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“You’re an asshole, Razor.”

“I won’t deny that, Truck.”

About that time Teller decided to walk in. Everyone stared at Razor, but it was Vicious who took the initiative and handled the situation. “Prez.”

The last thing Teller expected when he woke up and stepped out into the common room was a room full of his brothers having a heated discussion. Running over his weekly agenda, he didn’t remember there being a meeting scheduled. “Vicious, are we having a meeting that I didn’t know about?”

Still sitting with his arms folded across his thick chest, Vicious kept his eyes on Razor as he answered Teller, “Hemlock’s missing.”

“It’s my fault,” Razor commented, sighing heavily.

Truck waved off Razor taking the blame for the situation. “Nope, it’s on me.”

Teller stared at the small group of men not knowing where he should even begin. “Is this about to be an episode of forty-eight hours or do we know something.”

“It’s over a girl,” Vicious said, risking a look at the Prez.

“Excuse me.”

Truck closed his eyes hearing Charlie’s voice. Turning around he was about to remind her she was supposed to stay in the truck. Instead, he stayed quiet as she mouthed sorry to him.

The sound of a female voice coming from the doorway had them all turning around to find Charlie standing there. “If you’re talking about Hemlock, I think it’s my fault and no one else’s.”

Truck immediately walked over to her and hugged the girl. He heard the brothers grumble about how hands-on he was withher. Ignoring them, he walked Charlie inside and settled her down on one of the many sofas. “It’s not your fault. Razor was giving him hell about us.”

“What about us?” she asked Truck while looking at Razor who stood across the room.

“Exactly.” Noticing he was holding her hand, Truck let go and stood up moving back, putting distance between them. That’s when he realized he’d been doing things the wrong way. Hugging her too long, having inside jokes that Hemlock wasn’t privy to, spending too much downtime with her in hopes of helping his brother out with the girl. “It’s my fault.”

“What the fuck?” Teller looked at Vicious. “Do we think Hemlock is in some sort of trouble or just trying to figure himself out?”

Dropping his arms, Vicious stood and stepped next to Teller. “I think he’s trying to figure himself out.”

Shaking his head, Teller headed for the office and a shit ton of paperwork he needed to deal with. “Keep me informed of any developments.”

“Will do,” Vicious said, glancing over his shoulder.

“It’s a fucking episode of the Golden Girls.” Vicious chuckled hearing Teller mumble as he walked away.

Chapter Sixteen

Three days. Three days of endless searching, calling in every favor, checking every damn place he could think of. And still, no sign of Hemlock. Truck’s throat was raw from shouting his name into empty streets, from listening to Charlie’s frantic voice on the phone, from the silence that seemed to swallow them both every time the line went dead.

Hemlock had been like a brother to him. Hell, theywerebrothers—blood or not. The idea of losing him, of not knowing where he was, or worse—what had happened to him—it was eating at him, gnawing at his insides.

The thought of Hemlock out there, alone, vulnerable—it made his chest tighten. He wasn’t a man to show weakness, but the fear was there, simmering just below the surface, threatening to boil over. If anything happened to Hemlock and he wasn’t there to help him? It would kill him.

Charlie was worried sick over him and had barely worked, wanting to be home if he showed back up. She was a wreck with worry. If he didn’t at least call in the next twenty-four hours, Truck was calling the cops and reporting him missing. It wasn’twhat the chapter would want but to hell with them. Hemlock was the only family Truck had, and he wasn’t about to lose him.

“Goddamn it, Hemlock,” Truck growled. “Where the hell are you?”

Pulling up to his house, Truck’s heart leaped into his throat. There, sitting on the front steps in the dimming light of dusk, was Hemlock. His posture was hunched, as if the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders, and his head was down, eyes locked on the pavement.

For a second, Truck just stared at him. Relief flooded through him, hot and immediate—but it was tangled up with a fire of frustration that threatened to consume it.

He didn’t even stop the bike. Before he swung his leg off and planted both boots on the ground, he pulled his phone from his pocket and shot a quick text to Vicious:Hemlock’s been located. No details yet. Will keep you posted.

The VP didn’t need the specifics just yet. He just needed to know things were in motion, that the kid wasn’tdead, and that was all Truck was going to give him for now.