clear.”
She looks like she doesn’t believe me, but she nods. “Sure. Of course. Did you need anything else?”
“Nope, that was it.” I gather my ID and back away from the counter.
“Congratulations on the new car, Lola.”
I nod, my throat suddenly too tight to speak, and dash outside.
I jump in my car and try to breathe. I’ve worked so long to save up that money. God, I was a fool to transfer it out of savings. At least there, Trez wouldn’t have been able to get his hands on it.
I yank my wallet from my purse and pull out my checkbook. I rarely ever use the thing. I flip through it. The check number on the image is obviously missing, but so is the one after it.
I close my eyes. Holy shit he took two checks.
I grab my phone and call him. Naturally, he doesn’t answer, and it clicks over to voice-mail.
“You son-of-a-bitch, Trez. You stole my money, you goddamn thief. You better still have it, because I’m going to hunt you down and tear off your balls if you don’t.”
I disconnect. I know he won’t call me back. I can’t stop my eyes from stinging with tears. I still can’t believe he would do this to me. I know we haven’t been particularly close since his accident six years ago. But this?
Over the last few months, he’s been sliding further and further under the hold of the painkillers he was first prescribed to deal with his shattered leg and the pins that now hold the bones together. He’s endured numerous surgeries. But even after all of them, he now walks with a limp, and probably always will.
I know the pain was severe, and I know he suffered through excruciating rehabilitation, but that doesn’t excuse stealing from family to support his damn drug habit.
See, this is what happens when you let yourself care about someone. They stab you in the back.
My car, my beautiful GTO has been the only thing that’s held me together these last years. Now the dream of it evaporates before my eyes.
CHAPTER THREE
Lola—
I pull out of the bank and drive aimlessly, fuming and wondering how I’m ever going to find Trez. Each day that passes, more of that money will disappear. The check was dated four days ago, so there’s no telling how much he’s blown.
I slam my hand down on the steering wheel. “Damn you, Trez.”
Eventually, I find myself pulling up to the clubhouse. I shut the car off and sit, thinking. Rock will flip his shit if I tell him.
Trez is not a part of the MC, although my father has always assumed he’d follow in his footsteps. I’m sure Rock has always dreamed of having his son sit at the table with him, probably even becoming his VP someday. That all changed after Trez’s accident.
My eyes fall on Baja, the club’s treasurer sitting in a chair on the big wooden porch smoking a cigarette. He’s one of the younger members and one who doesn’t easily fall for bullshit, which I suppose is why the club put him in charge of the money. It’s hard to get anything over on Baha. His eyes connect with mine and he tosses the butt, stands, and goes inside.
Maybe he or one of the other Royal Bastards has a clue where Trez can be found. I shove my door open and follow.
It’s cool and dark inside. The logs of the old building give it a rustic look. I spot Baja behind the bar, bending to grab himself another beer out of the cooler. I glance around. He appears to be the only one in the place. There were three bikes parked outside, one of them my father’s, and one is obviously Baja’s. I’m not sure who’s riding the third.
I take a stool at the bar. “Can you get me one, too, Baja?”
He looks over, then leans to grab me one, setting it in front of me.
“Thanks. Have you seen Trez?”
“Nope.”
“Any idea where he might be?”
He shakes his head, and I take a pull off my beer, studying him. He and Trez are close in age and were close for a while before the accident. But since then, Trez has pushed everyone away. When things between him and my father turned sour, pretty much everyone in the club has given Trez a wide berth. They know better than to get in the middle of their president and his son.
Baja moves to the end of the bar, keeping his distance from