Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 628(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 628(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
But Whip knew there was absolutely no way the man wanted to lose Jet. It would drop the man to his fucking knees and he might never get back up.
“Yo,” Whip said as quietly as possible. “This ain’t the time or the place, you get me?” He moved his head in a circle, indicating the packed bar. “It ain’t a secret how you two work shit out. So, brother, since you’ve already been seen here havin’ a beer, why don’t you two go and do what you gotta do to fix this? I’ll cover for you if Trip has a fit.”
Rook and Jet stared at each other for a few more tense seconds, then Rook grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the bar. Whip watched them disappear through the crowd toward the back door where most of them had parked their sleds.
Whip wouldn’t doubt if they all heard another explosion from the direction of the farm within the next twenty minutes.
The pressure that had been clawing at Whip’s throat during Rook and Jet’s exchange quickly disappeared. He grabbed his beer and decided to make his rounds since this was supposed to be a celebration of him becoming another fucking year older.
Happy fuckin’ birthday to me.
He hoped to fuck he never had another birthday like this one again.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Whip rolled over and with a muttered curse, punched his pillow into a different shape, hoping that would help him sleep.
He doubted it would. His face still hurt, his muscles were sore, and his brain was still full of swirling shit he couldn’t scrape free. From the moment Fallon rode away from him on her Scout… to the disagreement between Rook and Jet at Pete’s… to the knife sticking out of Scar’s throat and the man’s surprised face.
Surprised because the fucker hadn’t expected Whip to have the balls to do it.
He’d killed before. Only not someone he’d actually known.
Not someone he’d had conversations with. Shared a beer and a meal with. Shared his club colors with.
Earlier this afternoon the club went on a run—one not on the schedule—so it looked like nothing was out of the ordinary. They stayed away from the mountain, even though they were all curious about what was left.
But it was all over the news with some footage from overhead helicopters showing a view from above of what was left of the charred, scarred and still smoking terrain.
They didn’t have to watch TV to see the area was crawling with feds, including the ATF, and local and state pigs. Not to mention, a shitload of news vans. It was obvious the second the formation pulled out of the farm and onto County Line Road.
A bunch of fire departments from the surrounding areas would also be up there for the next few days—if not the next week or so—putting out the hot spots and monitoring the situation.
One more thing he couldn’t shake from his melon was the conversation Whip had with Shay Saturday night at Pete’s. Ozzy’s ol’ lady had gotten close with Fallon during the time she was in town and they had actually become friends.
Whip wondered if Shay had heard from her but didn’t want to ask. At minimum, he’d like to know if she was okay. On the other hand, he also didn’t want to know that answer. That she was doing okay without him.
Because he wasn’t doing okay without her.
He’d eventually get over it. But, fuck him, it wouldn’t be any time soon.
While the shit with the Shirleys had occupied his brain for the past few days, now that was over—and he sure as fuck hoped it really was over—Fallon was front and center in his thoughts.
For a fleeting moment earlier, he’d thought about hooking up with one of the sweet butts—maybe even asking Billie—to try to wipe Fallon from his mind. But he couldn’t.
He fucking couldn’t.
He didn’t want anyone else but Fallon.
And that was a problem.
“What happened with Fallon? Why didn’t she stick around until after tonight?” Shay had asked him when she cornered him alone later in the night. It was after The Synners had finished their last set—and was finally able to relax and enjoy the party—and Pete’s crowd had thinned out to mostly the Fury. “She told me she planned on staying until after your birthday.”
“Birthday was Thursday.”
“And she left Wednesday night.”
That she did. “You didn’t talk to her before she left?” You didn’t talk to her since she left? was what he was dying to ask.
“No. She dropped off your stuff in the office while Maddie was filling in at the front desk. She never said goodbye.”
Shay actually sounded hurt. Unfortunately, that wound was all his fucking fault. “Sorry.”
“Why would you be sorry?”
“‘Cause I know you two got close in the last few weeks.”
Shay’s head tilted as she stared at him as if trying to see deep into his soul. Her dark brown eyes softened. “She was great. It was nice to hang out with someone close to my age. She was smart and funny, and we had some great conversations. It didn’t make sense she would simply up and leave without at least saying goodbye.”