Page 32

Credence made a noise of hesitation, punctuated by the clacking of his laptop keys as he typed.

“Working on it. Looks like they’re paying in cash, avoiding cameras, and using fake names at motels, so they’re covering their tracks on purpose. Last time they were seen in public was at a gas station outside of Bozeman a month ago."

“Which means they won’t like it that Hattie blew their cover,” I said.

“Seems like they know what they’re doing, Prez,” Credence replied. “If they feel the noose closing around their necks, they won’t hesitate to drop bodies if it means saving their own asses.”

I sighed, tilting my head up to stare at the twilight sky. I wish I had been wrong. I wish my gut instincts had been worried over nothing and this trial would pass by without even a hiccup of disturbance.

But that wasn’t going to be the case.

The only thing that brought me some measure of comfort was the fact that Gatling and Tex were still keeping an eye on Hattie, and they hadn’t reported anything unusual.

“Good work,” I said. “Keep me posted. Text the club with info on these guys, so we know who we’re looking for.”

“Will do.”

By the time I got home, it was nearly 11pm. As I stepped into the house Hattie and I used to share, I didn’t bother turning on the lights. I knew every corridor, every turn by heart. Sometimes, in the dark, I could have sworn I smelled a hint of her perfume, lingering in the air.

It wasn’t the prettiest house on the block—more functional than aesthetically pleasing—but Hattie spruced it up. Painting the shutters robin’s-egg-blue for a pop of color. Creating a makeshift library in a corner of the living room, stuffing those shelves with more books than she could read in her lifetime.

I knew she had hoped for a cute cottage, or one of those expensive, cookie cutter homes in the suburbs, but our lives had tangled here, twining together. I would have lived in a hole in the ground for all I cared as long as Hattie was with me.

Making my way to our bedroom, I sank onto the edge of the mattress. I still slept on the right side, closest to the door to protect Hattie. I reached out and passed my hand over the cold sheets where she used to sleep.

Five years after the divorce, Big G suggested I should sell the place. It was bogging me down, preventing me from moving on.

But that was the problem. I had no intention of moving on from Hattie. Not now, not ever.

Until death do us part.

This had been our home. We bought it together, moved in, and made it our own. We spent our wedding night in this bed. We had breakfast every morning in the kitchen, even if we were still seething from a fight and could barely look at each other.

Unlacing my boots, I kicked them off and heaved a tired sigh as I eased myself down into the pillows. After the unrelenting chaos of the clubhouse, it was eerily quiet here. Hattie should have been breathing beside me.

I didn’t remember dozing off, but the harsh ringing of my phone jarred me back to consciousness. I grumbled and squinted at the clock on my nightstand.

The red numbers showed 2:44am.

Fuck, that’s not good.

Retrieving my phone from my pocket, I didn’t even bother to check the screen to see who was calling me.

“What’s going on?” I demanded.

“It’s Hattie,” Gatling replied, and I knew it meant trouble when his Appalachian twang came through thick as molasses. “They tried to take her out, Prez.”

I lurched to my feet and grabbed my boots.

Just wait until I get my hands on those goddamn motherfuckers…

Chapter eight

Hattie

For the rest of the day, I continued to check the street for signs of Blackjacks in the area. But I didn’t see anything.

If Neil had even the slightest reason to believe I might be in danger, there was no way he would leave me unprotected. Even if we’d been divorced for over a decade. Even if I’d made cutting remarks to hurt him.