After Grease left, Slider and I were the last ones left sitting at the scarred table. It sounded like chaos out in the club, with bikes roaring out of the lot and girls bitching that they had to leave early, but it all faded out as Slider watched me.

I didn’t know if I’d done something wrong, if I should have stayed in Portland to get more intel, or just called Slider to relay what I’d heard. The seconds ticked quietly between us until suddenly he spoke up.

“You did good, kid. Now go get my daughter.”

I was up and out the door before he’d finished his last sentence.

Chapter 18

Farrah

I was on the couch watching Pulp Fiction with Cameron—who I thought was too young for it before he told me he’d already seen it—when I heard the lock of my front door turning noisily.

Our eyes met, wide and nervous. Shit. His eyes weren’t just nervous; they had a look I’d seen before. He was going into that protective mode that I’d seen on both Cody and Grease’s faces throughout the years. God, how early did it start with these guys? The little shit was only eleven!

I laid a hand on his shoulder and shook my head at him sternly to keep him seated as I stood up. He could scowl at me all he wanted, but he’d better keep his ass on the couch.

It was late and I wasn’t expecting anyone. I’d realized as a child that nothing good ever came from late-night visits, and at an early age had learned how to protect myself. I hadn’t been prepared when I’d needed it—those particular attacks had come in the middle of the day—but I’d learned my lesson. I was never unprepared again, and no one was getting into my apartment unless I let them, especially with Cameron there.

I walked to the side table and opened the drawer, quietly pulling my revolver out. By the time the door opened, I’d checked to make sure it was loaded and was standing in the entryway, the gun hanging loosely at my side. I really hoped the little shit would stay where he was, partially hidden by the couch.

As Cody stepped inside, I felt my entire body relax.

“Hey, Ladybug.” He looked at me curiously. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Shit.” I sighed, emptying bullets into my palm. “You fucking scared me.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I missed you,” he replied, stepping forward. “Some shit’s going on at th—”

Just then Cameron stood up from the couch, interrupting whatever he’d been about to say. It was like a scene from a movie as Cody’s eyes widened and he stumbled to the wall, barely catching himself with one arm. He looked like he was going to pass out.

“Cameron?”

“Hey, Casper.” The little dude was nervous, though I didn’t know why.

Cody gasped. “Holy fuck. What? How?”

“I’m guessing no one told you,” I remarked quietly as Cody got his shit together and literally jumped over the couch to reach Cameron.

They both laughed as Cody lifted him off his feet in a hug, and I swallowed hard at the sound. It was the first time I’d heard it in the two days Cameron had been hanging out at my house. I wasn’t sure what was going on with Tommy, but Grease had dropped Cameron off both times, so the club knew where he was. I wanted to ask what the hell was going on, but kept my mouth shut. The kid wanted a safe place to hang out? I wasn’t doing anything after work, and I kind of liked the company anyway.

“You’ve been hanging out with my woman?” Cody teased, pulling my attention back to him as he ruffled Cameron’s hair. “How the hell did that happen?”

His gaze came to me and I shook my head slightly. I didn’t think it was something the kid would want to go over again. It had been hard enough to live it.

“So, you’re back now?” I asked, wrapping my arms around my chest. I was fighting tears at their reunion and it pissed me off. I didn’t cry at happy things. That was ridiculous.

“Shit, yeah, and we need to talk. You okay out here? We’ll be right back.” He looked at Cameron, slapping him on the shoulder and giving it a squeeze in one of those weird male rituals. Then he ushered me into my room.

“I really hope you don’t think we’re having sex with an eleven-year-old in the living room,” I said, coming to a stop at the end of my bed.

“Seriously?” He rubbed his hand over his head. “I can’t believe that shit. How the hell is Cam—what—? Fuck, I’ll figure it all out later. We’ve got some shit happening at the club and we’re locking it down. You need to pack a bag.”

I looked at him incredulously. He must be out of his mind.

“Um, no.”

“Farrah, I didn’t ask you. I told you,” he replied, looking for a bag in the closet.

I wanted to stomp my foot like Will did when he didn’t get his way.

“You took my only bag, remember? When you took off and didn’t tell me that Trish was dead or what you were doing or where you were going or what the hell was the matter with you.” With each word my anger mounted, but he was too distracted to notice.

“Fuck. I’ll grab a garbage bag. Start grabbing the things you’ll need. Enough for a while, we aren’t sure how long this shit is going to take.” He paused to take a deep breath and I wanted to scream as he ignored my comments about the last time I’d seen him.

“I’m not going to your club,” I told him again. “No, thank you.”

He was wound tight as hell, I’d noticed it when he’d walked in, but once he’d seen Cameron it had seemed to evaporate. Unfortunately, the minute we hit the bedroom, the tightness of his muscles and the stress in his eyes had shown back up.