Page 128 of Tracking Luxe

Rider regarded her thoroughly. Was he blaming her, too? She kicked up her chin refusing to look away. “You have to go and get him. I know what he told you, but you didn’t see him. He’s in fucking chains, he was bleeding heavily from everywhere,” her voice broke and she took a millisecond to clear it. “Please. Time… it’s been so long already. He’s hurt, I don’t know what they’re doing to him now.”

Please be okay. Please. Please.

“Prez. Do we need lockdown?”

Pensive. Rider paced, hands on his slim hips, she could see the anger on his face, felt the snap of it though his voice never raised. “Not yet. I need to make some calls. Someone take care of G’s girl,” and then to her. “Try not to worry. Your man is tough as shit.” And then, without giving her a solid answer whether they were going in to get Nathan or not the man in charge walked off down through the corridor and disappeared through a doorway.

Luxe stood on wobbly legs, feeling lost.

They weren’t just going to leave him there, were they?

Nathan was their friend. Their club brother. Even though he’d been clear to her to tell Rider not to let Grigori use him in any way to blackmail the club, which could only translate as to leave him there to his fate, he was more than that, more than a bargaining chip.

“Someone has to go and get him.” She spoke to no one in particular.

More bikes arrived outside, hardly anyone gave her attention as burly men barreled in and followed the same path as Rider.

“Someone has to---”

“Hey, now, sweetheart. Look at you, you’re frozen through. Let’s get you something warm to drink, eh?” blinking, Luxe looked up to see a tall white-haired man had appeared from nowhere. He must have been one of the men just arriving. “You come with me,” she hesitated. Not because she was afraid, the old man didn’t look like he’d swat a fly, she was bone tired, sick with worry, her feet wouldn’t move. “It’s okay. No one is going to leave Grinder there, I promise.” Luxe deflated with relief. “Come on, the kitchen is this way, we’ll get you cleaned up. Do you need a doctor?”

“No. No, I’m fine. I’d like to clean up, if I can?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart. I’ll show you the bathroom. That’s it, you lean into me if you want. And call me Uncle Jed, everyone does.”

“What’s going to happen now?”

“Club business.” Translation;mind your own. She scowled. Nathan was her business. “We’re not letting him rot there, he’s gonna be fine. But he’ll kick up a fucking stink if he sees we haven’t taken care of his girl.” He smiled, his craggy face transformed from stern to kindness and Luxe allowed him to lead her to clean up.

Time suspended itself. It was as though Luxe wasn’t even here, washing her hands in a porcelain sink with soap she didn’t like the smell of.

Or gulping a dark rich cup of coffee.

She was on autopilot.

Her heart was elsewhere.

In a basement.

******

The air was ten degrees colder from Rider’s expressionless stare. He sat at the head of the table, fingers drumming, as more of his men arrived, each of them angrier than the last.

The enemy had touched one of their own.

And make no mistake Grigori was an enemy now.

Shit wasn’t gonna wash.

They were still reeling from Tiny’s untimely death last year, so, keeping with the current situation Rider was about as pissed off as he’d been in a while.

It was down to him to make the tough decisions, the kind that no one wanted, because at the end of the day his club thrived or died because of him.

To separate the big from the small.

And Rider, as hard faced as he’d always been, was facing the toughest decision yet.

To draw his club into what would be a hard turf war over organized crime, that could go for months, years, generations, that even his kids would be embroiled in, to upset all the work his club had done in the past ten years, to put them back at base camp of fighting for every goddamn scrap, again.

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