Page 67 of Bullseye
Ironclad…
And even Don Bordono…
Slowly. Methodically. One at a time.
When I open my eyes, I’m calm. But I’ve got to go.
“Thank you, Mrs. Villetrio.”
As I rush for the front door, I see Meredith. “Do you have paper and a pen?”
Luckily, she carries them in her apron and hands them to me. Jotting down my number, I hand the paper to Mrs. Villetrio who has followed me to the door.
“If you see Sen—uh, Sloane—or hear anything, please let me know.”
“Yes.” Holding up the paper, she smiles at me. “Avery. If you can keep my baby girl safe, do it.”
“I plan to, Mrs. Villetrio. I plan to.”
If only she’ll let me.
Hopping onto my bike, I rev the engine with no time to worry about my pipes or the neighbors.
Rushing out of the circular driveway, it’s like my bike knows the way without my mind telling it to. There’s no way I can find her “somewhere” on Long Island or in Manhattan.
But every second she’s away from me, she’s in danger. So, I need to find Mikey and Tony before they find her. And the last contact I had with them was through my father. And if he’s being held, no doubt it’s at… Shit.
Hanging a sharp turn west, I hop onto the Long Island Expressway and head straight for Don Bordono’s house.
The one place I swore I’d never return to.
Chapter Seventeen
Wildfire
“Oh, come on,” I mumble to myself. “Damn it.” Crouching down in the thick bush outside Johnny’s garage on the south shore of Long Island, I fight back against the damn sharp twigs and thorns that prick me. The snow falls from the branches and slips into the back of my hoodie. Thankfully, I have Bullseye’s sweatshirt to keep me warm and give me at least one layer of protection from the sharp little bastards… but they’re still scratching my hands and cheeks. Another clump of snow falls from the bush and drops onto my neck, trickling down my back…
“Shit,” I curse, wiggling around. Tears threaten again as I think about being in my warm bed in Hoppa with Avery’s arms wrapped around me.
“Oh, come on, Sen,” I growl, “get a grip. Enough with the drama. So, it’s cold. So? Matt’s dealing with a hell of a lot worse. Every moment of his life.”
Good. Thinking about Matt in that hellhole sobers me up. Ever since that meltdown in Avery’s truck, I have been a prissy, emotional wreck. And if there’s ever been a time to be strong, this is it.
Taking a deep breath, I watch person after person ride in on their bike—and the occasional car—paying Johnny to work his miracles. And damn, he does. He is a master mechanic.
My stomach feels hollow. I just hope he’s also a master at keeping himself safe.
I shouldn’t be here. Sinking back farther into the shrub to stay invisible, I palm my forehead. What was I thinking? Johnny has done so much for me already—teaching me to ride, to fix bikes, being there for me when Matt went away…
Is this really how I repay him? Hanging outside his shop waiting for two punks to find me at his door? Yes, he probably has info for me. Johnny has lain low for all these years, but he always has intel. Since he fixes the bikes for pretty much all the clubs’ members in the Tri-state—including Ironclad—he hears it all. And he’s trusted.
That’s how he found out that Mikey and Tony were looking for me, and that they had someone throw the brick as a warning. A warning to stay put. In Arizona.
And yet, here I am on Long Island—near Ironclad’s turf. And what I’m doing here is putting myself, and more importantly, Johnny, in danger.
I’ve got to start thinking clearly and get better at keeping those people I love, safe. Not just Matt, but Johnny…
And Avery. Damn. Why the hell did I have to fall for him?
