Page 87 of Thug

My stomach knotted into a ball. I felt like I was going to barf. “They were going to kill me?”

He stared.

“Price?”

He swallowed heavily. “Yeah.”

“They were going to kill me?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“You’re telling me I was digging my own fucking grave?”

He raised his hands. “I had nothing to do with it.”

A fist-sized lump rose into my throat. I swallowed against it, but it remained, nearly choking me from breathing. “You saved me?” I murmured. “Like, really saved me?”

He swallowed hard, again. “I picked your lock and went into your house, looking for anything I could find that might tell me where you were. I went everywhere I knew to go. Another MC in town heard about what was going on. One of the guys questioning you was trying to patch in with the other club last year. He didn’t agree with the idea of killing you, so he was texting one of the other club’s members, asking for advice. That member called me.” Becoming emotional as he spoke, he paused. “I sent the kid…I sent him a text and told him to do whatever he had to…I wanted him to prolong it without letting the other guy know. To give me time to get there.” He blew out a breath of relief. “I was afraid if the other guy found out, he’d just kill you.”

“The guy with the tattoos?”

He nodded.

I blinked. Repeatedly. “Oh. My. Fucking. God.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” I snapped back. “Jesus. If you hadn’t showed up, I’d be a corpse.”

“I’m sorry it happened.”

“You didn’t know anything about it.” I looked right at him. “Right?”

“I swear,” he replied. “In fact, I haven’t really spoke to the guy who ordered it done since it’s happened, which brings me to another thing.”

“Please, tell me it wasn’t Brisco.”

Every ounce of expression left his face.

“That big bald-headed motherfucker,” I snarled. “Really?”

Pursed lips and a blank stare were all I got in return.

I pounded my fist against the bar. “That cocksucker.”

“He felt he was protecting the club,” he explained. “I’m not making excuses or justifying anything he did. I’m just telling you what he told me.”

“I feel like I’m going to be sick,” I said. “Jesus.” I looked away for a minute. “There’s more?”

“A little.”

“Well, it can’t get worse. Keep going.”

“None of the fellas know what Brisco did, and I need to tell ‘em. It’s going to potentially cause a problem when I do.”

I didn’t care one way or another if he told them. Any means of resolution needed to be between him and Brisco.

“Don’t tell them,” I said. “Problem solved.”