“Do you think you killed your girlfriend, Godric?”
“Yes.”
Laying on him, my eyes heavy, his answer doesn’t seem to affect me. In fact, I reach for the blankets and pull them over us. I’m just as crazy as he is.
21
Godric
I wake at the crack of dawn. Monet is in the middle of the bed, sprawled out in the cutest way. Slipping out from the blankets, I snatch some jeans and pull them on, grabbing my boots and a shirt from the closet, I pull out my phone and text Pegs to let me out.
The door clicks before opening, and I step out, locking the door behind me.
“Morning. I assume our female prisoner is still alive?” Smiling eyes inspecting me, as if he’s searching for blood or injury. I don’t know if he’s joking or serious. Giving him a death glare, I walk past him and go to the main room to finish getting dressed. Sitting on a stool, I shove my feet into my boots.
“I know what we’re going to do today,” I tell him, tying the laces.
“What?”
“We’re ambushing the club tomorrow.”
“Okay, so what about today?”
Finishing tying my other boot, I look up at him.
“I’m going to find a guy who hurt a friend of mine.” My answer is vague as fuck, but if I tell him the truth, he’ll ask questions. And I don’t want any of that.
Standing up, Pegs holds his hand out to stop me, his gray hair looking more silver than yesterday.
“Does this have anything to do with that sweet little ass in your bed?” He shakes his head, obviously knowing me better than I want him to.
“And if it does?” I raise a brow.
He scratches the back of his neck, his head down as he takes in a long inhale.
“Well, you’re not going alone, brother. Let me go get my shit.” Walking away from me, he looks over his shoulder. “If you’re going to be stupid, you should probably have someone with brains to back you up.”
I laugh at his reply. “You sure it’s not because you’re bored?”
He turns all the way around with a smirk. “I’m definitely bored, but I can’t imagine any other way to spend a Tuesday morning.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re both sitting at the counter, digging through social media for information. We found Monet’s Facebook and stalked down a picture of her and him at some bar. She tagged him in the photo, making our search a cakewalk.
“Richard Reddings,” Pegs announces. Looking at the picture, Monet holds a sadness in her eyes while her ex laughs with his arm wrapped around her shoulders. I wonder if she was blind to her sadness. Would she still have made the deal with The Titans to save his life or let him die?
“His profile says he lives in Las Vegas. Works at Bar called Dirty Birdy.” Pegs points to the screen.
“It’s a little over a two-hour drive. Call anyone in the area and let them know why we’re riding through. I don’t want to start any shit with other clubs on that side of the state,” I tell him, stretching my arms for the ride.
Pegs nods. Las Vegas isn’t our turf. I don’t want any gangs or clubs thinking we’re coming through with shit intentions toward them. This is personal. We’ll be in and out.
Sliding off the stool, I slip my phone in my pocket and make sure my guns are secure in their holsters. Going around the counter, I open the mini fridge and grab two bottles of water for the road.
“Hey, God.”
“Hmmm?” I reply.
“You sure you want to do this?” Concern glistens in Pegs’ eyes.
I nod. “Yeah. Think of it as practice before we go after the Titans.”
His head turns to the side and shrugs.
I know my actions are extreme for a chick I don’t know I can trust, but I want to trust her, and seeing Richard can clear that up. I have a way of making people tell the truth. If he admits to fucking her over, I’ll know she had no other option when it came to Damian using her to get to me.
If she’s telling the truth, I’ll be the fucker who sticks up for her. If she’s lying…she’s going to hate me when I get back.
22
Godric
We pull up to the bar, parking right in front. Turning off the motor, I slide off the seat and stretch. The ride wasn’t long, but my shoulders are tense as fuck. The parking lot is packed. People walk in and out of the place, drunk and yelling in excitement. Others just walk through to get to the other side of the sidewalk. That’s Vegas for you—twenty-four hours of nonstop chaos.
“There are too many people here. I already fucking hate it,” I growl, eyeing a woman in a white dress and heels. She stumbles alongside a man in jeans and a dress shirt, both of them laughing hysterically.