The men divide up into two groups. Some, including the man who definitely has an auburn tint to his hair, get into the black sedan. The others pile into a black Jeep before taking off. I consider following them, but worry that my single motorcycle could stand out. So instead, I make a call, which is probably not the best idea given my current temper.
As soon as Maeve answers sweetly, I snap at her, “Who’s the fucking Irish ginger?”
“W-what?” she asks.
“Maybe you’re fucking around with more than one, but I’m talking about the Irish asshole that I saw leaving your place last night before I came over,” I elaborate.
“Wirth…please, let me explain…”
“Explain what? That you fucking betrayed the Knights and nearly got two of my friends killed?”
“I didn’t know that was going to happen!” she exclaims.
“Goddammit, Maeve! So, you did know there was going to be a shootout? That’s why you took me to your place, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t know anyone would get hurt! They were only supposed to fuck up the bikes!”
“What the hell did you think would happen when your friends shot up the place with people in it?” I yell at her.
“They’re not my friends! I swear! Please, come over and just hear me out, Wirth. Please!”
Hearing her say my name, it does shit to me, not just my dick, but it squeezes my entire chest. But now that I know her true colors, I can’t fall for her shit again.
“If you’re smart, you’ll pack your fucking bags and get out of town before every Dirty Ace in the country comes after you and burns down this town,” I warn her before ending the call. When she calls again, I ignore it and block her phone number.
I’m so fucking done with her.
Chapter Twelve
Maeve
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit!” I yell when my second and then third call to Wirth won’t go through. The first time I get his voice mail, but after that I simply get a message saying, “this customer is not available at this time.” I think he blocked my fucking number! I throw the phone at the wall, hoping it breaks. Not only have I ruined things with him, but I’ve also put Rian in danger.
Wirth knows it was the Irish that shot up the Knights’ bar. I’m not sure how he knows, but he does.
It was only a matter of time before the Dirty Aces and Knights figured it out. I had just hoped that I would have been able to convince Rian to leave by now.
Maybe there’s still time to at least convince Wirth to postpone the revenge against the Irish. I have to at least try.
I run over and pick up my phone that surprisingly still works thanks to the protective case I have on it. My trembling hands pull up the number for Crystal, another club girl. She hasn’t been very friendly to me, but I’m hoping a little cash will change her mind.
“Hello?” she, thankfully, answers.
“Crystal, hey, it’s Maeve. I need to ask a huge favor.”
“Maeve? Have you heard from the Knights? When are they coming back?”
“Ah, I’m not sure and I need to try to find them, so could I borrow your car? I’ll pay you a grand for today and another grand tomorrow if I’m still using it.”
“Two grand? Where did you get that kind of money?” she asks.
“Inheritance,” I admit with a wince. “So, what do you say?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll bring it over now to the bar and have Wanda pick me up.”
“Thank you,” I tell her with an exhale of relief. “I owe you one. And you two shouldn’t stay at the bar for long. No telling if the assholes who shot up the place will come back.”
“No shit,” she says. “I hope the Knights destroy whoever it was who did it.”
“Uh-huh, me too,” I lie. No matter how badly Rian fucks up, I would never wish death on my brother. Sometimes, I forget I’m his sister and not his mother since I practically raised him. Our father was always too busy to give a shit. The only reason he wanted a son was to brag about his heir. He didn’t have any plans for changing diapers or sitting up all night with Rian when he was sick or teething.
I pack up a tote bag with my phone charger, wallet, a wad of cash, my phone, and a change of clothes. Not that I expect Wirth to let me stay with him now that he’s figured out the truth; I just want to make sure I’m prepared.
I’ve just changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a tank top when Crystal texts me, saying she’s at the bar.
I hurry out the door and down the street so she won’t have to wait long in case Cormac decides to do another drive-by.
“Crystal, hey,” I say as I walk up and find her standing near the side door beside her little beat-up car. I really hope it makes it to Carolina Beach. If not, I’m guessing Wirth isn’t likely to help fix another one for me. Hell, I may never see the car in his shop again. I would deserve nothing less than him chopping up my Honda and selling the parts.
“Here you go, girl,” Crystal says, dropping her car keys into my palm. I pull out my roll of cash and count out two-thousand dollars in hundreds, then offer it to her. “Here.”
“Thanks,” she says with a grin as she folds up the bills and stuffs them in her purse. “Looks like the bar is still locked up tight.” She nods to the building that now has boards over the door and windows. Guess the guys had someone come over and secure everything after they left. In red spray paint, someone wrote across one of
