“OH GOD,” I groaned as my eyes fluttered open, then back shut. “Too bright.”
I tried to cover my face with a pillow, then the blanket, but neither would budge and each movement hurt my head.
I cracked one eye open and saw that both Rufus and CB had taken over my bed.
Rufus was sprawled out on his back, sideways across the bed, and CB was laying up by my head, using the pillows as his perch.
“Tequila is no bueno,” I told them as I pulled back the covers on my side and exposed my nearly naked form to the morning.
Where are my clothes?
I searched my memory, but all I came up with was the ride back in Bea’s car, and bitching at her for making me go home and not taking me out to another club.
I padded to the bathroom, hand on my head, and found last night’s outfit in a pile on the floor by the sink. The sink looked to have remnants of a late-night puking session, gross, so I turned on the water and did my best to clean it out without puking all over again. Then I turned on the water for the shower and peered at myself in the mirror.
Damn, I looked pitiful.
After I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth, I took off my bra and underwear and stepped under the steaming hot spray.
Ten minutes later, I felt marginally better, but still pretty shitty. I got dressed, left my hair to air dry, and went to make myself some much-needed coffee.
I was downstairs, pouring coffee down my throat, when there was a knock on my front door.
I walked as fast as I could, which was pretty damn slow since every step hurt my head, then unlocked and opened the door to see Bea standing on my doorstep. She was in uniform, holding two cups of coffee.
“You’re an angel,” I said, taking a cup from her and stepping aside so she could come in.
“How are you feeling this morning?” she asked and I grimaced.
“Been better.”
“I hate to do this, but are you busy right now?”
The tone of her voice had me looking up.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t want to freak you out,” she said, and I immediately started freaking out. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“What’s nothing?” I asked, watching my friend closely.
Of course, she gave nothing away.
“I got called out early this morning. There was an explosion outside of town.”
“An explosion?”
Bea nodded sharply.
“A car exploded off of old Snellville road, by the gas station.”
“Holy crap,” I began. “What does that have to do with me?”
“When we got out there, it wasn’t just the car on fire, there was a motorcycle, too. Cade’s motorcycle.”
“Cade’s motorcycle was on fire?” I asked, shaking my head. “I don’t understand. Was he there, is he hurt?”
“No, no one was hurt. There was no one at the scene by the time we got there. I came straight here after leaving the site. I’m going to head back out to the gas station once it opens back up, talk to the owner, see if anyone saw anything. I probably shouldn’t do this, but I thought maybe you’d want to come.”
“Let me grab my purse,” I said, already walking away from her to do so.
My mind was spinning during the drive out to the gas station.
Cade had been gone for two weeks . . . Why was his bike on fire just outside of town? Was he back? Had something happened? Why hadn’t he called?
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Bea said in her cop voice, which I knew meant she wasn’t sure of anything. If she knew he was fine, she’d be talking to me in her friend voice, not using the tone she used on victims so they wouldn’t freak out.
I bit my lower lip and contemplated calling Slade, Cade’s VP.
It wasn’t something I’d do unless there was an emergency, but, this was an emergency, right?
“Let’s find out more before we figure out what to do next, okay?” Bea added, as if she’d read my mind.
I nodded, unable to speak. Not just because of my pounding head, but because my heart was in my throat.
We got to the dilapidated gas station, and any hope that there was some sort of video camera or security camera fled. I brought my gaze to Bea, who tried to give me a reassuring look, but failed and we got out of the cruiser.
“Let me do the talking,” she said, which was fine with me, because I seemed to be completely numb anyway.
The old guy behind the counter was wearing a blue button up that said Bubba. His hair was greased back and his lower lip was protruding with what I assumed was a lump of dip.
“What can I do fer ya?” he asked, picking up a plastic bottle and spitting in it.
“We’re here about the explosion and fire that happened just off your property.”
The man scowled.
“It’s that damn MC, always causing trouble around here . . .”
“The MC that owns Custom Motorcycles and Service?” Bea asked, writing in her little notebook.
“Nah, not those guys, they do good work,” he argued. “I’m talking about the other one.”
“Other one?” Bea asked, looking at me.
I shook my head. I hadn’t heard of another MC in this area.
“Yeah, they’ve been slowly moving down from up north, taking over the south side. They’re not on the up and up like the mechanics, these guys are bad news.”
“I don’t suppose you have a name, or any footage from what happened here last night.”
He looked at Bea and shook his head, then said, “No, but my boy might. He runs the place at night and has seen them around more than me. They usually come out after the sun goes down, like cockroaches.”