I manage to lean over enough to see outside Duke’s window but just barely. All the windows in the back are blacked out, though some better than others. The last time I was here the windows were just tinted. I guess the job called for greater privacy.
We swing by a house I don’t recognize—a small ranch that looks like every other ranch in Fort Bragg—and at first I assume it’s a club property despite how well its kept up. But then Ian steps out with both Sergeant Mercer and Mindy hot on his heels. Sergeant Mercer says nothing, just gives Ian and the van dirty-ass looks as he comes to a stop at the edge of his grass. Mindy, however, doesn’t make it but five feet from her front door before she backs herself into the house and shuts herself inside.
The side door to the van slides open. Ian’s scarred face stares me down. He shakes his head and then focuses in on Ryan. “I don’t know what fucking game you’re playing here, but our next stop had better be to drop my sister off back home before we take care of business.”
When Ryan doesn’t respond, I get nervous and look up at him. “Don’t you dare take me home.”
“Christ. She’s coming with us?” Ian says and sits across from us. The door slides shut slowly, and Sergeant Mercer’s face disappears behind the painted glass. Ian does nothing but sit in his spot and glare at Ryan disapprovingly.
Ian’s foot has been twitching since we hit the edge of town, and by the time we’re halfway to Willits, his twitch turns violent and he kicks Ryan in the shin. The first kick Ryan ignores, which seems to aggravate Ian into kicking him again. And again. Ryan slides off the seat beside me and lunges toward his brother—my brother—slamming him into the steel behind him. Ryan attempts to block him, but Ian wraps his lanky extremities around Ryan’s bulky body in what looks like some crazy praying mantis move. Ryan’s legs kick backward and hit me in my knees. Quickly, I move sideways and cling to the back of Jeremy’s seat, bringing my legs up underneath me to avoid as much injury as possible.
From the front passenger seat, Duke laughs and turns toward me. His blue eyes shine as he says, “Break it up, Princess.”
“They’ll call it quits when they’re ready,” I say. It’s not that I’m afraid of breaking it up—it’s just that it’s not my place. And I don’t really know how to break it up. They seem awfully invested in what they’re doing.
Duke snorts and turns back around, ignoring the scuffle. Across the van, Ryan and Ian have fallen off the bench and are on the ground, each on their sides, taking swings at one another. I’ve seen them go at it before, and I can tell they’re not really angry with one another. They just need to break the tension before we do whatever it is we’re about to do.
Aside from the sound of skin hitting skin, the van is eerily silent for the next hour. I can hear just about every word Ian and Ryan are saying to one another as they put each other in headlocks and head-butt one another. Ryan is pissed at Ian for spending so much time at Mindy’s house, and Ian is pissed at Ryan for bringing me along. It’s a while before they finally get to the meat of the argument—that they each feel the other is placing a chick above the patch—and once the real problem is out there, they both seem to calm down. I’d rather not listen to this, though, so I turn my attention to Duke and Jeremy, who are bickering about something else entirely.
“I was watching the road,” Jeremy gripes, now with both hands firmly on the wheel and his eyes straight ahead.
“No, you were texting Miss Priss,” Duke says.
“Wishing her a happy Valentine’s Day?” I ask Jeremy, inserting myself into the conversation in every effort to avoid the crap that’s going on behind me.
“Something like that,” Jeremy says with gritted teeth.
“Phone.” Duke reaches his hand out to Jeremy and wiggles his fingers while he waits. Jeremy side-eyes Duke and then takes a quick peek behind him in the rearview mirror. Our eyes meet, with his looking half-panicked and half-annoyed. Whatever he said in the text isn’t something he wants shared with Duke.
I pull my phone out of my back pocket and pull up Cheyenne’s message thread. The last time we talked was a few days ago, and she didn’t really know what to do about Jeremy. He’s been doing that creepy Forsaken man thing where he doesn’t talk to her but just kind of hangs around her making her suspicious. I’ve tried to give her what advice I could, but it’s not like Ryan and I went about the whole getting together thing in the healthiest way.
WHAT DID JER TEXT YOU?
Checking on Duke and Jeremy, I find that Duke still has his hand out and Jeremy is firmly ignoring him.
STILL THINKING BOUT UR ASS.
CAN U BELIEVE THAT???
I try to stifle a giggle but can’t help myself. The noise catches Duke’s attention. He still hasn’t lowered his hand, and I doubt he will until Jeremy hands over the phone. One thing about Duke—he’s stubborn as all get out. It’s no wonder Nic gave up and stopped running from him. Well, that and the whole being pregnant thing—having to waddle doesn’t help her mobility much.