Page 34 of Rough Return

“How?” As club president, she should have been consulted. Informed at least. She narrowed her eyes when he didn’t answer. “How?”

He lifted his head and pointed an identical stare at her. “The fewer people who know, the better.”

As if he didn’t just inspire her to kick his ass, he walked out the open bay door and into the sun. The rays cast a golden halo around his head, and he looked more like an angel than the narcissistic devil she’d decided him to be. She followed him out. He took a beer from a cooler on the table and reclined on the top instead of the bench. “Grier, I demand that you tell me how you have it taken care of.”

He leaned on one hand and set the beer to his side so he could use his free hand to nudge her a few steps left. “You’re blocking my sun.” He laid back and threw an arm over his eyes.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me.” By God, he’d have a Fiona sized tan line in the shape of her head across his chest. She sat on the bench, facing out into the parking lot.

“Suit yourself.” He didn’t move. And by God, neither would she. This was her club, her job to take care of this, and husband or not, second in command or not, he wouldn’t keep secrets from her. The wood creaked as he shifted on the bench. “Fiona.”

She wouldn’t turn and look at him. Wouldn’t gaze up at him like some lovesick puppy. Wouldn’t act like anything other than the professional, no-nonsense, intense president of the Screaming Demons Motorcycle Club.

She turned. And gazed. And lifted a hand to lay over his heart.

Warm skin under her palm along with the steady thrum of his heart told her he wasn’t as unaffected as he wanted her to believe. And her stomach churned. Bile hitched its way from her stomach to her throat. Now wasn’t a good time for the puking. She stood and swayed before Grier’s arms came around her, to steady her.

“Fiona?” His concern would have been joyous for Fiona had he not spent two weeks ignoring her. “Are you all right?”

“The flu? I don’t know.” She couldn’t manage more words until she swallowed hard and took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths. The world stopped spinning and her systems settled. “I’m fine.” She pushed him off.

Weakness. She hated it. Hated more that she’d just shown it. Even more that she’d shown it to Grier. She walked on jelly legs away. At least she’d managed to hold her chin up and keep her shoulders back. At that moment, nothing else mattered.

* * *

Whatever Grier had done, however he was managing, at least they hadn’t lost any more shipments over the two weeks since she’d “blocked his sun” outside the shop. Of course, she hadn’t seen him either. She worked. She ate. She threw up. She slept. Nothing happened in between. Except for the aching. That happened all the time. Nothing, not warm baths, cold packs, or even sleep, stopped the continuous aching in her back, legs and arms.

“You look like shit.”

She didn’t deny it. But leave it to Hamilton to point it out.

She shot him a glare. “Thank you. But I can do without your opinion on my appearance.”

“Maybe you’re working too hard?”

If only he knew that while she showed up at work every day, she spent hours sleeping behind her closed and locked door.

“And maybe I need a vacation, but I have about a thousand things to do.” She gestured to the stacks of paper on her desk and blanched when he set a backpack full of this month’s “rents” on the towering pile in front of her.

Grumbling under her breath, she stood, turned the dial on the safe once and, if her life depended on it, she wouldn’t have been able to tell him or anyone else the combination to the safe. A group of numbers, by the way, she’d known since she was seven. She stared at the dial. Her father’s Rolex, his wedding ring, his signed by Elvis Christmas album, and a copy of the family tree lived in that safe. And dammit, she’d forgotten the combination.

“What the fuck…” She held the bag against her chest and sat heavily in the chair. Maybe he was right. She needed rest. A day off. Some time to kick the flu and feel better. She pushed away from the desk and stood, her bed looking better by the minute.

At some point, she would have to deal with the assortment of papers on her desk, but for now, she couldn’t think of more than snuggling into her pillow and pretending Grier was there with her. It had worked for a few days, maybe her luck would continue to hold.

* * *

Grier hadn’t seen Fiona in three days. Not really seen her in a while. Not held her in longer. And it was killing him. “You going tonight?”

He threw a box down to Sage who caught it and handed it off to Nate who gave it to Frank who piled it with the other boxes in the storage shed. This shipment had electronics that would be picked up to make room for the shipment they were escorting this evening.

Grier stared at Sage. It was either a really big coincidence that since Grier had put his plan in place, not a single shipment had been attacked by whichever band of road pirates had been going after the Demons, or someone had warned them. He didn’t want to believe it was Sage, but other than Grier, only Sage knew about the tracking device. He hadn’t even told Fiona.

The whistling that always announced Sedotal’s arrival made Grier’s stomach turn. The last thing he wanted was to deal with that rat bastard, but it turned out, he wasn’t there for Grier.

“I’ll be right back.” Sage walked away with Sedotal, and Grier pretended not to watch them, heads bent together, a lot of nodding from Sedotal. Goddammit. Grier didn’t want Sage to be the man on the inside, the one breaking trust, giving away routes and locations. But, while he couldn’t say for sure about Sage, he would’ve bet his left nut Sedotal had a hand in it. He watched for another minute before he climbed down from the truck. “You guys handle tonight? I have stuff to do.”

Yeah, he did. Watching them.