Page 9 of My Hotshot

The room stilled.

“No,” I said, my voice loud enough to rattle a few skulls.

Compass turned his head and shot me a glare that could’ve melted chrome.

“Stretch did not flip,” Pirate said, his voice hard and unwavering. “There ain’t no fucking way that he did.”

Yarder shook his head, slow and heavy. “The only proof that Leo and Brynn have found in the past two weeks is that Stretch did, in fact, flip. He’s doing shit for Boone and Gibbs. He’s in their inner circle.”

I shifted in my seat, feeling the eyes land on me like weights. I hadn’t told Yarder about the call I made to Stretch. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. He would’ve made me call that number again, and that could’ve put Stretch in more danger than he was already in. Not that danger was avoidable anymore. The Banachi didn’t give a shit about loyalty. If Stretch was in their way, they’d mow him down with the rest of them.

“We all know Stretch wouldn’t go against the club like that,” Throttle said, crossing his arms over his chest. “He has to be getting close to them on purpose. Working an angle. When he’s got enough, he’s gonna flip it all.”

Yarder scoffed. “If that’s what he’s doing, then he’s an even bigger idiot than I thought. How the hell is Stretch going to take down Boone, Gibbs, and everyone working for them? What’s he got—nerves of steel and a death wish?”

“I never thought Stretch would flip on us,” Yarder went on, “but since we can’t get a hold of the asshole, we have to assume he did.”

“He didn’t,” I cut in, my voice low but certain.

Yarder glared at me. “I’m gonna need some fucking proof from anyone saying Stretch didn’t flip. I’m all for believing in unicorns shitting rainbows and Stretch not being a traitor, but we all know neither of those things can be proven.”

“I can prove it,” I said, still calm.

Yarder tilted his head, mouth tight. “How the fuck can you do that?”

“I talked to him.”

You could’ve heard a fly fart in the silence that followed.

“What?” Compass whispered.

“You talked to him?” Yarder asked.

I nodded, resting my forearms on the table. “Almost two weeks ago. Right after Leo and Brynn told us Stretch was with Boone and Gibbs.”

The look on Yarder’s face was a whole new level of pissed. I half expected steam to shoot out of his ears.

“You’re just now telling us that you talked to Stretch?” he exploded. “Two fucking goddamn weeks later?”

If I put a cape on him right then, we could’ve called him Super Pissed.

“How the hell did you call him?” Compass barked. “I’ve been calling his phone ten times a day. It always goes straight to voicemail.”

“Same,” Cue Ball added. “His voicemail’s full. I can’t even leave a ‘fuck you’ anymore.”

“Because I didn’t call that phone,” I said simply.

Yarder lifted his hand, already exhausted. “How about you just tell us exactly how you talked to Stretch since clearly you’ve got some magic backdoor line none of us do.”

“Had,” I clarified. “I had a line to Stretch. When I called, he told me not to call him again. That he’d reach out to us when he needed to.”

Compass let out a long, annoyed huff and leaned back in his chair. “Pretty sure by the time he thinks he needs us, he’ll be six feet under in a trash bag when Boone and Gibbs are done with him.”

“What the hell did he say?” Yarder demanded.

I met his eyes. “He was pissed I called him. Told me I was screwing things up. I told him he needed to get the fuck out of there. Let him know the Banachi were coming.”

Pirate scoffed. “Seeing as he’s still cozy with Boone and Gibbs, I’d say he didn’t take your advice.”

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