I took an hour for myself to clear my head before I headed to the clubhouse, hitting the long winding roads that surrounded Vegas and Mayhem. I had a lot to think about, and I needed to sort it out on my own before I shared anything with anyone else.
My mind kept going back to Sadie, having what looked like a romantic dinner with Father Mueller, and what the fuck it could mean. Was it a hate-fuck? Was it a new partnership or was it just a distraction?
Did she tell Mueller or anyone else I’d picked up Savannah? Were the Ashby’s now working with The Crusaders and this was all a setup because I refused to get rid of Savannah? That didn’t seem likely given the decades-long bad blood between the two families, but at this point, I couldn’t rule anything out.
Which only left the other thing I needed to think about, the one person turning my life upside down who had no fucking clue.
Savannah.
My feelings for her threatened to cloud my judgment at a time when I needed laser sharp focus and sound judgment. So, before anything else could happen, I needed to figure out how I felt, what I was willing to do about it, and then fucking do it.
Just fucking do it.
Chapter Thirty
Savannah
Hours passed and Charlie wasn’t back from his chat with the horde of police who showed up on his doorstep this morning. Had they had arrested him? If so, what did that mean for me? More importantly, what was he arrested for and was it just bullshit trumped up charges, or did they have evidence against him?
Questions, questions, questions. They were killing me. If only I had some answers. Other than a shower and changing into clean clothes that didn’t smell like sex, just in case the police came back for me, I couldn’t focus on anything. Of course, other than that brief excursion to the truck stop café, I hadn’t really left Charlie’s house in days, or was it weeks? So, realistically, they had nothing to pin on me.
Then again, that woman, Agent Beck, seemed like the type to make up some shit just to have something to hang over my head.
I needed to be careful. Very fucking careful. I’d packed my bag and left it by the door to my room upstairs on the off chance one of the Reckless Bastards came by to tell me I was no longer welcome. Or worse, one of the Reckless Bitches. Or even worse than that, Maisie. I didn’t know what to expect in the next few hours, so I prepared myself for every eventuality.
Except one.
The doorbell rang, and I half-expected it to be the redheaded federal agent or one of Charlie’s MC members. I inhaled deeply and let it out slowly as I made my way to the front door where luckily, the surveillance system hadn’t been fucked with by the young Black Jacks.
I looked through the peephole and instead of some punk with long hair or dreads or a buzz cut, it was the most unwanted visitor of all.
Ronan? How did my father find me here?
I schooled my expression and gave myself a few extra seconds to make sure I was totally calm and cool. I wanted my emotions completely under control before I came face-to-face with the man who should have rescued me. But didn’t.
I stood there mulling over my dilemma for what seemed like an eternity. My confusion ended when Ronan banged on the door again.
“Open up, Savannah, I know you’re in there.”
I pulled open the door, leaving the security door locked, though, so we still had a barrier between us. I quickly pulled myself together and hid my shock. “Ronan. What are you doing here?” I asked as calmly as I could.
“Oh, Savannah!”
I listened to him gush about how happy he was to see me.
“You’re alive and well. My baby girl!”
He started talking up memories of my childhood, how he would play with me and make me laugh until I had tears in my eyes. After months of drowning in feelings of betrayal, I almost swooned with nostalgia.
Then I remembered who he was. The man who had sold me out. My father had to have known what Brendan was up to.
Ronan did a good job of pretending to be happy to see me, but a lot had changed in the months they had held me captive and used as currency by a motorcycle gang.
Could I believe his grieving dad BS? This was an unusual display of emotion from a man who for years and years had worked hard to deny me and Brendan even the smallest hint of emotion or paternal love.
I had a flash of Brendan as a little boy. Playful and happy when our mother was alive.
Would Brendan have turned out to be a semblance of a decent human being if Ronan had shown him a shred of affection and care? Ever since Charlie had told me Brendan had sicced the Black Jacks on me, I’d turned my anger on my brother. He deserved it for that horrible betrayal. But the real culprit was my father who turned him into the animal he’d become.