She slipped out of bed and went downstairs for coffee, stopping on her way through the living room to fluff a throw pillow. As she walked into the kitchen, she stopped. “How the hell did you get in here?”
“Twenty-dollar door lock, twenty-four-year-old shoulder.” Sedotal pointed his gun at the chair across from him. “I was going to wake you up, but you and big brother looked too cozy. Sit down.”
She sat. There were a hundred things she wanted to know, but her mouth wouldn’t move, wouldn’t let her form a question. Who had helped him escape, why he was so fascinated with Grier, and so many more questions she couldn’t even sort them. Instead, she waited for him to speak.
“I spent a lot of time thinking about you last night and you know what I came up with?” Not that she cared, but she tilted her head, studying him. He looked perfectly healthy, short blonde hair spikey and freshly gelled, clean, expensive clothes. Not a bruise on him. Hardly fair when her head felt like she’d stumbled and landed forehead first on a rusty railroad spike. “I think you must be part cat. And the way I figure it, you have seven lives left.”
“I could say the same about you.”
He lifted the gun and aimed at her face. “I’m going to take care of it right now.” She saw the muzzle flash and opened her mouth to scream.
“Hey, Fiona, wake up.” Grier leaned over her, one arm under her neck, the hand of his free arm cradling her cheek. “Come on, baby. It was just a dream.”
A dream. Yeah. That made sense since she wasn’t sitting there with face splattered all over her kitchen cabinets. She related the details. “Maybe it’s your brain trying to tell you we need to replace the door locks.”
Maybe, but Fiona knew it was more. It was her subconscious telling her she wasn’t fit to run this club, couldn’t handle the pressure, had gone soft. Shit.
Fiona was having nightmares. Grier couldn’t figure out how Sedotal managed to get away, how to keep his wife safe, how he would break her the news that could shatter her, or how to put an end to all of this. But he had Fiona in his arms and there was nothing he wanted more than to stay right there in their bed, in their house, snuggled together, pretending nothing bad could touch them. But his text messages said that wasn’t to be. Sage was on his way.
Good news in one respect, if Sage had information that would lead them to Sedotal. Bad news if Sage had information that would lead them to Sedotal. Besides, He had a few good reasons to stay in bed—Fiona wrapped around him, the thunderstorm brewing outside, the fact that he had no idea how to keep his wife safe—but he had as many to get up. They needed to figure out their next move. Hopefully, Sage had a good idea; ex-military guys always had ideas.
He disentangled Fiona’s arms and walked to the bathroom. Occasionally, when he was belting out the hits in the shower, an idea struck him, something powerful, something that would make a difference. And God, he needed one of those today.
But nothing came. His mind was too clouded. Not in the shower. Or over his first cup of coffee or as he sat at the table with Sage. Of all the things bothering him, staring at Sage, only one mattered. Grier had seen Mia push Hamilton, and that had ended worse than he could have predicted. And it gave Sedotal just enough time to disappear into the woods.
He watched Sage fiddle with his mug of coffee. But this had to be said. Although, word around the club was that Sage had a real soft spot for this girl, more than any other woman in the place. “Fiona’s going to kill her you know.” He was talking about Mia. The woman who would take all the blame. “You trust her?”
Sage lifted his head. “I do.”
“So, you think her loyalty is to us now? They branded her. She’s one of them.”
“They branded Fiona, too. Twice.” Everyone knew about the one on Fiona’s neck. But the one on her leg was top secret. “Are you doubting Fiona?”
Grier shifted in his chair, thought about everything he knew. “Why did Mia push Ham?”
A long pause stretched between them, then a sigh. “She said Fiona deserved to kill him, not you, not Ham.”
Convenient story. One with an ending he wouldn’t have been able to predict if ever he tried. “So, she let him go? What if he gets Fiona first? Did she think about that?” His gut flared with anger. There was no way that flimsy story would fly. “We could’ve ended this yesterday. Now, who knows what’s going to happen.” Fiona was the unpredictable variable in the new scenario. “She did this, Sage. I don’t see Fiona forgiving this one.”
“Look, I’m gonna tell you everything I know. She came in for them, tried to use me. It was… I was gullible. But she was too perfect, you know, too pleasing. I called her on it. She said…” He broke off. Apparently, what she’d said was private and it could stay that way until Grier found out it affected the club. “Anyway, we can trust her now. You have my word.” He shook his head. “I know it looks bad, what she did to Ham, but she didn’t do it to let Tyler go free. She did it for Fiona.”
He didn’t trust Mia, but he trusted Sage. Even though he could see holes in that story big enough to drive a truck through. But he nodded. “Just to be on the safe side, Mia stays back from here on out. If I were you, I’d hide her until we see how Fiona is. I know you trust her, but this is my wife and my family.”
“Yeah.” Sage nodded. “Did you tell Fiona about Ham yet?”
He should have, but she’d been shot, and he couldn’t do it. And he was being punished for it. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Mia hit Hamilton from the side, saw Sedotal wheel around, poised to shoot Fiona or Grier, but the bullet… the way his arm shot out as the gun fired, the trajectory and the happenstance of Hamilton falling to Sedotal’s right… Grier’s eyes snapped open.
“No.”
“What about Ham?” Fiona stood in the doorway, hair mussed, eyes heavy with fatigue, skin with its early morning glow. Grier stood, turned to her, and with every second that ticked off the clock, he could see the awareness change her face, the droop to her mouth, the tears in her eyes, the lines deepening on her face. “Grier, what about Ham?” He couldn’t answer more than a slight shake to his head, and she moved in until her chest aligned with his and her fist beat against him, pounding her sadness into him.
“I’m so sorry, Fi.”
Her breath hitched and she sobbed, still punching but with less force, less anger and more grief. “No!” Her screams tore at him, broke something that connected all his pieces. He would have sold his soul to keep her from this pain. He would have died if it would have helped.
“Listen, we can leave now. Say fuck it all and go back to our baby and Belize. We don’t have to be here.” He just wanted to ease the pain for her, and he didn’t know how.
She shoved him back, fury and rage as powerful as his in her eyes. “Leave?” She scoffed and swiped her tears away. “He was my best friend. My. Best. Friend.” Grier nodded because she wasn’t finished. “You have one day to find that son of a bitch and bring him to me.”
“Fiona…”
“Bring. Him. To. Me.” She turned and walked out of the kitchen.