Page 32 of Wild Night

At this moment, it causes my stomach to churn.

The man in the driver’s seat does not turn the engine off, nor does he open the driver’s door. He just waits. And waits. I can feel his gaze burning into my skin from behind the tinted glass of the passenger window.

I know what he wants, and right now, he’s going to get it because I have no other choice. I hate that. Hate this. Hate him. Hate me. I also have to admit that I hate that I’ve put myself in this predicament. He is getting what he wants, and I know right now he’s gloating about that.

I reach for the car door and wrap my fingers around the handle, and although I refuse to show any expression on my face, inwardly, I’m taking in a deep breath and trying to calm myself before I tug the handle and open the door.

“You look like shit,” he announces instantly.

I haven’t even set one foot into the car, and I’m already being told something negative about myself. I probably do look like shit, though. It’s been three days since I’ve showered, changed clothes, or even brushed my teeth. I likely smell too—bad.

“I’m sure I do,” I murmur as I sink down in the seat.

Every inch of my body, inside and out, screams at me to run far and fast. The problem is that the only place I can run is to our home. And since we’re not divorced, even though I’ve filed papers and we haven’t lived together in two years, his name isthe only one on the lease, and as far as the world is concerned, his home is mine.

So he drives us home, and with every single mile that we move closer to the house, I feel sicker. The entire drive happens in complete silence. But that silence is filled with emotion, and that emotion is anger.

Red-hot anger. It consumes the space and threatens to physically choke me. It’s that intense. It’s so bad that I can’t even think straight. I don’t think of asking him how he knew where I was or anything. I just focus on breathing and hope like hell that I’ll survive whatever is no doubt coming my way.

IVY

“The last bus took off for California half an hour ago,” I announce into the phone.

Piggy is working today, but thankfully, took my call. He’s also on his way here to the bus station. The person who isn’t here is Posey, and she is the only one I want to see right now.

“Stay there,” he demands.

I don’t know what he thinks I’m going to do, but catching a three-day bus to California is certainly not something I would ever do. In fact, I cannot fathom how a princess like Posey is going to fare on that fucking trip.

A few moments later, Piggy comes careening around the corner in his unit, slamming on the brakes in front of me, causing the tires to chirp. Then the door flies open and he unfolds from the front seat.

Rocking back on my heels, I almost laugh. Here we are, him in his uniform, me in my suit and tie, both of us appearing to be the most upstanding members of society, and yet we bothshare the same tattoos beneath our clothes. We share the same brotherhood that is, without a doubt, laced with illegal activity.

I would trade nothing about my life at the club, and I have a strong suspicion Piggy feels the exact same way. So when he clears his throat and stands there, unspeaking, his fists on his hips, I know something is very wrong.

“What did you find out?” I demand.

“He’s undercover, alright,” he begins. I wait for the rest, wondering when he’s going to get on with it and, at the same time, not wanting to fucking hear it. “He’s been deep undercover. He met your girl when he was trying to get an in with her boss.”

“Are you telling me there was drama with a fucking winery?” I ask.

He snorts. “You have no idea. That winery has been under surveillance by the Feds for smuggling fucking cocaine with their deliveries, along with cutting and packaging it on site right there.”

“And was Posey involved?” I ask.

He shrugs a shoulder. Honestly, I can’t picture the woman I’ve come to know the past few days being involved in something like that, but who the fuck knows. People are capable of crazy fucking shit.

“Anyway, what I could find was that this guy was the agent chosen to go undercover. Problem was, he couldn’t keep his nose clean. I don’t know if I’m worse because I’m still working as a cop while being part of the Vicious Reapers or if he’s worse because he completely abandoned his duties and fell headfirst into this organization. He met and married Posey quickly and then disappeared for a while.”

“Now he’s back,” I say.

Piggy snorts. “Yeah, something like that.”

“What?”

I watch as he lifts his hand and runs his fingers through his short hair as he clears his throat. “I don’t know where he’s been. But being gone for two years isn’t a small thing, especially when you’re part of a syndicate like this. There is something fishy going on here. I don’t know what it is, probably because I still can’t figure out his real name.”

I don’t ask him why he can’t. It doesn’t matter. My body urges me to get on a plane and go to California immediately.

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