CHAPTER FORTY
*Coty “Coyote” - Vice President*
Iknow Zane and Lace fucked. If not yet, they will. I mean come on, the entire situation is a goddamn recipe for fornication.
A dash of horny virgin.
Several birthday sprinkles.
A palmful of pills.
One extremely insatiable, and desirable, woman.
As I watch the front door, imagining what might be happening inside, even through my anger and frustration, my dick unfairly twitches anyway.
If nothing more, during this rally, I have learned that I need her. I literally do not want to live without Lace. Thing is, my obsession comes nowhere close to trumping the dynamic going on between her and my club brothers. Which, unfortunately, leaves me sharing indefinitely if I truly want to keep her in my life.
Right now, what pisses me off even more, though, is that I cannot watch out for her from two places at once, and the only windows in the condo are on the beach side. For someone to get out that way, they would have to climb over the deck railing and scale the building. Not that Lace is incapable of doing such a thing, but knowing her like I do, her scaling the building is far less likely than her simply running out the front door.
Thankfully, Kal gave me his trust back and, as a result, my phones, too. Having those on hand makes keeping an eye on her easier. When she has her phone, that is. Which I happen to know she currently does, because my tracking app picked up an outgoing call to that Cali girl like five minutes ago.
What I am not anticipating, though, is for Lace to walk out of the door and said Cali girl to do a drive-by nearly at the exact same time, picking up my girl and hauling ass away in a matter of just a few blinks of disbelief.
I nearly drop my phone trying to dial up Kal and get on my bike at the same time. Panicking, I wobble trying to turn the key, hold my phone against my ear with my shoulder, and lift the kickstand all at once. It rings, and Kal picks up. “Fuck!” is all I get out as I take off, tires going squirrely on the launch. “Lace is on the move,” I manage to add before giving up, shoving the phone inside my interior pocket, and going full throttle to catch them.
The chick aiding and abetting her right now might be able to get away from the street crew she runs with, but her Duc is not as fast as mine.
I swear Hell for Leather can handle just about anything — anyone — except for Lace. How is it that someone in such a small pretty package is such a damn challenge? Whoever wrapped her thought it would be fucking hilarious to add a shit ton of extra tape. The thick, extra tacky kind.
I speed up, split lanes behind her between a truck and car until I can get right next to them and prevent her from doing that shit again.
Lace, her half-naked body curved around her getaway driver and helmetless platinum hair blowing all around, looks at me with red eyes and tears running down her face.
My thoughts spin faster than my wheels, trying to figure out what the fuck while my hand signals the woman to pull over. Unlikely, but worth a shot. She is damn lucky there is precious cargo on her passenger seat, otherwise this would get a hell of a lot uglier.
Zane being to blame for how distraught Lace is comes to mind first. Rage flares through my body at the thought that he did something to her that would upset her this bad. I flick my gaze to my mirror and spot his bike not far behind us.
The woman takes advantage of my split attention to launch ahead. Just as I propel forward to match her speed again, she abruptly slows down to turn into Tit for Tat, leaving me to dart past her and scrambling to hurry and turn back around.