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When the waitress arrived with their drinks, Cilla ordered a Jack and Coke, ignoring Stephie’s softly chanted, “Tequila, tequila.”
Once Cilla had her drink in hand, Stephie laughed and raised a shot glass, tossed the liquid back, and announced, “God, I missed you, bestie—now let’s get stupid!”
THIRTEEN
Patriot checked the speedometer and, for the tenth time in ten minutes, wished the fucking truck could go faster. He’d been sent out to pick up a shipment of motorcycle parts that had been dropped at the facility in Tobyhanna and then left there, the shipping company having lost the giant crate in their paperwork. And what was worse than that was the facility was a goddamn Army depot, so he had no earthly idea how their shit even got through the gates. If that wasn’t fucking lazy logistics, Patriot didn’t know what it was.
No, that was a lie, it was a fuck up that meant he wasn’t spending the night with his woman. And that was fucking catastrophic—because his world would end if he didn’t get inside Cilla again soon. If their custom bike shop, Unchained Customs, didn’t need those parts for a custom bike build on a deadline, he’d have told Frost to wait and send Locust when the asshole got back from doing whatever it was that was keeping him away from the clubhouse for days at a time. The asshole was probably lost in quality snatch, and wanted to spend time getting her out of his system. Though, that would be the first time Locust spent any amount of time with a woman outside of fucking her.
Beside him in the truck’s passenger seat, Horde cursed.
“Motherfucker,” he grumbled, staring down at his cell like it had beat his momma.
“What’s that about, brother?” Patriot asked, wanting something to distract him from his annoyance at not being balls deep in Cilla.
“That was Cluster,” Horde answered, a note of “pissed” in his tone. “Stephie is at Cool Hands tossing back shots like they’re water.”
“Oh yeah?” Patriot mumbled, not really giving a shit. So much for a distract?—
“Yeah. And she’s there with Cilla. They’re both drinkin’, and neither of them seem all that interested in stopping.”
“What the fuck? Cilla?” Now he was fucking interested. “What the fuck did Cluster say?”
Horde turned his head to look at Patriot, his eyes narrowed and brimming with mischief. “What’s the problem there, Patriot? You interested in Stephie’s little friend?” The fucker was smirking, and if Patriot wasn’t driving a goddamn box truck, he’d reach over and throat punch the asshole.
“Yeah, I’m interested—more than interested, motherfucker, and you know that,” he admitted. “But my interest means shit when I have to hide her because of that fucker’s threats.”
“Any word from Red about the voice messages?” Horde asked, concern in his eyes.
Patriot shook his head. “Burners. The fucker uses a different burner phone each time. If the pattern stands, the only way to find out who he is is to keep a guy on Jaime at all times.”
Since that afternoon he’d listened to Jaime’s voicemail, he’d gotten two of his own, both from an unknown man threatening him, the club, and anything Patriot loved.
“…you took Jaime from me…so I’ll take something from you….”
The moment he’d heard that, he knew that keeping Cilla a secret was imperative, which meant that Horde was the only one who could know. Yeah, he could trust his brothers with his life, but those assholes still told their women, and those women were all gossiping birds. The second word got out that Patriot had a woman, she could be in danger. And that was unacceptable.
Patriot grunted, gritting his teeth. He didn’t want to spend time with Jaime, he wanted to be with Cilla every fucking moment of every goddamn day, but he had a duty to protect Stallion’s sister. He’d promised his best friend he’d keep his sister safe, and that’s what he was doing. But fuck if he didn’t resent that in keeping Jaime safe, he was straddling the line of bringing danger into Cilla’s life.
Just a little longer…. Fuck. Red needed to figure shit out, because Patriot didn’t know how much longer he could keep Cilla and his love for her a secret. He was bursting with the need to claim her, to weave their lives together so tightly, no one could see between them. He wanted her wifed up, his baby in her belly, and his name on her back.
Getting angrier the longer he stewed on the complications in his life wouldn’t help anyone, especially Cilla.
“Now tell me what Cluster fucking said in that text, you nosy bitch.”
Horde snickered before lifting his cell and reading the text.
“Your woman is here with her girl. Getting drunk AF. Need intervention?” Horde recited flatly.
Patriot snorted, knowing full well that what Cluster meant was does Horde want Cluster to drag them, kicking and screaming, to the clubhouse, and keep them there for Horde and Patriot to collect. And Patriot damn well wanted his woman under lock and key. What the hell was she doing out drinking without him there to make sure she was safe? He had no problem with her spending time with Stephie—Stephie was an awesome friend to Cilla—but he did have a problem with Cilla making stupid decisions, like getting drunk at a club owned pub without him or Horde there to keep the assholes away.
Fighting the urge to pull over and call Cilla and demand she get the hell home, Patriot grit his teeth and pushed his foot to the floor, praying to God and the Devil for the fucking truck to move faster.
“Well?” Horde prodded. “What’re you gonna do about Cilla? For me, I know where I’m headed once this shit is done. Stephie’s gonna be drunk as hell, and my woman is a goddamn fuckin’ rodeo queen in the sack when she’s drunk.” The man’s smirk turned smug as shit, and he chuckled under his breath. “Looks like my night took a turn for the better.”
“What’re you going to tell him?” Patriot demanded, desperate to know his woman was safe, and angry that he couldn’t be the one to make her that way. She was out on the town, drinking, and he was still more than thirty miles away.
Horde snickered. “Now who’s the nosy bitch?”
