Page 81 of Darlin'

"Forget about everything else," Andy says, straightening her posture and sighing. "I've learned that it's okay to be selfish sometimes. That might be a foreign concept to someone like you, but when you've got shit thrown at you your whole life, you learn that selfishness is just as valuable as gold." She turns around and picks up the tray. "But it's up to you. What do I know?"

"Thanks," I whisper as Andy circles the bar toward her section.

Lethargically, I pour drinks as I process Andy's unhelpful advice. She said family first. Beau is my family. I should do anything in my power to ensure that he lives a good life. A life that doesn't happen behind bars. It should be simple. Easy. But it's not. Why? Why is this so difficult?

Suddenly, a hand appears on my shoulder, and I gasp, jumping back and dropping a shot glass on the floor. "Lord Almighty."

"Woah," Jo says, bending down and picking up the shards of glass. She tosses them in the trash, frowning at me. "You're awfully jumpy today."

"You scared me," I say, heart racing as my gaze snaps to the apron around her waist. "Why are you..."

"Gina's out with a cold," Jo explains, turning to the cash register and stuffing bills under each slot. "JP asked me to fill in for her." She bites her lip, clicking her tongue while flipping through the ones. "Shit, I don't think I brought enough out." A table in section one hollers out Jo's name. She glares at them. "I'm coming!" She looks at me flat-faced. "I don't miss this one bit."

"Jo! Hello! We're ready to order!"

"You yell my name one more time, and I'll personally cut out your tongue!" Jo hisses across the bar. The older woman sitting with her husband hangs her head, mumbling under her breath. "What a cunt..." Jo rolls her eyes, turning her attention to me. "Listen, can you quickly run to JP's office and grab some more ones? There should be a couple of stacks in his closet thing. Middle shelf, I think."

"Yeah, I know," I say, wiping my hands off on the rag. "Just ones?"

"Mmm..." Jo fishes through the change slots. "Maybe a couple of rolls of quarters too. We're low."

"Okay. I'll be right back."

The clubhouse is eerily quiet without the core group. As I pass the lounge, Rocco and a couple of youngrecruits nod at me, and I smile back, holding my breath as cigarette smoke wafts up my nose. Jesse's office door is never locked, something I've learned every time I've had to come in and grab change on busy nights. His trust in his brothers is admirable.

"How does he live like this?" I hum to myself, scanning the messy and disorganized closet. I move a few guns, boxes, and random articles of clothing to the side and feel around for a thick stack of one-dollar bills. Biting my tongue, I perch up on my tiptoes and reach for the rolls of quarters. With the rolls in my hand, I pull my arm down and accidentally drag half the shelve down with it. "Oh, for Pete's sake!"

With a huff, I drop to my knees, rifling through all the crap on the floor.

"Jesse, you should sort through this stuff. Nah, I like it just the way it is, princess.”

He never listen to me!

Talking to myself, I shove back all of Jesse's hoarding material back on the shelf. "And who keeps cash out in the open like this? Why not put it in thisperfectly functional safe?" I tap the mini black safe stored on the right side of the shelf with every syllable, and on the third tap, the door creaks open. I scoff. "And he doesn't even lock it, seriously? I can't with this man."

An idea pops into my head. Progress has got to start somewhere. I collect all the stacks of bills and coins, and go to open the safe, immediately freezing as a loose-leaf piece of paper with random handwritten numbers stares back at me. My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach.

No...

It's probably a page long, most likely handwritten.

Miguel's threatening tone infiltrates every corner of my mind, and my breathing grows shallow.

Just close the safe. Shut the door. Close it. Close it and pretend you never saw it. Close it, Savannah. Close it!She's screaming at me. Begging me.Just walk away. Walk the hell away. You can't do this. You can't do this to them!

Them?But what abouthim? He's my brother. He's my baby brother. He's still so young. He's still got so much to experience. With me. With Marlow.

With trembling hands, I ignore my internal pleading screams and place the cash and coins on the shelves, my pulse quickening as I reach for the document, praying to God that I don't have to make this decision.

Please don't be a list. Please don't be a list. Please?—

Wincing, I scan the one-page sheet, tears budding in my eyes as eight sets of seemingly random numbers leap off the page and sucker-punch me in the face. Oh gosh...no. No, this can't be it. It can't. Miguel said addresses. These aren't addresses; this is gibberish. Yeah. It's nonsense. It has to be.

Despite my unwillingness to believe that the document in my hand has the potential to destroy The Sons, the longer I stare at the numbers, the more they make sense. There are no symbols for degrees and no indications of direction, but I know. Somewhere deep in my mind, I know these are coordinates.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I jolt up with fear. Swallowing, I take out my cell, fingers tingling as I read a text from Beau.

Beau

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