“Delta was out there in the midst, so at home. She belonged here. That made him happy. It was the thought of her being with that pretty boy Turner that burned him. Who would ever want a drunk like him anyway? Drake wrapped his lips around the bottle. He’d had so much Scotch he could barely stand, but goddammit if his mind wasn’t still in operating order. He’d even failed at shutting off his brain. Delta had slipped in and taken up residence in his system. He couldn’t break free of her voice, her... wide-eyed looks, her fucking soft touches. He had to. He circled the bar, expecting to find Copilot, but no, he was attached to Delta too. The dog would be out there with her. Drake bounced a fist off the hidden wall compartment. The springs flexed and opened, revealing small shelves of prescription drugs. The club only kept antibiotics and sleeping pills on hand. No junkies allowed in the Hell’s Sons. Oh no. He lowered the bottle of Scotch, considering the irony. No junkies, but they allowed a bomb specialist killer who drank too much into their midst.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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