"Hang on." Gracie set the cell phone on the bathroom counter, putting her sister on hold, and turned on the blow dryer, removing the drips from her hair and yet leaving it damp.

She'd slept until nine o'clock and woke up with Rich gone from her bed. In a hurry to find him and gauge his reaction to what they'd done, she'd barely stepped out of the shower when Clara had called her.

She picked up the phone. "Okay, I'm back."

"Why the late start?"

Warmth filled her stomach. "I didn't go right to bed after we got home from your house. Are you going to the bar today?"

"Not until five o'clock. I told Peyton I'd come in and stock for the night crowd, so he doesn't have to be pulled away from the grill." Clara yelled to Wayne that his boots were in the living room and then said, "Do you want to go in with me? I can pick you up. I think the guys are planning on coming in for dinner...or at least Wayne will be since I don't plan on cooking dinner tonight. Plus, Wayne said the trouble surrounding Rich is over, so he's free to come and go. You don't have to stay home with him."

Gracie unscrewed her mascara with her lips, put the tube on the counter and took the lash applicator out of her mouth and outlined her eyes. "Text me an hour before you go, and I'll let you know if I'm going to show up."

It would depend on what Rich planned to do later. If he wanted to stay home, she'd stay with him. She looked in the mirror. The others must believe Rich would stay in St. John's. She wasn't so sure. After last night, she hoped so.

"What's going on, sis?" asked Clara.

"Nothing."

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not." She blinked into the mirror, inspecting her lashes. "I don't know what is going on. That's the truth."

Clara sighed. "I hate this. I feel like we're drifting apart."

"A lot is going on, but I'm here for you, and I know you're there for me." Gracie looked at the lash brush in her hand. "Hang on, again."

She set the phone down, put the brush back in the tube, and tossed it in the drawer before picking up the cell. Avoiding the mirror, she said, "I slept with Rich."

"No."

"Yeah." She walked back into the bedroom and glanced at the door. "It's not a big deal."

"It's a huge deal, Gracie. You don't know a thing about him." Clara lowered her voice. "Wayne doesn't believe he's going to stay in St. John's."

Gracie's stomach rolled. She pressed a hand to her middle. "I thought since they were letting him have his freedom, they thought—"

"He'd stay?" Clara sighed. "Wayne said it was time to let Rich control his own life. But, if you've slept with him, I should tell—"

"No." She groaned. "Don't tell Wayne anything. What we did doesn't matter."

It mattered. It meant everything to her.

"And, you're okay with a one-night stand or has it been more?"

"Just once." She sat on the bed and slipped on her shoes. "You're thinking too much of it. Every man we've fooled around with, we've told each other. You told me about you and Wayne right away."

"It was different for us."

"Not really." She stood and walked to the door, unlocking the knob, and stepping out into the hallway. "But, I don't want to..."

Her heart pounded. Rich's bedroom door was wide open, and there were white, chalky boot prints all over the carpet leading into the room.

"Clara," she whispered. "I'll call you b—"

"Wait. What's wrong?"

She stepped into the bedroom, shocked at the mess. There were too many broken holes in the sheetrocked walls for her to count. Three walls were completely destroyed.

One of the closet doors hung off the track. Her head pounded. There was blood splatter on the eggshell white paint of the headboard of the bed.

She grabbed her throat. "I-I think Wayne needs to come over."

"Okay. Okay." The panic in Clara's voice did nothing to soothe her own fear. "Are you safe?"

She nodded. "I think so. I need to find Rich."

"He's gone?"

Her sister's questions only made the situation more urgent. "I don't know. Just send Wayne over here. Fast. I'm going to let you go."

"Wait—"

She disconnected the call and picked up Rich's duffle on the floor. Would he have left without his bag? Besides his motorcycle, it was the only thing he had in his possession when he'd arrived in St. John's. She looked inside. His extra clothes still folded and clean from when she'd set them on the stairs after doing laundry.

No, he wouldn't leave her alone in the house, unprotected, without telling her first. She looked around the destroyed room again. All the noise, banging, and muffled groans that came from him during the night were now understood. He'd been busting up her room and destroying everything.

She tossed the duffle on the unmade bed and stepped toward the door. Her sneaker collided with something on the floor and she stumbled. Looking down, the strength in her spine fled and she sagged.

An empty whiskey bottle on the floor struck disappointment in her.

"God," she muttered, hurrying out of the room, hoping the bottle was left over from before she moved back home and not from her falling asleep after having sex and not keeping an eye on him.

Halfway down the stairs, the rumble of motorcycles arriving at her house accelerated her worry and brought the reality of the situation to the surface. Rich was an alcoholic who'd run out on his club.

Not only run out but deliberately stayed away for over twenty-five years. Why had she believed they could make plans together for this evening?

He'd never shared his reasons for staying away, and there was no hint that he wanted the others to know what he'd been doing all those years alone.

She jumped the last couple of steps and almost fell when her legs weakened at the sight before her.

Rich lay sprawled out on the couch, another empty whiskey bottle on the floor beside him. She gawked, not knowing whether to breathe in relief that he'd stayed or go yank him off the sofa and tell him how he majorly screwed up by drinking again.

Banging on the door stopped her from reacting. She walked over and unlocked the multiple locks, opened the door, and then swung her arm out to show Wayne, Thad, Glen, and Chuck, the state of her roommate.

"Jesus Christ." Wayne strode forward and kicked Rich's booted foot that hung off the couch.

Rich continued sleeping. His slack mouth, tangled hair, and the odor coming from him reminded her of the man she'd first ran into in her hallway when she'd pretended to be her sister. She closed her eyes an extra beat. He wasn't the man who stared into her eyes a few hours ago to remind her that he was the one having sex with her.

Her heart broke.

"Rich," she mouthed.

He had so many people around him to make him happy. The club never gave up on him, even when he showed up out of the blue in jail. When people were after him, the club rallied around him. She had trusted the Notus members to keep him safe, and Rich had harmed himself by drinking again.

She crossed her arms and cupped her elbows with her hands. Had telling him about Roy Jenkins, Thalia, and her abduction pushed him to drink?

"Where the hell did he get the booze?" Chuck picked up the empty bottle and set it on the coffee table. "We cleaned the house of any alcohol. Hell, we threw out all the mouthwash and cough medicine in the bathroom because we did not want this to happen."

"He went for a ride yesterday before we rode out to deal with club business." Glen shrugged. "Maybe he stopped and bought the whiskey."

"He was sober last night when we rode out as a club," said Thad. "It had to have happened after he left."

Defensive over how they put the blame on Rich when it was apparent he had an addiction problem, she said, "I was with him the whole time. We didn't stop anywhere, except at Vavoom's for lunch. He had water with the food. That's all."

"You were with him every second?" asked Wayne.

"Yes, Wayne, I was..." She groaned, gathering her hair over her shoulder. "He went to the bathroom while I talked to Peyton. When I went to the back door, he was already outside by his bike."

Chuck's mouth tightened. "He lifted whiskey out of the bar, sweetheart."

The shame of failure brought tears to her eyes. She walked away from the men and sat down at the bottom of the stairs where she'd still hear and see everything that happened in the living room. The only thing Wayne asked her to do was to watch over Rich and pass on any information he shared with her.

Not sleep with him.

Not care about him.

Not go to Vavoom's with him.

She was supposed to watch over him and make sure he didn't drink, and listen if he wanted to talk.

"What are we going to do with him?" asked Glen.

Wayne blew out his breath. "I don't know."

"He hasn't spoken a word about why he left us." Chuck squatted down at Rich's head. "We don't even know what made him decide to ride with Komoon."

She rubbed her hands over her face, feeling sick to her stomach. Had Rich used her to get to the whiskey and plan to have sex with her as a way to drink while she slept?

"I thought we'd have answers before now. Motherfucker is more stubborn than he used to be." Thad shook his head. "Even after all this time, I refuse to let him slink away or fucking kill himself with the bottle."

She swallowed hard. How could she have lost perception of what was expected of her?

Notus depended on her to keep Rich in St. John's. She'd known that from the beginning. Had the bikers known Rich would use her? Where they okay with that?

She stood on shaky legs and steeled her spine. "I slept with him," she said.

"We're going to have to get him sober again." Wayne took his phone out of his back pocket.

"How about giving him a reality check?" Thad walked over and sat down in the chair. "Demand answers. Force him back into the life he left, so he realizes what he wants."

"He won't talk," said Chuck. "I vote on beating the shit out of him until he breaks."

None of them were paying attention to her. Gracie cleared her throat. When they continued talking, she walked the few steps back into the living room and blurted, "I slept with him."

All four men whipped their gaze toward her. She raised her chin. They didn't have to look so shocked. It wasn't as if it was the first time she'd had sex.

"We had sex. Last night." She raised her brows, daring them to say one word of judgment. "Before he drank the whiskey."

Glen whistled low. Thad turned away and latched his hands behind his head. Wayne flinched and put his phone back in his pocket. She looked at Chuck, begging him to understand. Out of all of them, he knew her best.

"It's true. I drank the Koolaid. I joined the cult. I'm in the commune. I understand why you're trying so hard with Rich." She pointed at the couch, hysteria rising. "I believe in him, and I can't tell you why."

Her heart pounded, and she shook. On the verge of falling apart or breaking out in tears or running to her sister, she stared at them all. She couldn't do this alone.

Chuck made it to her in three steps and wrapped his arms around her, cradling her against his chest. She closed her eyes for a reprieve from their speculations. None of them had been in bed with her and Rich and experienced what happened. None of them lived twenty-four/seven with him. None of them had a right to judge her.

"Are you okay?" whispered Chuck.

She nodded against his chest and then straightened, opening her eyes. "I will be when I get some answers."

"You and me both," said Chuck.

Pushing away from Chuck, she squeezed his hand, thanking him for caring, and inhaled deeply. There was more she needed to say.

"I think while you wait for Rich to wake up, you should go upstairs and look in the guest bedroom." She gathered her hair over her shoulder and split the mass into three sections to braid. "I'll put a pot of coffee on for everyone."

Wayne walked toward her, stopped, and said, "Call your sister. She's worried."

She nodded, understanding that Clara needed to know she was okay. Wayne went up the stairs. Needing two minutes to clear her head, she went into the kitchen to get the coffee going. The guys wouldn't demand her reasons for sleeping with Rich, but her sister would. She needed to figure out her answer before she phoned Clara.