If he had, well… I’d have to recalibrate who I thought he was. Again. And I couldn’t face that right now.
“I want to agree with you,” Gunnar said, “but being locked up changes you. There might be shit he had to do to survive that he wasn’t ready to talk about. If he was making deals with the Vipers, we need to know about it. Before he starts heading down a bad path again—getting pulled into other people’s schemes.”
“He’s stronger than that now.” I didn’t sound convincing even to my own ears. I’d thought he was stronger than that. But now, with these pictures in my hand, I wasn’t so sure.
“I’m giving you one chance,” Blade said. “Find him and figure out what’s going on. If you can’t deal with him, I will.”
It wasn’t a threat—it was a fact. Blade wasn’t going to risk the safety of the club. I nodded, trying to push down the nausea roiling in my stomach. I wanted to believe that Jazz wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t go behind the club’s back and try to make a deal with the man who’d done so much wrong to us.
I glanced at Logan. He was pale-faced, shoulders hunched, looking like he hadn’t slept all night. The nausea worsened.
It wasn’t just the safety of the club at stake. If Jazz was talking to Crave and somehow gave him an in for the club… He’d come for his sons first: Rebel who betrayed him to the police, and Logan who defected to Hell’s Ankhor.
I gripped the tablet hard. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Do it quickly,” Blade said.
I headed back upstairs. If the pictures were accurate, Jazz was in Monterey, and if he’d been drunk, there was a chance he was still there. I’d ride to Monterey first.
I had a plan now. I was focused. I’d find him. But as I passed his doorway, I saw it was open a crack, and I didn’t think it had been earlier. I peeked in—and he was there.
He looked terrible. He sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. The room reeked of sweat and alcohol; he was wearing the clothes he’d worn last night. The bed was mussed, but unmade, like he’d stumbled in and collapsed for a few hours.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Anger boiled inside of me—anger, and disappointment, and under all of it, fear. Fear that he’d fucked up too badly this time. That he’d have to come clean about having Viper connections and he’d be booted from the club.
If I had to choose between the club that saved me, and Jazz, the foundation of my life, who betrayed the club…
I didn’t know what I would choose.
“Where were you last night?” I asked sharply, as I leaned back against the door with the tablet in my hands. “What the fuck is going on?”
Jazz finally looked up. His eyes were dull and red-rimmed; he’d clearly been drinking a lot last night. He swallowed hard, then carded his hand through his hair. The Jazz from my dream—wet-haired, smiling, bright-eyed—flashed vividly in my mind’s eye. I wanted to see that Jazz. Not this one who looked so exhausted and—and hurt.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” Jazz muttered. “The kiss. It was a total violation, I’m—”
“Not that,” I barked. “That’s not what I’m here to talk about—we’re not talking about that.”
Jazz’s expression darkened, and he stood up suddenly. “What if I want to talk about it? I shouldn’t have done it, but it’s not all about you. You don’t get to just shut me down like that. Let’s fucking talk about it.”
It’s like he wanted to see me squirm. I was so frustrated, and angry with him, and if we were going to talk about it, it definitely wasn’t going to be right now. Was he trying to distract me? What right did he have to push me like this? He’s the one who got drunk and met up with fucking Crave, of all people, while ignoring my calls. Club business came first—he’d said that himself! Our personal business was second to the safety of the club. And that’s what I was here to figure out.
“I’m not gay,” I sneered. “Never have been—never will be. It’s not the big fucking deal you’re making it out to be.”
Jazz looked like he’d been slapped. He took a step backward like just being close to me was painful.