Page 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

THE POUNDING IN my skull was relentless, a brutal reminder of the whiskey I’d drowned myself in last night. My throat was dry as hell, my mouth thick with the bite of sour whiskey and bad decisions. Groaning, I rolled over, expecting the warmth of her body beside me.

But the bed was empty.

Lucy’s side was cold, the sheets untouched, like she’d never even fucking been there. My chest tightened, the fog of the hangover giving way to something sharper, something jagged.

I sat up too fast, the room tilting before it steadied. And then it hit me—like a bucket of ice water straight to the face.

The fight.

Her words.

The look in her eyes before she walked away.

Every step she took had screamed final.

I dragged a hand down my face, my stomach twisting from more than the hangover. I’d been drunk, reckless, lashing out because I’d felt like she’d played me. My feelings for Lucy were so fucking deep, so raw, I didn’t know how to handle them. And like a goddamn idiot, I’d let my temper get the best of me. I should’ve gone after her. Should’ve stopped her. But I didn’t.

Like a dumb fuck.

Even drunk, I knew I couldn’t walk away from her. Not Lucy. But she still had some explaining to do. This wasn’t all on me, she was hiding shit, and if she’d just come clean, we could figure this out.

Ashlynn hadn’t even made it back inside before I shoved her away. One look at her eager smile—a smile that wasn’t Lucy’s—and I felt sick. I muttered something about making a fucking mistake, and she stormed off, furious. I didn’t care. She wasn’t who I wanted.

It would always be Lucy.

But now, staring at the empty bed, unease curled in my gut like a snake. Where the hell was she?

She must’ve crashed in another room. Couldn’t blame her for that. I’d been an asshole—getting drunk, throwing Ashlynn in her face like a goddamn child. That shit wasn’t going to be forgiven easy.

I pushed myself out of bed, legs shaky but working, and grabbed a shirt off the floor. The clubhouse was unusually quiet, most of the brothers were either still out cold or nursing hangovers of their own.

“Lucy?” I called, my voice rough as I stepped into the spare room down the hall.

Silence.

I checked the kitchen next, half expecting to find her with Fiona or brooding in the corner with a coffee in hand.

Nothing.

“Josie,” I said, spotting him near the stove. “You seen Lucy?”

“Not this mornin’,” he replied, eyes narrowing slightly.

A tightness coiled in my chest. Moving faster now, I checked the common room, the garage, the round barn. Nothing.

The unease inside me sharpened to something colder, something heavier.

Her car was still parked outside. She wasn’t stupid, she knew the gate would give her away if she tried to leave that way.

By the time I’d checked the clubhouse perimeter, my gut was screaming what I didn’t want to admit.

She was gone.

Back in my room, the missing detail hit me in the face. Her backpack was gone, too.

I stormed into Devil’s office, pulse jackhammering, blood hot in my veins. He sat behind his desk, pen in hand, red eyes snapping up the second I slammed the door shut.

“What?” His voice was calm—too calm—but I wasn’t buying it. Devil didn’t miss shit. He already knew something was off.

“It’s Lucy,” I ground out, jaw tight enough to crack. “She’s gone.”

His brow arched, gaze drilling into me like a goddamn blade. “Gone where?”

“Hell if I know,” I spat. “Nobody’s seen her since last night.”

He let out a slow exhale, pen hitting the desk with a soft clack . “What happened? Why’d she bolt?”

I raked a hand through my hair, frustration clawing at me. “We fought. She was pissed. I was drunk… said some dumb shit.”

His eyes narrowed, face hardening. “Dumb enough to make her vanish?”

“At the time? Didn’t think so,” I muttered. “But… yeah. It was bad.”

He leaned forward, fingers drumming a slow, deliberate beat against the wood. “You check the cameras? How the hell’d she slip out?”

“Gatsby’s on it,” I said, shaking my head. “But Lucy’s no idiot. She knows the blind spots.”

Devil hummed low in his throat, gaze distant but sharp. “If she wanted to ghost us, she could. Easy. So what was the fight really about?”

My jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “Accused her of bein’ mixed up with Fang,” I said, words tasting like ash.

His expression darkened, but what came out of his mouth wasn’t what I expected.

“I don’t buy it,” he said flatly.

I blinked. “What?” My voice was sharp, disbelieving. “That’s not what it sounded like yesterday when you were breathin’ down my neck.”

His glare hit me like a backhand. “I said we needed to think , not jump to conclusions. Fang’s playing us, Spinner—wants us to turn on her.”

Fuck.

The floor seemed to drop out from under me. “I thought the same,” I muttered, heat rising in my chest, “but you all kept plantin’ seeds.”

He shook his head. “Think about it, if she was a spy, why the hell would Fang out her? Makes zero fucking sense. And if she was his ol’ lady, why keep it quiet? Drago sure as shit didn’t with his.”

Goddamn it.

I slammed my fist on the desk, the weight of my own stupidity hitting me like a punch. I’d taken the bait. Let my brothers' doubt creep in, let it fester . And now she was gone.

“Fang’s still breathing out there,” Devil said, voice concerned. “If she’s out on her own... he’ll snatch her up.”

“I know,” I growled, fists clenched so tight my knuckles ached. “We gotta find her.”

Devil stared at me for a long beat before giving a single nod. “Then quit wasting time. Go.”

I spun on my heel and stormed out, heart pounding, head a mess of anger, regret, and something worse.

Lucy was out there. Alone.

And Fang would be hunting.

Didn’t matter if she hated me. Didn’t matter if she never forgave me.

Because whatever secrets she had, one thing was crystal-fuckin’-clear—she wasn’t working with that bastard.

And I’d been a goddamn fool not to see it sooner.