Claiming the Biker (Royal Bastards MC: Charleston, WV 9)

Andi isn’t taking my calls or texts. I know it sucked for her that she couldn’t reach me when I was gone with Hound after my sister. We have her back but her and Hound are still down there sorting through some shit. The police needed a statement from her about Archer and Gia. Then some Harlot business that needed finalized. I left them to it so I could get back to Andi. So that I can tell her that it’s all over. The club will find some other way to bring Justice down.

Despite what impression he gave her I know he’s rotten to the core.

I ride over to her apartment and bang on the door. “Princess, open up.” I listen for Winston to bark but don’t hear the little shit. I glance around and realize her vehicle isn’t here either. Maybe she’s at work. I can’t remember what her schedule was supposed to be like this week. All this shit with my sister took precedence.

I peek through the front window and see that the living room is empty. What the fuck? I take a few steps back and inspect the door number. It’s the right place. Shit. What’s going on? I jog around to the back door and its locked.

Fuck.

I go back around the front and knock on the neighbor’s door. There’s no answer there either. I call up Wylla Mae and Hazel. Both of them send me straight to voice mail. What the fucking fuck is happening?

She’s obviously not here so I drive over to the hospital only to be told she no longer works there. I’m about to lose my mind.

Wylla Mae has to know where she is.

I drive over to East’s house, and no one answers the door.

Fuck. Fucking fuck.

I’m tempted to walk into the police station and ask for Detective Fuckface. He’s got to be behind this. If I see him though I may kill him.

I go to the clubhouse and Prez and East are waiting for me.

“Let’s take a walk,” Prez tells me.

“I need to find Andrea.”

“Let’s take a walk,” Prez growls.

I follow him out back.

“You gonna get your shit in check?”

“What?”

“You’ve always had your head on straight, but I know you’ve had a helluva week. How’s Karma?”

“Good. Look, I know we need to talk about this, but I gotta find my woman. She moved all of her shit out of her apartment and quit her job. Something’s wrong.”

“She’s gone.”

My gaze snaps to his. “The fuck did you just say?”

“You heard me. I don’t know much. Only that she asked that you don’t try to contact her.”

“Don’t try to contact her?” I repeat his words trying to make sense of them.

“The shit the other night with the dog and Karma being taken. That whole scene was all too much for her. Spooked her ass. Said she wanted out. This life isn’t for everyone and its better to know now before you marry her and one day come home to find she packed up all her shit and your kids’ too.”

I bow my head. Can’t fucking believe this. If I could just speak to her. “Wylla Mae must know where she is.”

“Viking.” I look over to see Hazel and Holy approaching.

“Don’t need one of your speeches right now, man.”

“I’m not here for you. Hazel has something to give you.”

“She left this for you. I’m sorry.” Hazel reaches into her purse and pulls out an envelope.

Torsten is scrawled on the front in Andi’s handwriting.

“We’ll give you some privacy, son.” Prez slaps me on the back. East hands me a bottle of liquor and a fucking joint.

I feel as though she fucking died.

My heart is being ripped out of my chest. She can’t be gone.

If she’ll let me explain. Whatever it is. Whatever I did wrong. I can fix it. I’ll make it right, but she can’t be done. Not with me.

She’s mine.

Body.

Mind.

Soul.

They go back inside the clubhouse. I drop my ass on one of the picnic tables and stare at the envelope. I pat my pockets for a lighter. I fire up the joint and take a hard drag that pulls through my lungs so damn rough they feel on the verge of collapsing.

I’m not prepared for this. To lose her.

I take a shot of the liquor trying to prepare myself for what this envelope contains. The spicy bourbon burns down my throat and warms in the pit of my stomach doing nothing to fill this emptiness inside of me without her to go home to.

Part of me wants to burn her letter or rip it to shreds. I don’t need to hear that it’s not you it’s me bullshit.

She knew the score and what she was signing on for with a man like me.