Page 58 of Gatling
Scanning the room, I didn’t see Ryker present. So I tried to find a familiar face instead.
“Hey, sweetie.”
A woman about my age with glossy red hair and an enormous diamond ring gestured to me from behind the bar. When she turned around to grab a glass from the shelf behind her, the cut she wore read:Property of Blackbeard.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked. “I haven’t seen you around before.”
“We’re looking for Ryker,” Noah said. “This is Kelsie. I’m Noah.”
The woman’s face lit up.
“Kelsie and Noah. I heard about you two. I’m Leigh, Blackbeard’s Old Lady.” Raising her voice, she gestured to a dark-haired man at a nearby table, with tattooed knuckles and a charming smile. “Diego, honey. Get over here. I have a question for you.”
He rose from his chair in a smooth, graceful motion, stepping behind the bar. He wrapped his arms around Leigh’s waist, kissing her neck. This must be Blackbeard.
“You know, sweetheart, I have a reputation around here with the guys. You can’t expect me to come running like a trained puppy every time you summon me.”
Leigh beamed and reached up to pat his cheek.
“Don’t worry about protecting your reputation, baby. Everyone knows I have the big, strong, handsome VP wrapped around my pretty little finger. Now, keep the PDA to a minimum. Kelsie and Noah are looking for Ryker.”
Blackbeard slid his hands down to rest on Leigh’s hips, pulling her back against his chest. He raised his head to look at us.
“It’s good to see you two under better circumstances,” he said. “Unfortunately, I can’t help you with locating Ryker. I haven’t heard a peep from him.”
My heart sank.
“He’s not answering his phone either,” I said. “I’ve called but he won’t pick up.”
Blackbeard shrugged.
“That’s normal for him. After shit gets rough, he disappears to lick his wounds and pull himself together. You could try his cabin, but don’t get your hopes up. When Ryker doesn’t want to be found, he vanishes without a trace like a ghost.”
Chapter seventeen
Gatling
Snowflakes filtered through the network of branches overhead, delicate and sparkling like sugar crystals. I sat on the cold, damp earth, with my back pressed against the rough bark of a tree. Blowing out a puff of air, my breath frosted into a cloud before it dissipated.
Reaching out, I patted along the ground until I found the bottle of whiskey next to me and wrapped my fingers around the chilled glass. Dark brown liquid sloshed around in the bottle, but there wasn’t much left. Nearly empty actually.
I drained the last drop, tossed the bottle aside. It clanked against the pile of other bottles clustered near a fallen, decomposing log. My head swirled from all the alcohol pickling my brain.
Darkness stretched long, spindly shadows through the forest. Temperatures were dropping by the minute. My bare fingers were red and painfully numb.
When Kelsie was in the hospital, I stopped by to see her after hours. The hallways were quiet, her room was dark. She sleptpeacefully, lashes softly fanning her cheek, and her breathing slow, steady.
Noah dozed in the chair at her bedside. So I didn’t stay.
But I got to see her. That was good enough.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered into the growing darkness.
I came out here because I didn’t know where else to go. The clubhouse—too loud. My cabin—too empty.
The forest…the forest was the only place I’d ever felt close to calling home.
The inflammation from the pepper spray had subsided. I could breathe without any struggle now and my vision had been fully restored. The gash across my stomach would take longer to heal, and every shift of movement reminded me just how close Olson came to gutting me like a fish.
