I shoved open the door to my motorcycle parts storeroom. Hawk was already well on his way to Seamouth—with way fewer doubts than I’d had, the optimistic dumbass—but if there was a chance I got caught up in a mafia war, I needed my bike to be in pristine condition.
Quality parts were fucking hard to come by.
Closing the storeroom door quietly behind me, I tossed my duffel bag onto the oil-stained concrete floor. I wouldn’t be able to take everything, but I could get the most valuable of the lot.
“Gears, this might be the stupidest thing you’ve done since that night,” I muttered to myself.
Were bike parts worth the risk of getting caught? No. But if that bike broke down, so would I.
I filled my bag up as quietly as I could, only stopping when I could barely lift it and the seams threatened to pop. Scanning the shelves for anything important I’d missed, I’d gotten halfway to the door when my alpha senses caught the faint sound of footsteps from out in the hallway.
I froze in place.
If I’d been caught walking in, that would have been one thing. Explainable. Now? Holding a bag full of my most precious items? They’d know I was leaving and never coming back.They’d assume I knew something about Mercy’s plan, and I’d be screwed.
No one came into this storeroom except me, though.
They’d leave eventually. Maybe they wouldn’t even pause on their way down the hall.
“Vulture!”
My blood chilled and I held my breath. That voice was Grave himself, yelling for his second in command.
“We haven’t found them yet,” Vulture replied without prompting. “Four Leaf was on hospital surveillance with a bullet wound, then taken into custody with Mercy. They’re not at the station anymore and no one knows who they left with.”
Grave growled, low and furious. “My son didn’t fucking disappear. Send everyone to the cop shop and spread out from there.”
“He may know more than we thought. It would be best if our guys find him themselves. Might be able to talk his way out of it if anyone else gets to him first.”
“My club is loyal tome,” Grave snarled. “Not my weakling offspring.”
There was a long pause—Vulture deciding if he wanted to risk his life to tell Grave the truth.
“Of course. I’ll get the word out.”
He’d clearly decided against it.
I rolled my eyes, trying to shrug off the growing ache in my arms. The duffel was too fucking heavy for me to hold like this without shifting it, but the slightest rustle could clue them in to my presence.
“You better find them by the time I get to my meeting.” Grave’s threat sent a chill down my spine, and he wasn’t even talking to me. “Benji and Willard are going to want updates before they hand over the next payment.”
Who the fuck are Benji and Willard?
Any doubts I had about Mercy’s story were gone after eavesdropping on his father. If I managed to sneak out of here and get to Seamouth unscathed, they had a lot more explaining to do.
“Got it.” To his credit, Vulture’s voice didn’t waver.
Two sets of heavy footsteps headed down the hall. A door slammed in the distance. I breathed easier, but didn’t dare move. When my arms were threatening to give out from the weight of the bag, I carefully adjusted it, resting it on my hip.
The faint sounds of movement didn’t have anyone running back toward my storeroom. That was something.
Fishing my phone from my pocket, I tapped out a quick text to the burner West had used to call me. All it said was ‘Benji and Willard.’ Then I turned my phone off to make sure it stayed silent and shoved it back in my pocket.
Maybe I could pass off coming back for my parts as a strategic move. Hawk would definitely ask when I showed up to our dusty motel room in Seamouth with this duffel bag, and I couldn’t give him the real answer. I’d never live it down if he found out I was an utter disaster without my motorcycle.
I’d gotten valuable information. Completely by chance, but it could have been by design.
Hawk was too dumb to know the difference.
