up the man he started to tell me about before he left—the one who he said, “cut women up for fun.” He’d remembered telling me about him, admitted the dude is bad news, but didn’t give me anything else.
At least he’s back to talking, and I seem to be on the right track. Getting in with Hatch and his associates can only bring me closer to finding out who this guy is, and tonight’s party is the perfect opportunity to do that.
I splash some cold water on my face and pull two pain relievers from the cabinet, washing them down with a palm full of tap water. I never did text Mason last night, but by the time Hatch showed up, I’m sure Mase was already sound asleep. If he tried to contact me this morning . . . A red flag fires in my head. That would explain Hatch’s interrogation. What did Mason say that Hatch read?
Unease crawls through me as I search out my phone. Last time I had it . . . I close my eyes and concentrate, pushing through my painful headache and focusing on what I was doing when Hatch showed up.
Sorting my drawers. I push from the sink and head to my room.
My bed is still strewn with clothes, Hatch most likely slept on the couch. I run my hands through and beneath everything, searching for my phone, when my fingers brush across a photo, slicing into my skin.
“Ouch!” I pull my hand out, sucking on the thin line of blood from the paper cut. Damn, that hurts.
I shove my uninjured hand into the pile and pull out the photo of my brothers and sisters and me. I grin at my Mickey Mouse sweatshirt and Mason’s response to my Disney obsession.
Right, Mason. I need to find my phone. I search my pocket. “Swore it was there . . .”
I race out to the living room, the back patio, and even pull all the cushions off the couch, but it’s gone. Nowhere to be found.
What the fuck? Where is it?
I find my charger in the kitchen and head back to my room. Sitting on my dresser is my phone with a slip of paper beneath it. Scrawled in barely legible writing is Car will pick you up at nine. Dress fuckable.
Charming. I shake my head and go to read whatever is on my phone that got Hatch’s hackles up. Dead battery. I move to the kitchen, plug in my phone, and wait for it to get enough juice to power up.
No new texts. Hm . . . then what the hell did Hatch mean?
I hit Mason’s contact.
It rings and I check the clock. It’s almost noon. I’m sure he’s working. His voicemail picks up, and I close my eyes, allowing the sound of his recorded voice to soothe my racing heart and aching head.
Beeeeeeep!
“Hey, Mase, it’s me. Sorry I didn’t text you last night, but . . . he’s back.” My lips pinch together, almost as if I’m waiting for him to get angry, even knowing this is a one-sided conversation. “Don’t worry. I’m still only yours.” God, I want to see him. Fall into his arms until I feel better. But I can’t. I’m too close now. “I love you.”
I end the call and then move back to the bathroom to take a shower. I have to be to work by six. I have only nine hours to revamp my plan to get information. Getting him drunk and talking isn’t working, but maybe the right combination of biker buddies and a whole hell of a lot of booze will do the trick. I’ll try just about anything at this point because I’m ready get what I need and go back to Mason.
Mason
The sun is almost down by the time I head out of the training center for home. I think Rex and I set a damn record for longest sparring session. Usually I don’t train this hard on Saturday, but with Trix tied up and my brother and Jessica taking up most of my place, I need to be gone and keep myself busy.
I drove by Zeus’s last night around seven and saw her car in the lot. It was near torture knowing that she was just inside, separated from me by a wall of brick and mortar while men, possibly even this Hatchet guy, were in there enjoying my woman’s body. I could’ve put a hole through my damn dashboard, but, instead, drove