Page 6 of Darlin'

"Is that so?" Daddy holds out his hand, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "In that case, I'd like my credit cards back." He smugly nods to my purse. "All of 'em."

"Fine!" I grab my bag, circling the table as I fish out my wallet and remove three credit cards. I slap them into Daddy's hand. "I don't need your money anyway."

"Right." Daddy lets out a cynical laugh. "I doubt the airline will acceptstar rewardsas currency."

So. Rude!

"I'll have you know that I have some money of my own saved up, thank you very much," I say, wincing internally. Shoot, after paying Calvin for three years, I hope I have enough for a ticket. Teaching rhythmic gymnastics on the weekends to tots doesn't pay as well as one might think. "I'll bejust fine."

"John!" Mymother flashes him a desperate look. "You're not actually going to allow her to travel across the country alone, are you?"

"She's not going anywhere," Daddy says with a confident side-eye. "She's just trying to rile us up."

"Oh, I'm going," I say, marching out of the dining room. "Just watch me!"

"Savannah!" my mother calls out after me, but I ignore her, running up the stairs to my bedroom.

Damn it! I throw my purse on my four-poster bed, perching down on the edge and burying my face into my hands. What the heck am I supposed to do now? Am I really considering flying to California?Alone? I can't even go to a movie alone! Okay, before freaking out, let's look at the facts, at the logistics. One thing at a time.

With a groan, I force myself off my bed and sit down at my computer desk. I open my laptop and pull up my inbox, rubbing my eyes as I scroll through all the spam until I find an email from Calvin Investigations.

Step one: verify.

Holding my breath, I click to open the PDF from Dylan Moore, my fingers trembling as I read through the document. I stop scrolling when I reach page three. Oh, my word...itishim. I stare at the mug shot, taking in the grown-up features of my little brother. He's not so little anymore. His jaw is squared, his hair is...greasy,and—I blink. Is that aflippingtattoo on his dang neck?! What happened to him?! This is...this a nightmare.

Step two: research.

I close the PDF, hop over to Google, and search the Sons of Sorrow, immediately regretting that decision.

Racketeering. Drug Trafficking. Gunrunning. Money laundering.

My jaw hangs open as I skim the images of the terrifying-looking bikers. Leather vests, patches, tattoos galore, souped-up Harleys, and enough beards to knit every child in 'Bama a freaking scarf.

What has Beau gotten himself into? By the time I'm done reading through dozens of news articles, my eyes are red, dry, and chock-full of resolution.

Step three: conclusion.

I stare at a macaroni-framed photograph of Beau and me taken at summer camp ten years ago, my heart aching with longing. We were so young. So close. He may not be a child anymore, but he’s still my brother. With a sharp breath of resolve, I search through last minute flights.

"Come hell or high water, Beauregard, I am bringing you home!"

CHAPTER 3

SoCal Hospitality

"You're where?!"Momma's screeching tone fills my ears as I stand outside San Diego Airport and wait for a taxi. "I thought you were going to get your hair done! Please tell me this is a joke. You are notseriouslyin California right now!"

"Will you relax? I'm sure they've got salons in San Diego.” I flag down a cab and roll my carry-on to the curb. With a grin, I nod at the driver as he helps load my luggage into the trunk. "Hair stylists aren't exclusive to the south, momma."

"Savannah!"

I let out a labored sigh as I hop into the back seat and hold up a finger to the driver. "Listen, momma, I'm here already. There's no point in yelling at me. That ain't gonna magically teleport me home, okay? So take a breath and relax, huh? I'll be home before you know it."

"I am coming to get you! Where are you staying?" She pauses. "Well?"

"I'm going to hang up now, momma," I say, cringing. Ibarely had enough money for the one-way ticket and a cab ride, let alone accommodations. Let's hope she's as gung-ho about flying me home in a couple of days as she is right now. "I'll text you later, okay?"

"Sav—"

---