“Look, I’m serious. I don’t have anything to do with them. Not anymore. The Armstrongs are fucking crazy, and my family comes first. But I’ll tell you one thing.” His head swivels from side to side, his eyes scanning the area around us. “I heard it from a guy who still works for them that they’ve been building a ring outside of Paloma, back in the bush somewhere.”
I stare at him, trying like hell to gauge if he’s telling me everything he knows.
“Keep my name out of it. I can’t get involved in this shit again, man. Not if I want to keep my family. I suggest you talk to Kenny Dwyer. He’ll know way more than me.”
And there it is. Carson offering up a name, like that tells me he’s trying to get his shit together for real. “Appreciated,” I tell him, then take a step back. “Your name’s nowhere near it. I’ll let the club know you’re trying to turn your life around, but if I even hear a whisper about you anywhere near this, the Black Hoods will rain hell down on you, family or no family. You hear me?”
Carson swallows, nodding up and down like an oversized bobble head. “I hear you.”
Having said all I need to say, I throw my leg back over the seat and fire up my bike. It’s not much, but the info he just gave me is more than we’ve learned in over a week of researching. Judge will be happy. It puts us one step closer to nailing the motherfuckers who tortured Walter, and God knows how many other defenseless dogs. The Armstrong brothers’ days are numbered.
I’m also hoping this new info will keep Judge off my back a little bit. The bastard seems intent on keeping me busy, knowing damn well I’m not listening to his orders to steer clear of Blair. He hasn’t mentioned it yet, but he’s working hard to keep me from checking up on her by tasking me to run errands over the last few days. Tasks that should be put on the prospects, not a member. But I had no choice, as he’s my president. He just doesn’t need to know about my extracurricular activities.
I was right to keep watching her, though. Judge was way off when he said she had someone. I’ve been watching her house like some kind of creeper for days, and aside from the occasional police drive-by, and the gaggle of reporters who won’t back the fuck off, she’s been completely alone.
Dangerously alone. And fuck me, there’s no way I’m going to leave her that way. No matter how much Judge doesn’t want the club involved, I am involved, with or without them to back me up. Blair’s safety is on my shoulders now.
Usually, driving my motorcycle has a way of soothing my swirling thoughts, but not today. I make it to my house in what feels like no time at all, and I still haven’t stopped thinking about how fucked-up all of this is.
Once I’ve parked and closed the garage door, I pull out my cell phone and give Judge a call.
“What did you find out?” his gruff voice barks over the heavy beats of music playing in the background.
“Well, hello to you too, buddy.”
“Cut the shit, GP. What’d you find?”
I sigh, scrubbing a hand along my face. “Not as much as we’d hoped. Carson’s out of the game, for real this time. But he did give me a name to follow up on, and he did say that wherever they’re rebuilding is outside Paloma somewhere.”
“Paloma, eh?” I can practically hear the wheels turning in his head. “You sure he’s out? He was in fucking deep that last time.”
I picture that little girl in the window, and the fear on Carson’s face. “I’m sure. His old lady threatened to take their kids. He won’t risk that.”
“Think he’s lying?”
“He nearly pissed himself when his kid came out. Pretty sure he was telling the truth.”
Judge chuckles into the receiver. “Fair enough. See what you can find out about the contact he gave you. The longer these fuckers have time to organize, the more work we’ll have to handle.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“You coming back to the clubhouse tonight?”
A muffled female voice says something quietly in the background, officially removing Judge from this conversation. Thank fuck.
“Nah,” I say, already walking to my front door. “Walter’s been cooped up in the house all day. Think I’m going to stay home and take the poor bastard for a walk.”
“You’re turning down Grade A pussy for your dog? Wouldn’t have anything to do with the sexy redhead-in-distress being home now, would it?”
Shit. Has he been checking up on me?
“Nah, Judge.” I have to force the words out. “She isn’t the club's problem.” Every syllable burns as I voice it. Lying to my president isn’t something I take lightly. Judge has always been there for me, so it’s a punch to the gut doing this behind his back. But leaving Blair isn’t an option for me.
“Let’s keep it that way. Not the time to be bringing new blood around the club.”
“Roger that, Prez.” I have no intention of bringing Blair into the club life. Girls like her don’t need the taint we smear all over the place. Once she’s safe, I’ll bail. Simple as that.
“Good,” he declares, the word more of an order than an agreement. The same soft voice makes a noise in the background. “One second, sweetheart,” Judge tells her. “GP, get on tracking down Carson’s buddy. No time to waste.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. I’m just glad to have the conversation turned away from Blair. “You got it. Have fun tonight.”
“Always do, man,” he says with another chuckle. “Later.”
Knowing him as well as I do, he’ll be drunk and balls deep in pussy very shortly, which is a good thing for me, because once I let Walter out, I have my own girl to go see.
Blair
“Hey, Blair,” another graduate assistant whispers. This chick may be in my program, but she’s never paid a lick of attention to me before now. I try to ignore her, but she pokes one of her fingers into my side to get my attention. “Psst, Blair.”
“I’m trying to listen to the lecture,” I whisper through clenched teeth. Why can’t she take the hint that I have zero interest in answering whatever question she’s so adamant in asking me?
A student behind us leans down and shushes her, annoyance clear as day painted across her face as she points to the professor at the front of the room. My inquisitor slumps back into her seat with a thud. I peek over my shoulder and give a thankful nod to my savior, Lindsey—one of the few original students in my program who hadn’t transferred out before the graduate program began.
“Thanks,” I whisper, and she smiles back.
Coming back to my classes was by far one of the biggest decisions I’ve languished over the last few days since my release from the hospital. Professor McCallen had been very clear in her email response that my return to the summer program schedule was not something set in stone if I didn’t feel up to returning. Ready, I’m not, but the only way of finding my sense of normalcy again is by not putting my life on hold.
I settle back into my seat, focusing on the lecture being presented on handling patients with histories of violence and abuse with respect—one that hits a little too close to home right now. Outside of the nurses, respect was the last word I would use to describe my treatment during my ordeal.