“Go? Now?” Lucy’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and confused. “Why the hell—”
I shoot her a look, eyes wide, trying to channel every ounce of urgency into my gaze. “The thing, Lucy. We’ve got that thing.”
Her brows knit together, a frown etching across her face. “What thing?”
I huff out an impatient breath, feigning annoyance. “The truck stop… the delivery?” My voice rises, a question hanging in the air between us, waiting for her to grab it.
Recognition flashes over her features, a dawning comprehension. She straightens up and nods slightly. “Right. The truck stop.”
Our acting skills won’t win us any Oscars, but here’s hoping Missy doesn’t catch on.
“Could you tell Creed I’m sorry?”
Lucy nods. “I will, but it won’t do you any good. See you in the next life.”
Missy’s face creases, her bottom lip trembling. “I just wanted to be an Ol’ Lady.”
“And now you never will be. Unless you somehow win over the Crimson Wheelers, but I doubt they’d want you.” I gesture to Lucy for us to leave.
She stares at Missy for a moment longer. We push back our chairs, the legs scraping against the grimy floor, and stride toward the exit. My heart is hammering, adrenaline pumping through my veins like fire.
Outside, I cast one last glance back.
There she is, Missy, her cell phone clutched in her hand like a lifeline as she punches in numbers with a shaky finger. A thread of hope unfurls within me, a silent prayer that she’s doing exactly what we need her to do.
“Think she bought it?” Lucy’s voice is low, a whisper meant only for my ears.
“God, I hope so,” I mutter, watching Missy bring the phone to her ear. Her lips move, words spilling out into the void, hopefully sealing the fate we’ve crafted for the Crimson Wheelers.
“Let’s bounce before we draw attention.” Lucy grabs my arm, tugging me away from the scene, our boots pounding against the asphalt as we escape.
We slide into Winchester’s truck, the interior smelling of leather and motor oil, and I slam the door shut hard enough to echo in the quiet street. I snatch up my phone, punch in Highway’s number, each tone a drumbeat in the tense silence between Lucy and me.
“Talk to me,” Highway growls on the other end, his voice gravelly mixed with impatience.
“We dropped the bait,” I say, clipped and quick. “Missy’s making calls, but we can’t be sure if she’s swallowing it whole or just nibbling.”
“We need this to work,” Highway says. “What bar is she at?”
“The last one on Mary Street before you hit RiversideAvenue.”
“Thanks for doing that. The club owes you.”
“We did what we could.” I glance at Lucy, her face set in grim determination. “And the club owes me nothing.”
“Keep your eyes sharp,” is all he says before the line goes dead.
I toss the phone on the dash, my gut knotted tight as barbed wire. We sit there for a moment, then Lucy nods toward the bar. I swing my gaze back to the grimy windowpanes just in time to see shadows moving inside.
“Shit,” I breathe out.
Ghost and Dutch, like twin specters, slip through the bar’s entrance, their presence screaming danger more than any siren ever could. The air in the cab turns cold, and I know Missy’s world is about to come crashing down hard.
“Endgame,” Lucy murmurs, and I can’t help but agree.
No more secrets for Missy, none at all.
ChapterThirteen
