but he looks like hell. Torch, has he said anything to you?”
He shook his head. “I tried talking to him about it a couple days ago, just said he hasn’t been sleeping much.”
“You buying it?” Gauge asked.
“Not really.”
Mace swirled his beer and furrowed his brow. “Maybe he’s just stressed about finances.”
“Could be,” Torch mumbled, though he knew there was more to it. Well, he didn’t really know, but he did have a pretty strong gut feeling—the sinking kind—and his intuition had always worked to his advantage. As soon as they got home, he was getting to the bottom of whatever was eating at Buddha. Whether the man liked it or not, he was the president, and the right to keep personal shit to himself went away the minute it started affecting the club. At the rate Buddha was going with the constant exhaustion, spending less and less time at the clubhouse, and his mind obviously somewhere else, that was bound to happen at any minute.
: : : :
An overcast sky provided some much-needed relief from the heat on their way back to Colorado. They’d left Gauge behind with the truck in Albuquerque—he wasn’t exactly in a hurry to get home—and made a stop in Santa Fe for Buddha to go see his buddy. For somebody who’d gone to bed before nine the night before, he didn’t look any more rested than he had at the bar.
Torch was getting more worried by the hour, the more he thought about it, the less sense Buddha’s excuses made. Insomnia? He doubted it. The truth was the man looked sick, and it would be just like Buddha to keep a health issue from the rest of the club so they wouldn’t make a big deal out of it.
Along with cooler temperatures, the freedom to go over the speed limit was making for a much more enjoyable ride, not to mention what was waiting for him at home. This had been his first overnight run away from Liv, the first time he could experience what it was like to have a reason to hurry back. He didn’t give a shit if it made him sound like a pussy-whipped bitch, the feeling was fucking fantastic. Sore ass and all.
Light drops of rain started hitting his face just south of the New Mexico-Colorado state line. He looked up at the sky and over his shoulder. The dark clouds behind them looked vicious, so he signaled for Buddha and Mace to speed up. Traffic was light in both directions of the four-lane highway, and he soon fell into a comfortable groove by keeping his mind on his woman instead of his president.
Noticing a white van up ahead on the shoulder, he signaled again and switched over to the left lane in case it pulled out without seeing them.
It did pull out, but not until they passed, at which point the fucking thing turned into a speed demon and rode up on their asses.
What the fuck?
Buddha scowled over at him. They hit their throttles and moved back over to the right lane to get out of the way. You never knew what was going through a cager’s head and it wasn’t worth getting hit over a pissing contest. He was hoping the van would speed by so they could see the asshole driver’s face, but no luck. It swerved over and pulled up on them again.
Shit, this was obviously more than a pissing contest.
He looked back and saw Mace trying to slow down the van and create a distance between them. But instead of staying behind him, it pulled next to his bike and started moving back over the line, damn near sideswiping his ass.
Fuck, what the hell was he doing?
Mace swerved out of the way and sped up, narrowly avoiding hitting the gravel shoulder. He caught up to Torch and Buddha in seconds.
“Get off at the side road!” Buddha yelled out, referring to an unmarked utility road up ahead.
When the van followed them onto the unpaved road and there wasn’t a doubt left that they were under some kind of attack, Torch downshifted and reached into his cut to pull out his piece. He moved over to the right to let Mace pass and started shooting at the tires to slow down whoever the fuck it was. Unfortunately, he also had to focus on not letting the bike slide out from under him on the dirt, so none of the shots hit their target.