Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 132332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
“Heidi, please don’t leave like this,” Hope pleads.
Heidi chokes on a sob and shakes her head. Refuses to even look at Hope.
Chasing them down will only make it worse.
So I sit there and do what I do best.
Nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Murphy
Move.
Get out.
Run.
My heart pounds with fury as Heidi and I hustle through the woods to the garage.
“Do you want to stop at the house?” I ask Heidi.
“Nope.”
Glad we’re on the same page. We’d be like sitting ducks there. Waiting for Rock and Marcel to show up and demand forgiveness.
Fuck both of them.
The old truck that I loaned to Grinder is in the clubhouse parking lot. He’s nowhere in sight though.
Good.
No one needs to witness our family meltdown.
Our family betrayal.
Hell, maybe Grinder knows too. Everyone in the fuckin’ world seems to know except us.
Our truck’s unlocked. Heidi flings the back door open and quickly buckles Alexa into her car seat.
“Momma!” Alexa’s ear-piercing wails tear at my heart and push my anger even higher.
“Murphy!” Rock snaps. Behind me, leaves crunch and twigs crack under the weight of his quick steps and heavy boots.
Fuck this. I need to get out of here. Now. Before I do something that will feel good in the moment but bring misery later.
“Get in,” I say to Heidi in a low voice.
A sob catches in her throat. I hold open her door. As she climbs in the cab, her eyes briefly meet mine. “Please, let’s get out of here,” she whispers.
Her anguished voice and tear-streaked cheeks further ignite my fury. “Don’t worry. We’re going,” I promise her.
Once she’s tucked inside, I slam the door shut and hurry to the driver’s side.
Rock catches up to me, grabbing my arm. He attempts to yank me around to face him, but I center my weight and hold firm like a mountain.
A mountain of pure rage.
“Murphy, stop!” he orders. Rock’s presidential voice. He expects to me to obey. Any other time I would.
Not today.
“Don’t,” I seethe.
“Let’s go inside and talk.” He gestures toward the clubhouse.
“No.”
“Murphy, I’m—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” I roar, ripping my arm out of his grasp. “Don’t pull your president bullshit on me, either. This”—I wag my finger in the space between us and the truck— “isn’t club business. This is family business. My family. You don’t get to order me around. You’ve been lying to my fucking face for months.”
His jaw twitches. Rock’s not used to people raising their voices at him. Maybe later I’ll regret it, but I’m too pissed right now. I jump in the truck but Rock blocks me from shutting the door.
His mouth twists in an anxious frown as he peers at Heidi. “Heidi, please. I’m sorry. Come back to the house and talk to us.”
“Pop-pop!” Alexa wails, reaching her little hands toward us.
Ignoring Rock, Heidi turns in her seat and tries to soothe Alexa.
“Blake,” Rock pleads, still hanging onto my door as if that will stop me from getting the hell out of here. “You can’t drive when you’re this upset. Not with them. Please, stop.”
The rational part of my brain understands—and probably agrees with—him, but the rest of me is so pissed off, his words are a match to dynamite. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Rock. You’re not my father.”
With those parting word bullets, I yank the door out of his grasp and slam the door shut.
He slaps his hand against the glass.
Ignoring him, I fire up the truck. I tug my seat belt on and turn to Heidi. “Buckled up?”
“Please get us out of here,” she whispers.
“You got it.”
As much as I’d love to stomp on the accelerator and tear out of there in some over-the-top dramatic fashion, I don’t want to scare Alexa or accidentally hit Rock—no matter how pissed I am with him right now.
He steps back and doesn’t pull any emotional grenades out of his back pocket—like flinging himself on the hood.
Both of our phones vibrate to life, buzzing incessantly until Heidi yanks hers out of her purse and shuts it off. She grabs mine from the console, powers it down and tosses it in the glove compartment.
I rocket down the driveway faster than normal, creating a bit of a bouncy ride.
“Wee!” Alexa shouts.
I glance at her in the mirror. Her little red cheeks are still damp, but she thrusts her fists in the air and yells, “Wee!” again as the truck bounces.
I blow out a relieved breath. Thank fuck, she’s not too traumatized by all that bullshit.
I wish I could say the same for Heidi.
And myself.
When we reach the turn for the county road, I stop and check in with my wife. “Which direction?”
Normally, we’d go right and follow the road into Empire. Left takes you deeper into Empire County—cow country. I glance in the rearview, worried Rock or Teller might be following.
“Right,” Heidi whispers.