Page 73 of Perdition

Hallow.

And suddenly, he knew what he was going to do.

Pulling out his cell to make the first call, he immediately noticed a text from Patriot.

VP: Tomorrow. Cool Hands. 8PM.

Frost checked the time.

It was going on 3 AM, and he was still wide awake. Still thrumming with restless energy that no manner of lifting or running or sparring could dispel. And he’d tried.

His body was exhausted from the punishment he’d put it through at the clubhouse gym, but his mind was whirring madly, like clockworks wound too far.

Prez: I’ll be there.

Because, hopefully, Emily would be there, and he could see her. It was the first club sponsored costume party and fundraiser—Stephie’s idea—and he’d left the planning to Stephie, Kiki, and Cilla. He’d been intending to tell Em about it, invite her and take her with him, but…he fucking forgot. Another thing he failed to do—bring Em back into the Unchained MC’s embrace.

VP: Sarah was here looking for you a couple of hours ago. Sent her to her room with Cluster. He said he’s taking one for the team.

Frost grunted, shaking his head.

Prez: I’ll give him a cookie for being such a good boy.

VP: He says he wants your Fatboy. Fair trade, I’d say.

Frost growled, then chuckled, unable to stay mad at that unhinged fucker for too long.

Prez: Over my dead body.

VP: I told him you’d say that.

Frost went to put away his phone when it dinged again. He growled again, this time because of the name on the screen.

Sarah was texting, and he didn’t give a fuck what she had to say. He’d already texted her a message about being at the clubhouse tomorrow afternoon. The silly bitch probably thought she finally landed her big fish, but what she didn’t know was shewas going to be tossed back into the ocean, like the rotten skank she was.

Sliding his cell into the pocket of his kutte, he leaned back on his hands, elbows locked, and dropped his head back to look up into the wide, open sky.

His heart aching, his eyes burning with tears etched withhername, he sat there alone.

Desperately hopeful.

Terrified of what may come.

Disgusted with he’d done.

And praying, with all his heart and soul, for a chance to make things right.

The moment Frost walked into the clubhouse that afternoon, after trying and failing to grab some sleep in his truck, he grabbed Tony Dos from the bar.

“Go to Sarah’s room, grab her shit, and throw it outside the gates,” he commanded, ignoring the confused look on the prospect’s face.

Frost handed it to him, though, the man was confused but he didn’t hesitate.

“Yes, Prez,” Tony Dos saluted before hurrying off to do as ordered.

Heading toward his office, he unlocked the door, walked inside, then closed and locked the door behind him.

If she was as predictable as he realized she was, Sarah would be knocking on his door in the next ten minutes. It was like she had some sort of radar that pinged whenever he stepped inside the compound.