find out she’s in one of your beds you’re all dead men,” I roar, my voice bouncing off the walls as I threaten every fucking one of them.
“Prez, what’s wrong?” someone asks.
“Church, five fucking minutes,” I bellow down the hall and stomp in the direction of the room we use for club meetings, which is on the other side of the building. I can’t resist slamming the side of my fist against the wall as I go. One final reminder to them all of how pissed I am.
I move through the main area, stopping at the bar to grab a bottle then march into the room we use for church, and fall into the seat at the head of the big oak table.
I twist the cap off in my fist and tilt the bottle up, gulping down a substantial portion.
The men shuffle in with bleary, hung-over eyes, leery of me as they take their seats or stand against the wall. Some still buttoning flannel shirts or pulling thermals over their heads. A few dip their heads to light up smokes, their hawk like gazes shifting to me.
“Where’s Lola?” I ask.
They look around at each other as if waiting for someone to tell me.
“Haven’t seen her, boss,” Critter says around a cigarette.
“Don’t think she was up here last night, least not after we were at your place. Why?” Tin Man mutters.
“She went out after dinner. I checked her room this morning. She didn’t come home last night, and she’s not answering her phone.”
“Rock, she’s twenty, now,” Wildman dares remind me. He’s one of the oldest members of the club; his long gray hair and thick beard around his sunburned face contradict the rock hard body he still has. Squint lines crinkle around green eyes that stare back at me, daring me to deny it. He’s one of the few in the club who won’t hesitate to tell me the truth, even when I don’t want to hear it.
I give him a death stare that shuts him up quick, and look around the table. “Anyone seen her?”
They all stay quiet. A few shake their heads.
I put my elbows on the table and run my hands over my hair. “I’m fucking worried.”
“Then we’ll tear this town apart until we find her, Prez,” Utah offers, always my trusted Enforcer.
Baja clears his throat, and my gaze slices to him. He runs his hand over his jaw and leans forward in his seat. “I… ah, might have an idea where she could be.”
“Spit it out,” I growl, pissed at his hesitation.
“Overheard her on a phone call. Said something about Bourbon Street and asked whoever she was talking to what time Katie was leaving.”
“Who the fuck is Katie?” I bite out.
He shrugs. “I’m guessing a girlfriend, maybe one of that rat-pack she runs with.”
The door opens, and Darko sticks his head in. “Wondered where everyone was. We call a meeting and someone forget to tell me?”
T-Bone, our Sargent at Arms, leans back in his chair. “Lola’s missing.”
Darko strolls inside, closing the door. “Since when? I just saw her yesterday.”
“Where?” I straighten in my chair.
“She came by to look at the GTO. She’s been salivating over it for months. Told her she could have first shot at it.”
“You what?” I boom.
“You didn’t know?” He frowns.
“I knew she was saving up for a car, but that GTO? She’ll kill herself.”
Darko huffs out a laugh. “Well, she did pretty good on the test drive yesterday. The girl can drive, Rock.”
I arch a brow. “She doesn’t need a fucking muscle car.”
“Then you don’t know her very well,” he has the nerve to tell me. “She’s been wanting one since she got her license.”
I run a frustrated hand over my hair and lift the bottle to my lips, turning it up. Maybe I have been distracted the last few years since her mother died, but it fucking hit me hard. Dealing with the grief of that, I suppose I let a lot of shit slide. Maybe I’ve been too lax with Lola, failing to give her the guidance she needs. The failure of it tastes bitter in my mouth, and I grind my teeth. I’m not one to easily admit when I fuck up, but shit’s been on the downslide with Lola for a while now, I’ve just looked the other way. It’s easier than dealing with all the fallout of Gillian’s death.
I set the bottle down a little too hard. “So you sold it to her? She’s off in it right