My current job has been a total nonstarter so far. Amber Wallace, my client and longtime friend, hired me to track down Forsaken’s Detroit charter president—well, he was the president before he’d been outed as a rat for the Italian mafia—who’s on the run. Neither Detroit nor Fort Bragg have any leads on where he’s gone. I have it on good authority he hasn’t made it out of the country yet thanks to a few Canadian clubs who are on agreeable terms with Forsaken. I’ve done everything I can from home since I don’t know where he is.
Rig was in Northern California when he went underground back in April, but he could have headed east to Detroit, or if he’s really stupid, he could have headed south for Mexico. I’ve been working the case for five months now, and while I’m impressed the slick bastard’s been able to stay off the radar this long? I’m losing my patience. Every time my phone rings, I jump for it and hope somebody found something on Rig. Four times today my phone’s rang and it’s not been someone with intel but my mother. She doesn’t know I’m investigating Rig, and I don’t dare tell her. She would go straight to the club, and that would bring me trouble I don’t want. It doesn’t matter that Fort Bragg doesn’t have the manpower or resources to hunt Rig and Detroit’s new president has no leads. Club business is club business, which means it’s none of mine.
No, she’s calling because I’m ditching out on my half sister’s, birthday party. I don’t know why she cares if I miss Izzy’s party, but apparently she does. The messages she leaves are just about always the same, and they don’t make me feel any better about not showing up after I said I would. If anything, they just make me feel worse.
You have to go.
She’s your sister.
And my favorite—her father’s dead.
Before that last message, I’d gotten up and was considering getting dressed. I even brushed my hair. I would have even been early if I’d gotten ready and left soon after. But the dead father guilt trip sent me to the freezer for the full-fat cookie dough ice cream in the large tub. I’ve been here ever since. On the couch with a big spoon and a belly full of awesome. And for just a few minutes, everything is right in my world. My dad’s not dead, my nephew hasn’t been kidnapped by a sick, traitorous motherfucker, and my mom isn’t calling me like a pushy bill collector. Sure, my ass is numb and the tub is almost empty, and what’s left is mostly melted, but for just a little bit, the entire world doesn’t suck.
Everything isn’t really right, but maybe if I hide out from the real world for long enough, I can pretend I’m not an overgrown baby who’s making herself sick because her feelings are hurt.
Her father’s dead.
I may be twenty-nine and not eight, but he was my father, too, and it fucking hurts now that he’s gone. He was an asshole who was only ever faithful to Forsaken, but he was my dad and he didn’t deserve to go down the way he did. Grief doesn’t care how old you are. Losing someone you love is painful no matter what. Even if you didn’t really get along with them.
From the other end of the couch, my cell rings. It’s not my mother’s ring tone, which I set specifically for her and coincidentally sounds something like a funeral march. It’s the generic ring tone I have set for everyone else. God, I fucking hope it’s about Rig. It could also be my mother being sneaky and calling from a different number. She does stuff like that, but I have to risk it. Reluctantly, I set aside my ice cream and grab my phone, answering it just before it goes to voice mail. “You got Elle.”
“Fucking finally!” I pull the phone away from my ear, startled by the loud ass on the other end. It’s Amber. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to pick up.”
“Tell me you got something on Rig,” I say, trying not to get too antsy, but this one hits close to home. Way too close to home. But if I dwell on it, I won’t be able to do my job properly. It’s hard not to, though. The asshole who got Rig to rat on the patch is the same asshole who sent the men who killed my father.
“No. I got bigger problems. Your shithead nephew skipped school and has been MIA since this morning. If he doesn’t show up soon, I’m getting in my car with every weapon I can get my pretty hands on and I’m hunting his stupid ass down myself.”