Page 30 of Archer (Dirty Misfits MC 3)
“Hey there, Archer. She just made it into the club. From the sounds of it, she’s trying to get the girls not to spill on her since they recognize her.”
I scoffed. “If you had an update, why the fuck didn’t Finn call me? That’s his damn job.”
“Because we’re only fifteen minutes into things, that’s why.”
My voice fell flat. “I said I wanted an update every ten.”
He chuckled. “Well, if you want Josie back alive, you’ll have to settle for when we can get to a phone to call you.”
I stiffened. “Why? Is she already in trouble? What’s going on?”
“Dude, you have got to take some breaths. This is the exact reason why Brooks didn’t let you come on this mission in the first place. I don’t know what kind of weird ass attachment you already have to this girl, but you have to cut it out. She’s doing great.”
Relief flooded my veins. “Good. The guys haven’t noticed her yet?”
“Nope. Not one bit. And you have my word that if anyone lays a hand on her, it’s go time.”
I growled. “You make sure it doesn’t even get to that point.”
“Geez, you’re like a rabid dog, can you just—”
Shuffling sounded on the other end of the line before Porter’s voice sounded. “Arch?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yep?”
“She’s good, we’re good. We’ll call you with an update in about an hour.”
Then, the phone line went dead.
With my hand trembling in fear and anger, I clenched my teeth and slid my phone into my back pocket. Maybe I could go for a swim. You know, across the entire fucking Pacific to keep my mind occupied. Or maybe I could go for a long jog on the beach.
I snickered. “Since when do I jog and swim?”
You’re talking to yourself.
“Well, it’s not like anyone else will talk to me.”
You like her that much, huh?
“I mean, sure. Everyone likes the girl.”
Not what I mean, and you know it.
I flopped down into my back deck chair. “Oh, really? Then, enlighten me as to what you actually mean, asshole.”
You know you just called yourself an ass—
“I know what just happened!”
I bent forward and placed my head in my hands. Holy fuck, I had resorted to talking with myself. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes and tried to pull myself out of it, but it was like the voice in my head tried to taunt me.
Just say it. It’ll make you feel better.
You know as well as I do what you’re feeling.
Ever thought you’d be in Brooks’ and Porter’s situation?
I growled. “Shut up.”
No can do, asshole.
“Fine! Alright!? I love the girl! So, can we shut the fuck up!?”
And just like that, the voice in my head disappeared.
But it left me with the residual issues that came with what I had just admitted. I looked around to see if anyone had heard me, then I scurried back inside.
“Way too much salted air. I’m going nuts,” I murmured.
I knew it was much more than that, though.
Somehow, Josie had gotten beneath my skin in such a short amount of time. Somehow, she had wiggled her way into my life with the batting of her eyelashes and the strength of her words. Damn it, she reminded me so much of my sister that it was unreal.
She felt like home to me, and the idea of having that ripped away at the drop of a hat made me sick to my stomach.
So sick, in fact, that I doubled over my kitchen sink and dry-heaved.
“Fuck,” I groaned.
I tried to tell myself that everything was fine. That I was fine. That Josie was more than fine. But it didn’t work. After I half-heaved my stomach into the sink, I rinsed my mouth out and made my way upstairs to get dressed. I needed to go somewhere. I needed to get into something. Because sitting in my fucking house waiting for her to come home wasn’t going to cut it.
Now you know how she felt.
“Put a sock in it,” I murmured to myself.
After pulling a shirt over my head and grabbing my leather cut, I settled on a long-ass bike ride through town. I stormed out of my house and locked everything behind me, then I practically leapt onto the cushioned seat of my bike. I cranked the engine and revved it so hard and so loud that it drowned out the voice in my head for just a moment.
Then, I kicked off and made my way toward the ocean’s highway.
That was what I called it anyway. It was this big stretch of road in California that lined the coastline with nothing impeding the view except a flimsy metal guard rail. It was the most beautiful drive in the entire country, if anyone asked me about it, and I drove its length as much as I could before I mindlessly made my way to the clubhouse.
