Page 16 of Tempest’s Torment

“Do whatever you think best, Tempest; I trust you implicitly.”

His words hit me hard; he’s one of the best men I know. When shit was going down with his wife’s family, he called on me to help uncover the bullshit, and fuck, it was a whole lot of fucking bullshit, but his wife’s thriving and Lorenzo’s the happiest that I’ve ever seen him. Helping him out by looking over the woman next door isn’t going to hurt me; I just need to run it by Prez first.

“I’ll be in touch,” I tell him. “If you find out any information on Lilah, let me know.”

“You’ll be my first call. Thanks, Tempest. I’ll speak to you soon.”

The call ends, and I head back into the main room.

Ghost's leaning against the bar with Savage, the pair of them bent over a map of the south side. He looks up as I walk in, one look at my face and he folds the map shut. "Problem?"

"Not yet." I pull out a stool and sit down. "You know Lorenzo Mariano?"

Ghost nods. "Met him a couple of times."

"He called asking for a favor."

Ghost waits.

"A woman relocated here from Connecticut a few years ago. Omen helped get her out. Lorenzo's been keeping an eye on her from a distance ever since." Lorenzo’s wife, Quinn, hasn’t long given birth, he needs all eyes on Quinn, which is no doubt why he’s handing this off to me.

Savage frowns. "What's she running from?"

"He didn't say."

Lorenzo knows I'd never push if he wanted to keep something close to his chest. If he didn't tell me, there's a reason, but it’s still bullshit.

Ghost studies me for a second. "What'd he ask?"

"She lives opposite me." That gets both their attention. "He wants me to keep an eye on her."

Ghost is quiet for a moment. "Under protection?"

"Omen's...”

“You mean to tell me that the president of the Connecticut chapter of the Kings of Anarchy is keeping her safe?”

I nod. “Lorenzo's been the point of contact."

Ghost scrubs his hand down his face. "And now yours."

"And now mine."

He turns his coffee mug slowly between his hands. "She got a name?"

"Lilah."

He nods. "If she's under our protection, she's one of ours."

Conversation around the clubhouse doesn't stop, but it shifts. Everyone heard him. Ghost looks over his shoulder. "Savage."

"Yeah, Prez?"

"Word gets around. I want to know if anybody sees anything off around the florist on Whitmore."

Savage nods. "You got it."

Ghost's gaze sweeps across the room. Nobody says a word, nobody needs to. Message received.