A tumult of emotions crossed Evie’s face, from shock to disbelief, and then her hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh my God. I thought you died in service. I heard about the grenade and the shrapnel—”
“Takes more than a little shrapnel in the heart to kill me.” He glanced over at Zane, no doubt puzzled by the fact Zane hadn’t spoken up. But Zane simply wasn’t ready for this. He didn’t deal well with change or surprises. His life had been utterly out of control until he joined the Sinners. Now, control held him together. Control over his world. Control over his life. Control over his emotions. And right now, those emotions were threatening to overwhelm him and distract him from the task at hand.
Zane raised his gun, only to discover that Axle had taken advantage of the distraction to sneak through a sliding metal door at the back of the store.
“Fuck. He’s getting away.” Zane ran, slamming the door aside as he shouted a warning to T-Rex out back. He chased Axle through a large workshop filled with half-painted motorcycle fairings and gas tanks on stands, partially dismantled bikes, and empty bike lifts. The shop smelled of grease, paint, turpentine and the distinctive scent of fear.
The door at the far end of the workshop thudded closed and Zane’s feet pounded on the concrete floor.
“T-Rex!” He yanked the door open and almost tripped over the body on the ground.
Damn.
“You okay, brother?” He knelt beside T-Rex and felt for a pulse. T-Rex groaned and Zane whipped out his phone just as Jagger opened the door behind him.
Jagger caught sight of T-Rex and let loose a volley of curses. “How bad?”
“No bullet or knife wounds,” Zane replied. “I think he just took a hard knock to the head. I’ll call Shooter and tell him to bring a cage to take him to the clubhouse. Doc Hegel will look after him.”
Their new prospect, Shooter, a wannabe Sinner, who had almost finished his pledge year, had already proved to be one of the MC’s best drivers and marksmen, albeit a bit of a speed demon with an overly happy trigger finger. As a prospect, he handled all the driving. A full patch brother only rode in an enclosed vehicle if he had a family, and since Zane had just been voted “least likely to ever settle down” there was little chance he’d ever be “caged.”
“Where’s Axle?” Jagger asked.
“Forest.” Zane texted Shooter, and then gestured to the trees behind the shop. “We’ll need flashlights. If he makes it to the road, he might hitch a lift and get away.”
“This is my damn fault.” Jagger scraped a hand through his hair. “But … Evie. Can you believe it? After all these years?”
No, Zane couldn’t believe it. Nor could he accept it. Evie was part of a past he had locked away, a pain he couldn’t handle. Part of him wished tonight had never happened. And yet …
Evie.
His heart squeezed in his chest, an unfamiliar feeling for a man whose heart had stopped beating the day he discovered love was a one-way street.
With T-Rex under the care of the junior patch, and Gunner and the rest of the brothers tasked with calming the employees and sending them home, Jagger and Zane took over the search, crashing their way through the underbrush, their guns primed and ready on the slim chance that Axle hadn’t already made it to the road.
“Why didn’t you let her know it was you?” Jagger asked, his voice barely audible over the cracking branches underfoot.
“It’s complicated.” After meeting on the elementary school playground all those years ago, Jagger, Zane, and Evie had stuck together, leaning on each other for support and comfort, sharing good times and bad, but mostly playing video games after school on Jagger’s couch. As they grew into adolescence, Evie’s once-friendly touch became sweet torture for Zane. But he never even hinted about his feelings. The bond he had with Jagger and Evie was too precious, their friendship too important, to throw away on a teenage fantasy. Even after fantasy had become real, he’d kept it from Jagger, afraid if he spoke the words out loud, the memory would disappear.
“Why do I get the feeling, there’s something you’re not telling me?” Jagger raised his voice and gestured to a bush in front of them.
“There’s a lot I don’t tell you. Get over it.” He carefully made his way around the bush, his finger on the trigger of the gun.
“I got over your reserved nature when we were ten and met Evie and our entire playground conversation, which until then had consisted of grunts and one-word answers, evolved into naming the guys we were going to beat up after school because they’d hurt or scared her in some way.”
“Those were good days.” Zane signaled that he was in position, and shone his flashlight on the bush. Twigs cracked and leaves rustled in the warm summer breeze. He aimed his gun. And then a fox shot between his legs and took off into the night.
“Fuck.” Zane’s adrenaline surged and he slid his finger off the trigger. “Can’t you tell the difference between a man and a fox?”
“It’s dark. I heard a noise.”
“I almost shot off your damn head.” Zane tucked his weapon away. “We’re not gonna find him in the dark. Not without more men. I say we regroup at the shop and keep a watch on the road.”
“Agreed.” Jagger lowered his weapon. “But his bike is forfeit. We’ll get it repainted, and give it to Hacker. I promised I’d help him out with a bike after we patched him into the club. He’s still riding that ancient Electra Glide his dad left him. They do painting here. I’ll get Evie to give us a deal.”
“You’re gonna ask a bunch of civilians to paint a stolen bike?” Zane didn’t want any ties with Evie’s shop. He didn’t want a reason to come back. Hell, he didn’t even want a reason to remember this night.
“It’s not stolen. It’s ours.” Jagger laughed. “And it’s not like Axle’s gonna go to the cops and report it missing.”
They walked the rest of the distance to the shop in silence. What the hell was Evie doing here so far from home? Had she and Mark moved to Conundrum? If she’d been his girl, no fucking way would he have allowed her to work in such a deserted location at night. Or in a motorcycle shop which, no doubt, would attract some of the worst elements of society.
Kinda like him.
“You want to talk to her about the detailing?” Jagger pulled open the back door to the shop.
“I think we should stay the hell away from her,” Zane replied. “Let her lead her nice civilian life.” He followed Jagger inside. Did Evie work in the shop or in the store? Had she gone through with her plan to get a Fine Arts degree in college? If so, what the hell was she doing here? And why the fuck did he care?
“I figured that out when you didn’t say hello. And if there’s something you need to tell me, now would be a good time. Otherwise I’m gonna come back tomorrow, have a talk with her about the bike and catch up on her life. You should tag along. After all, you knew her as well as me.”
Better. Intimately. And he was pretty damn sure Jagger didn’t appreciate all the little things that made her Evie: from the soft lilt of her laughter, to her penchant for tight jeans, kick-ass cowboy boots and fringed leather jackets; her risk-taking wild streak that had made his heart pound, to the compassion, that had drawn him in when they were young.
Jagger probably hadn’t noticed that she cried over books and romantic movies, preferred nachos to cake, and never passed an elderly person without smiling and saying hello. His Evie had a big heart. But he’d figured that one out when, at eight years old, she held a wet paper towel over his eye after his father had beaten him one of many terrible nights.
Too bad she had no fucking loyalty and no damn faith.
“I’m pretty sure we won’t find Axle tonight, so I’ll be busy tracking tomorrow,” Zane said. “You go catch up with her. Just … don’t mention me.”
Jagger looked back over his shoulder. “For a man with a string of blood patches on his cut, you’re sounding like a pussy. It’s Evie, dammit. You’re acting like you’re afraid of her.”