“I-I have to go,” I whisper. “If he’s heading home, I need to be ready.” I don’t even know what that means, but Amber doesn’t question it.
”Of course,” she says. “But go easy on him. From what Bronco told me, he just wanted to come home.”
I don’t even have any more words as tears form and I freely let them fall. “Thank you for calling. I’ll text you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Just… remember he’s doing this to make the world a safer place, not just for you and me, but Olive too.”
“I know.” I swallow. “I get it more than you know.”
“Talk to you soon.”
We hang up and I drop my phone on the couch next to me. My hands are shaking. Transfixed, I stare at the wall for a good five minutes before I get ahold of myself. I don’t think I’ve ever felt the need for a stiff drink in my life, but I know where Brew keeps the liquor. I head toward the bar, pour myself a shot of what looks and smells like whiskey, and throw it down. The sting is sweet but it burns at the same time. It’s a burn I need.
This is real. This is happening.
I don’t know how long I stand there for, the empty glass in my hand, but when I hear the straight pipes from below on the street, I rush to the window. Pulling back the curtain, I look down onto the street. Brew looks up, and I stare at him as he rides his motorcycle into the garage below.
He’s home.
Home to me.
I try and remember Amber’s words about going easy on him. The idea of losing him sent me into a tailspin I can’t seem to weave my way out of.
A few moments later, I hear his boots on the stairs, and I swiftly move toward the door and unlock it, pulling it open at the same time as he reaches for the latch.
I don’t know what I expect, but it isn’t Brew looking slightly disheveled and off-kilter. His shirt is ripped open, with blood all over it. A patch and gauze are visible on his skin as I frown at the placement.
“Oh my god,” is all I can manage to say.
