“Void?”
I shake my head, coming back to the conversation. “Yeah?”
“There’s something you should know,” Nycto states.
“Tell me.”
“Another package was delivered to the clubhouse…” I wait for the blow. “We opened it. This time it was a timer. It has a countdown… three days. Everyone here is on high alert. The clubhouse is on full lockdown while we figure out whether to leave or wait it out.”
Attempting to calm the now-raging headache blasting my skull, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Fuck, brother. I should be there helping, considering it’s my fault. I’m sure this is my father, Nycto.”
“I figured as much. When Tony swore it wasn’t him, I knew straight away some asshole was coming after you. So, I did some digging and saw your father’s been released, but obviously, you’ve done your own research. I knew how you’d react to hearing the news, so that’s why I tried to keep it from you as long as I could, till I could figure out what the fuck to do about him.”
I glance over at Ivy in the kitchen who’s oblivious to our conversation. She’s got her headphones on dancing away as she bakes something which smells fantastic. How she can be so carefree, while I sit here panicking about how this is all going to end astounds me.
“I feel fucking useless sitting here doing nothing.”
“You’re keeping Ivy safe. That’s what matters right now. The rest is noise. Let us handle anything coming the club’s way.”
“Keep me in the loop. I want updates.”
“You got it. For now, spend time with your woman.”
Glimpsing back at her, she now has her headphones off and is walking over with a tray of something I can’t quite make out.
“Nycto, be careful, you hear me?”
“You, too, brother. You, too.” He ends the call.
As I slide the cell across the table, Ivy places a tray in front of me. My eyes widen as cookies with something that looks like caramel in the middle come into view. Some are a little browner on the edges than the others. They’re not picture perfect like Trixie would bake, but hell, they’re fucking good enough for me. “You made these… from scratch?”
She nods, wiping her hands down her pants. “Cuban sugar cookies, with dulce de leche.”
“Dulce de what now?” I tilt my head.
She giggles, picking one up and handing it to me. “Just try it.”
I take it from her, then pat the sofa next to me. “I just spoke to Nycto.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh?”
I take a bite, and the flavor explodes in my mouth.
Shit, my girl can cook.
“Fuck, Ivy, these are awesome—”
“Tell me what’s going on, don’t change the subject.”
“The heart...” Ivy’s muscles tense, her hand moving to her chest like she’s preparing for the worst possible outcome. “It wasn’t Dash.”
She clenches her eyes, letting out a long exhale. “Is he okay?”
I wrap my arm around her shoulder, pulling her to me, then kiss the top of her head. “Yeah, Nycto’s had contact. Apparently, he’s fine.”
“Thank God.” She pulls back, searching my eyes. “There’s strain in your voice. You’re not telling me something.”
I hesitate, and she fully withdraws from me, stands, and folds her arms across her chest. “Void! What the hell is going on? Don’t hide shit from me. Not here. Not now.”
Rubbing the back of my neck, my muscles are tense as fuck.
She isn’t going to like this.
“Another package was delivered to the clubhouse.”
She’s trying to remain stoic, but one look can see her walls are crumbling. “Another heart?”
“A timer.”
“A timer? What for?” She scowls at me.
“It’s counting down. Apparently, it has three days left on it.”
She lets out a heavy exhale, then starts pacing. “Three days! Three days till what?”
Here comes the storm.
“Nycto is assessing whether to keep everyone locked down or to get them the hell out of the clubhouse.”
Ivy’s head snaps to me, her eyes wide in sheer terror. “They’re going to attack the club looking for us… in three days? But Eva… Eva’s there!”
I stand to go to her, but she turns, heading for the door. “Where do you think you’re going?”
She spins, glaring at me. “I have to go back. I must help Eva.”
“And what are you going to do that the entire club isn’t gonna do? Think this through, Ivy. You’re one woman. The club is better off with us here. Then they don’t have to be concerned about protecting us as well. They will be better able to defend themselves properly if we stay away. After all, whatever this is… it’s leveled at us.”
She lets out a low growl throwing her hand in the air. “This is bullshit!” She turns, heading for the back door.
“Ivy, it’s for the best.”
“What would you know? You took me away from my sister, and now she could die. Dammit! I might never see her again. This is all your fault!” She scowls at me.
Those words hit like a sucker punch straight to the gut.
She heads for the door, I move to follow her out, but she puts her hand up in a stop signal. “Don’t you dare follow me. I don’t want to see you right now. Déjame solo!” <Leave me alone!>
I’m glued to the spot as she walks out the door, slamming it in my face. Usually, I’d yell right back, tell her not to talk to me like that. Show her who the man is in this relationship, but she has me by the balls.
Why? Because she’s right.
This is my fault.
We are here not helping those back home because of me and my fucked-up family.
And because of that, Ivy might not get to say goodbye to hers.
Inhaling deeply, I turn, make my way back to the sofa and slump on it with an overexaggerated huff. She needs to cool off. Chasing after Ivy won’t accomplish anything right now. I have to let her come to me. And she will, once she realizes we’ve got to stay here to protect those back home.
This is the only way.
Having us at the clubhouse would be more of a distraction, and the boys don’t need that. They have enough to worry about protecting everyone else who’s there right now.
Reaching forward, I grab Ivy’s sugar cookie and shove it into my mouth. No time like the present to eat my feelings.
My cell starts vibrating on the table. I figure it’s Nycto again, and I need to waste some time before I go after Ivy, so I answer, “Yo!”
“What the fuck is Nycto doing that’s so important he’s not answering his damn phone?”
I furrow my brows at the voice on the other end. It takes a second, then I register—it’s Spark. He left a little while ago to battle bushfires, Australia put out the call, and he answered.
“Asshole’s probably occupied with Eva. How the hell are you? Wait, how did you get this number? It’s a burner phone.”
He grumbles under his breath, “Couldn’t get a hold of fucking Nycto, so I tried you. You rang out, so I called Whiskey. Then he gave me this number because I told him it was fucking important.”