I can’t shake her. Since my nightmares started, they haven’t stopped. I haven’t slept in three weeks, and I know that there is only one way to at least make them subside, if only for a while.
I need to make sure Cleo is okay. Her safety is the only thing I can control right now, and I’m tired of fucking around with her. She’s either coming with me tonight, or I’m going to be her goddamn shadow, and that means sleeping in her place, right next to her warm, curvy body.
With a semi-plan in place, I pull into the parking lot of her apartment and frown. It’s only four in the afternoon. Her car shouldn’t be here, yet it is. I make my way upstairs and knock on her door. I don’t have to strain my hearing too much, but I do anyway. I hear absolutely nothing. I decide to break into her apartment, my gut telling me something is very wrong here.
The sight that greets me makes my stomach drop. Sure, everything is in its place, but with one scan, I can see that it isn’t. Her purse is on the counter, her phone tossed on top of it. I close the door and call out her name, but silence is the only thing that greets me.
I jog into her bedroom and see that her bed is unmade, clothes strewn on the floor; and a glance at her closet proves that all of her clothes are still hanging in their designated spots. I walk back into the kitchen, taking her phone and noticing that its dead. I plug it in and power it on, when I see, that she’s got a dozen missed calls. They’re all from the same number.
I don’t bother listening to the half a dozen messages. Instead, I call back the number.
“Voight,” a voice growls into the phone.
“You been trying to reach Cleo Hill?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“Where is she?” he barks.
“Who is this?”
“This is Stephenson Voight, her boss. If you get ahold of her, tell her she’s fired,” he snaps before he ends the call.
My brows knit in confusion. She’s not at work, her shit’s here—her money and her car.
She’s gone.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She’s gone.
I don’t know how long she’s been gone. I haven’t been back to check on her in weeks. I needed to try and get my shit straight, try and give her time to get hers straight, too. She hasn’t called me, so I wasn’t overly worried. Now I know why she hasn’t called. She’s fucking gone.
I slam her front door closed and race down to my bike. It’s going to take me three hours to get back to the clubhouse. Maybe if I go fast enough, I can make it in two.
I focus on the highway and then the mountain roads ahead of me, pulling into the clubhouse two and a half hours later. I look around and realize that MadDog isn’t here. Pulling out my phone, I scroll to his name.
“What’s up, brother,” he grumbles.
“My wife’s gone missing,” I announce.
“You’re what?” he asks in surprise. I don’t blame him. Nobody knows I’m married, not even my brothers in Idaho.
“I’m going to need some more information, brother,” he says, his voice a low growl.
I tell him that I’ll be by his place in ten, and he agrees before ending the call. He’s just arrived back from Idaho with his woman, Mary-Anne, in tow. They’ve worked their shit out and I’m pleased as fuck for them, but my mind is on nothing but Cleo as I climb on my bike, revving the engine before I roll over to my prez’s house to tell him about my wife.
Fuck.
My eyes flutter open and I roll over. Looking around in mild panic, it takes me a moment to realize exactly where I am. Though I’ve been here for three weeks, it’s still all new to me. The circumstances surrounding the reason why I’m in my friends’ home still frighten me. It could have all been a coincidence, but something deep inside tells me that it absolutely wasn’t.
My door slowly opens and I turn to find Lisandro making his way toward me, two coffees in his hand. I quickly sit up, reaching out for a cup, and he smiles as he climbs onto the bed and settles down beside me.
“You look better,” he murmurs.
“Theo gone?” I ask.
“You know he is. Now, are you going to be okay at the shop alone today?”
I’ve been working for cash at Lisandro’s jewelry store since I arrived here in Redding. Well, since he and Theo marched me here, refusing to take no for an answer. Though, I can’t complain much.
I absolutely love working for Lisandro. Not only do we get to take lunches together, even if it’s only in the back room sometimes, but he’s actually a great boss. He’s knowledgeable about the product, patient with teaching me everything I need to know so that I can properly inform the customer, and he’s my best friend. I love him.
“Gina will be there, right?” I ask as I take a sip from my drink.
“She will, but you know how I worry,” he murmurs.
“Go and visit with Granny B. Don’t worry about me,” I whisper with a smile, encouraging him to visit with his grandmother back in SacTown.
“You know she’d slap that smile off of your face if she knew you called her that, don’t you?” he asks, arching a brow.
Bellatrix, or Granny B as I call her, is Lisandro’s very well-to-do grandmother. All of her good friends call her Trixie, which means that Lisandro calls her Trixie, because she refuses to be called anything else. I’ve taken to calling her Granny B behind her back solely, of course, because, as Lisandro said, she’d slap the look off my face if she knew I called her that.
She’s a very sweet woman, if not eccentric and exciting all rolled into one teenie tiny, four-foot-eleven package of dynamite. She’s had five husbands, each one wealthier than the last, and none staying for too long—mostly because when they annoy her too badly, she divorces them. Lisandro visits her the first weekend of every month. This is his weekend, and I’ll be damned if he’s missing it for me. He loves the old coot.
“Give Granny B hugs from me, okay?”
“You know she only accepts cheek kisses,” he murmurs. It makes me giggle.
“Well, give her those from me, and throw in a dah-ling or two.”
“Theo will have his phone with him, glued to his hand, all day long. You can take my car, just make sure to pick him up on your way home from the shop after you close,” he instructs as he hands me his car keys.
“You’re taking Theo’s to town?”
“Theo has a Beemer, and Granny B say’s it’s much more comfortable than the American made trash I drive,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“I love your Jeep Cherokee. I’ll gladly drive it around,” I grin.
Lis eyes me, all joking escaping his face, and he looks so serious. I gulp down a drink of the hot coffee in my hands and wait for him to speak, knowing that when he does, he’s going to be completely honest—and possibly downright scary with me.
It doesn’t happen often, but when he decides he needs to lay something on me, he really lays it on, and with a tone that assures me he means every single well thought out word.
“You need to make peace with your past. That means Paxton. It’s obvious, from the conversations you’ve had with him recently, that there are still some things between you unsaid, untouched, and unshared. You’ll never be able to move on, to be happy, or even just to be content until you do. I know Theo said his group was dangerous, and I’m sure it is, so maybe this is a good time for that divorce and to sever ties with him completely. It’s not as if you’ve been truly married. Not really,” he says.
I know he’s right, and this isn’t the first time he’s said these same words, almost verbatim. The time has come, and even though I know it’s going to hurt, hasn’t the pain always been there anyway? Anytime I’ve thought of him, it’s felt like the wound has been shred wide open. It’s never quite healed. After eleven years, it still feels as fresh as it did on day one of his leaving me.
“When you get back, maybe we can meet him together? I don’t want to go alone. Every time I’m alone with him, we argue and he kisses me and I let him. Then I want more,” I say quietly.
“I got your back, sweetie pie,” he whispers as he slides his arm around my shoulders to comfort me.
“Why does he still affect me the way that he does?” I ask, not really looking for a direct answer.
“Because you’re a woman who, when she falls, she falls deep. You’re a woman who sees the good in everybody. You’re so fucking loyal and sweet, it’s almost sickening,” he grins.
“Thank you for being…everything,” I whisper.
Lis doesn’t say anything else. He leans down, presses his lips to my head, and then walks away. I have a feeling he’s crying but doesn’t want me to see him, and that’s just fine. As soon as the door closes behind him, tears fill my own eyes.
The shop is slow this afternoon, so I decide to send Gina off to lunch, fairly confident that nobody will even chance a walk inside. We’ve not had one customer all day long as it is. I choose to take the quiet down time to clean the glass cases. The tops are smudged from fingerprints, and it seems like I’m the only one who is anal enough to clean them several times a day.
I’m just finishing up my first case when the bell above the door rings. I look up and my eyes widen. There’s a hulking man with a full beard, leather vest, worn jeans, and black boots walking inside, thick black glasses on his face hiding his eyes.
“How may I help you?” I ask, my eyes staying glued to the man’s vest. It looks exactly like Paxton’s, patches and all.
I try to calm my breathing, clenching my fists and attempting not to freak out and run.
“Here for a wedding ring. Whatever she wants,” he murmurs gently. I jerk slightly to look at the woman at his side.
She’s about my age, making her at least half his age. She’s also tall and very slender, with long dark hair and shocking blue eyes. She’s absolutely beautiful, and I feel like a troll just standing in front of her.
I shake myself out of my creepy staring long enough to ask her what she has in mind. She says that she wants something simple, nothing too fancy, and I lead her over toward the engagement rings. If we have something close to what she likes, I can always have a ring made or ordered to her taste.
I pull out a very small stone solitaire ring to show her first. It’s definitely not fancy, and it’s the smallest diamond we have in stock.
“There’s no budget,” the gruff man announces.
I jump, having forgotten that he was even standing in front of me. I don’t know how—he’s the most intimidating man I’ve ever seen.
“Oh, that one. Can I please see that one?” the woman asks, pointing to one of our most expensive vintage inspired pieces. The clarity is the best we carry, and it’s designer—completely outstanding.
“Put it on,” he grumbles. I hand it to her to try on. The man nods and then orders me to ring it up.
“Sir, this ring is forty-five thousand dollars,” I whisper as my brows knit together.
I know that I shouldn’t judge the amount of money people have based on their clothing, or anything at all. I try really hard not to judge people in general, but this is almost fifty-thousand dollars. It’s definitely not peanuts.
“Ring. It. Up,” he growls as he leans forward over the counter.
I jump again and take the ring from the woman, hurrying to the cash register to ring up the purchase. My hands are shaking with each button I push, and I really wish that Gina were back already. I scurry to the couple and hand him a piece of paper with his total, including tax. I watch as he glances at it and then hands me his credit card. My eyes widen as I take it from him. A credit card. He’s going to pay with a credit card. I can’t even fathom having a credit line for that much money.
“I’m sorry, but you look really familiar. Can you tell me your name? I’m better with names than faces,” the girl says sweetly.
I try to hurry and run Maxfield Duhart’s credit card, telling her that I don’t think we’ve ever met. I would never forget a girl as pretty as her, not ever. She should be on a fashion runway modeling—she’s that tall, thin, and stunning.
“I’m Mary-Anne,” she offers with a kind smile.
“Cleo, my name is Cleo,” I whisper, glancing at Maxfield; or, more importantly, the patch on his vest that reads Notorious Devils.
I smile and finish ringing them up. I give the receipt for him to sign, and then hand them the little, light pink bag with leopard print tissue paper; Lisandro’s signature design and color scheme. I do all of this with a shaky smile.
Maxfield takes it from me, but his eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s staring at me with a look that I can’t quite describe. I really, really, wish he would just—go.
The two of them walk out of the store, and I place my hands on the clean counter and let out a breath. I don’t know who he was, and I don’t care, but he has to be part of Paxton’s group, or gang, or whatever it is, making him dangerous, according to Theo.
Where the hell is Gina? I wonder again, really wishing she would get her skinny ass back here.
I throw back another shot, everybody sensing my mood and giving me a wide berth—thank fuck. I don’t want to talk to anyone, and I sure as shit don’t want to fuck. I want to sit right where I’m at and drown myself, wading in self pity because she’s gone. My Cleo is fucking gone. I know it’s all my fault, too. Nobody to blame but me. I ruined her when she was just eighteen years old, and I never fucking stopped. Only now, she’s probably living a hell she never dreamed possible.
“Prez,” I slur into my phone after I pick it up from dancing across the table.
“I found her,” he announces. I blink before I ask a question I never thought I would have to about my sweet girl.
“Dead?”
“At work. Didn’t you check her job?”
“What?” I cry. “Of course, I checked her job. She’s a receptionist at an attorney’s office in Sacramento,” I explain.
MadDog proceeds to explain that she’s workin’ at a jewelry store, here—which is Redding, because there ain’t shit in Shasta. Then he describes her, and I know, just from the few words, it’s her. My Cleo. My fucking wife.
“Don’t let her out of your sight. I’ll be there in five,” I say, ignoring the fact that it takes an hour to get to Redding from the clubhouse.
“You’ll have Camo drive you,” he orders. I growl and open my mouth to reply. “West’ll drive you and that’s a fuckin’ order,” he says, beating me to it.
“Fine,” I snap as I end the call and walk over to West.
“You’re takin’ me to town,” I demand.
“I am?”
“Prez’s orders. I need to get to where he is. A jewelry store.”
Camo nods as he stands, and then I watch as he takes out his phone. I walk behind him, adrenaline pumping through my system, so much of it that I no longer feel the effects of the alcohol I’ve been consuming. No, now I feel wired as fuck.
This shit with Cleo, it ends now.
I’m going to protect her, and she doesn’t get a say in how I do that anymore. I don’t know how she ended up practically in my backyard, or why she left the way she did—leaving all her shit back in SacTown—but I aim to get to the bottom of the whole goddamn story. Today.
“Who’re we gonna go see?” Camo asks once we’re halfway to our destination.
“My wife,” I grunt. The truck swerves slightly before he rights it and continues driving.
“I didn’t know you had an Old Lady.”
“Married her twelve years ago. Haven’t seen her in eleven, until I moved here,” I admit. Just saying the words out loud makes me feel like the giant piece of shit that I am.
“What happened?” he asks before he clears his throat, mumbling, “never mind.”
“Was a fuckin’ stupid ass twenty-year-old back from war. Wasn’t right in the head. That’s what happened, more or less,” I shrug.
I omit the part where I was fucked up before I even joined the Air Force and the war. It just added to my fuzzy head. Then there’s Cleo, best thing that happened to me, and I sabotaged it because I was a pussy. Still am, probably, if I think hard enough about it.
“We’re almost there. Your shit locked down?” Camo asks.
“Not even close,” I admit.