Page 8 of Phoenix

I’d ordered her to stay away from the center, but I had a feeling that the girl was too fucking brave for her own good. Too curious and scrappy to leave the situation alone for long. Which meant I needed to check on her sooner rather than later.

“You’re not even listening, are you?” Deviant asked dryly.

I tore my attention back to him, not realizing he’d still been talking to me.

He smirked. “Damn, you’ve got it bad, man.”

My expression was deadpan.

Then he grinned. “Heard you told her to call you Beck.”

“Assholes who gossip like fucking teenage girls,” I muttered.

He tipped his chin toward me. “That’s a first-name privilege, and we both know what that means.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I grunted, my hand tightening into a fist.

Deviant just grinned wider. “Never thought I’d see the day. You lettin’ some woman close enough to drop the road name.”

“She’s not just any woman,” I gritted out through clenched teeth.

“No shit. If she was, you’d be sittin’ here buried in spreadsheets instead of thinking about red hair and how fast you can get her under you.”

I shot him a glare, but it didn’t slow him down.

“I get it, man,” he said with a shrug. “We all got hit hard when it was the right one. Didn’t matter how long it took or how fast it happened. Just meant she was the one who could cut through the noise.”

Again, he wasn’t wrong. But no way in hell was I gonna admit it out loud.

He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Welcome to the club, brother. Pussy-whipped, obsessed, and one dirty look away from breaking bones for her.”

I exhaled through my nose, but the corner of my mouth twitched. “You done?”

“After all the shit you gave me? Not even close. But I’ll let it go…for now.”

A sharp knock on the door interrupted us, and I looked up to see Fox, our prez, standing in my doorway, his expression tight. “Got something you’re gonna want to hear.”

My brow drew down, and a fear I’d never experienced before seized my chest.

“Paul’s in the ICU,” he said without preamble. “Coma. Got the shit beat outta him last night and was left in an alley downtown.”

“Fuck,” I breathed as relief trickled through my veins at hearing that it wasn’t Lindsay who’d been hurt.

However, the fact that Paul had been attacked meant we were dealing with something along the lines of the darker shit we’d speculated about.

“Think it’s connected?” Deviant asked, already pulling out his phone.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “And we need to know who the hell he pissed off.”

Without another word, I jumped to my feet and stalked out of the clubhouse. When I reached my bike, I mounted it and drove out of the compound, headed to the hospital. My fingers itched to call Lindsay—to check if she was safe—but I didn’t want her to know about this just yet. I didn’t want her to be scared when I wasn’t there to remind her that I would keep her safe.

The hospital lot was quiet when I rolled in. I quickly parked, my eyes doing a sweep of my surroundings.

That was when I saw her.

Standing near the entrance, Lindsay had her arms crossed tight against her chest, her gaze darting around nervously.

Damn woman.

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