“If it’s mine?”
“I’m just saying.” Drew shrugs, shifting her eyes to me. Mason looks over at me, the accusation clear in his eyes.
Holding up my hands, I shudder. “Not a fucking chance. I’ve never been near her pussy.”
The front door slams open, the wind howling outside. “It’s fucking crazy out there.” PB shakes rain from his long blond hair, looking like a fucking Barbie.
“Get the place boarded up,” I instruct. “Drew, let’s go catch a nap, baby.”
Joe grunts. “He ain’t wanting no nap.”
Drew grins. She places another beer in front of him, then hops over the bar straight into my arms.
“He’ll need one once I’m done with him.”
Fuck yeah.
Twenty-Six
Drew
Screams rattle around my brain. Blood. Gore. Gasps. I jolt upright, my heart racing. Nightmares have plagued me the last two nights, causing me to dread closing my eyes. Alec’s large arm tightens across my waist, keeping me trapped in the bed. Rain batters the huge window, the sky flashing bright, then booming with thunder. The sudden wailing of the tornado warnings causes my chest hollow out.
Alec squints one eye open. “Fuck,” he grumbles.
Footfalls sound from the hall from people shuffling around.
“Babe, we need to go underground. Grab anything you need.”
I grip his arm, trying to lighten the mood even though my insides churn. He grins and pecks my lips. “Come on.”
A lot of the brothers went home to their families, leaving mostly prospects and the younger brothers here. We all huddle down to the cellar where there are rows of cots set up with pillows and blankets.
I envy Alec being able to immediately fall a sleep down here without a worry about Mother Nature tearing everything apart outside.
Hours pass without any message saying it’s safe to come up. Will we even get signals? I pace the cellar, biting my nails. When noise settles around us, my nerves finally calm. A text pings on my phone.
Gracie: You alone?
Me: No, but I can be. What’s up?
Gracie: Go somewhere private.
My eyes dart to Alec, who’s still snoring on the tiny cot mattress. When a call comes in, I stare at the screen, nerves bubbling in my guts. One of the prospects groans, “Answer or mute it, woman.”
I leap up and haul ass up the stairs two at a time, clicking the green icon.
“Hello?”
Twenty-Seven
Alec
Three hours later
“I’ve searched every room, Prez. She’s not anywhere.” Rage frowns. ”Could she have run again?”
Boom. Boom. Boom.
My head pounds. I can’t focus. Where the fuck is she? I woke up an hour ago to Rage hollering out, “Lunchtime,” to everyone in the cellar. We slept through the storm and the morning. Drew was no where to be seen. I assumed she must have gone back to our room. When I found it empty, a million scenarios went through my mind. Her running was at the forefront. But why would she? Everything is good—so fucking good.
“Maybe she went for groceries?” Glen chimes in.
“She isn’t picking up her cell,” I growl. “You can shop and answer your phone at the same time.”
“She got a call earlier.” PB raises his hand like we’re in a classroom.
“Elaborate,” Rage orders, saving me the effort.
“Someone called. She ran up the stairs to get it.” He shrugs.
All eyes turn to the front door as it blasts open. Jameson walks in like a horsemen of the apocalypse carrying a black bag, a timid woman trailing behind him. She looks familiar. “We have a problem,” Jameson seethes.
“Doc,” Rage nods toward the woman, and it hits me where I know her from. She’s the doctor who took care of Jameson’s bullet wound a few months back. “What’s in the bag?” Rage looks around me to the duffel.
“A fucking kill kit.” My head swivels to Jameson. Stomping over to the bag, I unzip it. “The storm knocked a tree through Monroe’s house. She called me thinking someone had broken in, and I brought her to stay with me.”
“Wait, what?”
“We’re neighbors,” the doc offers.
“Coincidental.” Jameson half shrugs, looking anywhere but at me.
Rage snorts, and Jameson shoots him the bird. There’s nothing coincidental about him buying that house if she’s his neighbor.
“Anyway, when we were clearing shit up, we found this—and blood.”
“So someone did break in?” PB asks.
“I’m thinking the tree coming through the fucking window wasn’t part of his plan.”
Jameson holds up a clear bag, a shard of glass smeared with blood inside. “You think Copper can get this analyzed for us, find out who it belongs to?”
Rage seizes the bag, looking it over. “If the owner of this blood is on file.”
“Do it,” I bark. “Tell Copper we’ll be in his debt if he gets a rush on this. And call everyone home. Drew’s missing.”
“What?” Jameson freezes.
I nod, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Could be nothing, could be everything.”
I try her cell again—nothing. Where the fuck are you, Drew? I rode to every fucking grocery store in a twenty-mile radius, checked hospitals, police stations—nothing. She wouldn’t leave me again. Would she?