My Hero, page 2
I settled back in my chair, my gaze never leaving her face. “You wanna have this talk here or at your place?” I asked, my voice tight with restrained anger.
Her response caught me off guard, a sharp pang of hurt piercing through the anger. “Uh, if we go back to my place, are you going to kill me?” she asked, her words heavy with apprehension.
A growl rumbled in my throat, a primal instinct of displeasure that she thought I was going to kill her. “I think I’m the one who should be asking you that, Poppy,” I retorted, my tone laced with bitterness. “Last I checked, you brought your car to my garage, and then next thing I know, the damn thing blew up. I suppose the hopes were for the whole club to be working on cars when it blew, huh?”
The accusation hung heavy in the air, the silence stretching between us as Poppy’s eyes widened in shock. “What? No!” she gasped, her voice rising with panic. “That’s not at all what I wanted. I didn’t want anything to happen! I came there to get my car from you because I didn’t know what that guy was going to do. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I assumed it was going to be something bad.”
Despite the anger simmering within me, a flicker of doubt crept into my mind. It sounded like bullshit, but something in Poppy’s eyes told me she was telling the truth. “I helped you out, Poppy,” I reminded her, my voice softer now, laced with hurt. “Set you up with a payment plan for your car and even gave you rides back and forth to work.”
Tears welled in her eyes; her voice choked with emotion. “I know,” she cried, her words a desperate plea for understanding. “I didn’t want to do it, but they didn’t give me any choice. I knew if I told them no, I was going to die.”
My fists clenched at my sides, a surge of protectiveness flooding through me. “Who?” I demanded, my voice low and dangerous. “Who was it that asked you to bring your car to the garage?”
Poppy’s words tumbled out in a rush, her desperation palpable. “I don’t know,” she wailed, her voice trembling with fear. “He was wearing all black, had a tan ball cap on, and dark sunglasses over his eyes. He did have a beard, but other than that, I can’t tell you anything about him. I had never seen him before he cornered me by my car last night after I got off work. I swear, Yarder. I didn’t know any of this was going to happen. I tried to stop it from happening. As soon as I saw all of that money in my checking account, I knew whatever they were going to do was going to be very, very bad.”
“How much money?” I asked.
“One hundred thousand,” she gulped. “I have never seen that many zeros in my checking account before.”
“You were that hard up for money that you thought killing me and the club was a good idea?”
“No!” Poppy shouted. “You have to believe me, Yarder. I didn’t want to do it, but I knew I had to. I didn’t know what else to do. It’s just me. I don’t have any family or friends.”
“You could have gone to the police,” I pointed out.
She shook her head. “He told me they would be watching me all night. If I did anything they didn’t like, they would hurt me.”
“Then you should have told me when you brought the car in. You may not have family or friends, Poppy, but you had me.”
“Had?” she whispered.
The word hung heavy in the air, the weight of it settling over me like a suffocating blanket.
Twenty-four hours ago, I would have done anything for Poppy. We weren’t dating or anything, but I felt a connection to her the second I met her. Helping her out with her car and rides to and from work wasn’t a chore. It was something I wanted to do. She needed help, and I wanted to be the person to help her.
But when the time came for her to really need help, she hadn’t come to me.
She didn’t owe me anything, but I thought she knew I would be there to help her. No matter what.
And now the garage had blown up, Poppy was in the hospital, and I kept looking over my shoulder wondering when the next strike was going to come.
Whoever did this had to know by now that no one was killed in the explosion.
It was really fucking bad now, and I knew whatever we thought was happening was deeper than I had ever imagined.
“I believe that you didn’t mean to hurt me or the club, but just what am I going to do now, Poppy?” I asked.
Poppy
I sat on the edge of the bed, my mind swirling with uncertainty and guilt. I didn’t know what to do. How could I help Yarder after everything that had happened? I couldn’t shake off the feeling of worry that consumed me.
“He didn’t seem very comfortable,” I blurted out, breaking the heavy silence that hung between us.
“Comfortable?” Yarder’s voice sliced through the air, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What does that mean?”
“Like this wasn’t something he normally did,” I explained, trying to articulate the unsettling feeling that had grown in my stomach. “He never looked directly at me—”
“Because he didn’t want you to get a good look at him, babe,” Yarder interjected, his tone matter-of-fact.
I shook my head, trying to convey the complexity of the situation. “I know that, but it was different than that. He was really nervous. I mean, he scared the shit out of me, but he was always looking around to make sure no one saw us. And,” I continued, my voice trailing off slightly, “the uncomfortable aura had to do with the fact he didn’t seem right in what he was wearing. Like casual dark clothes weren’t his thing.” That even sounded lame to me when I said it out loud.
“Poppy,” Yarder said, his voice softening slightly. “Then what should he have been wearing?”
“A suit,” I replied without hesitation, my mind still fixated on the encounter. “He should have been some fancy guy in a suit even though he was in an alley cornering me.”
Yarder tipped his head to the side, contemplating my words. “Okay.”
Okay? That was all he had to say now. “Um, does that help?” I asked tentatively, hoping my observations would be of some use.
Yarder nodded, a hint of determination flickering in his eyes. “It will at least point me in the direction to start looking.”
I let out a weary sigh, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. “The only good thing is that no one got hurt yesterday,” I muttered, hoping to find some solace in the midst of chaos.
Yarder scoffed at my words, his expression darkening. “Can’t say that, babe.”
My eyes widened in horror. “Someone died yesterday?”
Yarder leaned back in his chair, his features drawn with sorrow. “Faye, a friend of Olive’s. She was in the back room of the garage yesterday. She was the only one there besides me. I went out when you pulled up, and the garage exploded before I could even think about getting her out of there. The firemen didn’t find her in the debris, and no one has been able to put eyes on her since.”
“Oh my god,” I gasped, a wave of guilt crashing over me. Someone might have died because of me. “This is all my fault.”
Yarder’s silence spoke volumes, confirming my worst fears.
I was calling myself every name in the book right now. Selfish. Thoughtless. Inconsiderate.
“If the firemen don’t find her body, then she has to be alive somewhere, Poppy,” Yarder said, his voice tinged with a sense of resolve. “Faye was going through some shit, and she often hung out in the back room for some quiet. For all I know, she could have snuck out.”
“Some quiet that got her killed,” I whispered, the weight of my words hanging heavily in the air.
We both lapsed into a heavy silence, consumed by our own thoughts and the overwhelming guilt that threatened to suffocate us.
“Dead or alive, Poppy, we’ll find Faye,” Yarder vowed.
Now, not only was I to blame for the garage blowing up, but I was also possibly to blame for Faye’s death.
When I was little, and my mom was still alive, she used to tell me the sun always came out after the storm. That no matter how bad things seemed, there was always something better coming down the road.
Well, I was firmly in the middle of the storm, and all I saw coming down the road was a hell of a lot more rain.
Chapter Three
Yarder
Poppy lay asleep in her hospital bed, her breathing steady and peaceful. I watched her for a few moments, feeling a surge of relief wash over me, knowing she was safe, at least for now. Slowly, I stepped out of her room into the quiet hallway, leaving her door slightly ajar so I could keep an eye on her while I made a call.
I dialed Compass’s number and waited for him to pick up.
“Hello?” His voice sounded tired, worn down by the events of the past few days.
“It’s me,” I replied simply, not needing to elaborate further.
“How are things going there?” Compass’s voice held a note of concern.
“She should be discharged today. Just a concussion and bruises,” I informed him, relieved to share some good news.
“Fucking lucky,” Compass muttered, and I couldn’t help but agree. Poppy was damn lucky, and so was I. I had escaped with nothing more than a scratch over my left eye and some bruises scattered across my body.
“Have you heard anything more about Faye?” I asked, my tone grave as I broached the topic of our missing friend.
Compass sighed heavily. “No sign of her, man. Olive’s going crazy demanding we look for her, but she doesn’t even know where to start.”
“She had to have taken off, brother,” I asserted, trying to inject some sense into the situation. “There isn’t any other reason why we can’t find her. Sure, she might have been in the garage when it blew, but the storeroom wasn’t close to the bay that Poppy’s car was in. I think she got out and saw it as her opportunity to get the hell out of dodge.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Compass agreed wearily. “You’re probably right. It would just be nice for us to be able to confirm that’s what happened.”
It sure would be. The club was dealing with enough without having to now find Faye. We were still looking for her ex, Anthony, too. Compass’s lead on him had fallen through, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that he had somehow gotten wind of our search and vanished.
“You think her ex somehow got his hands on her?” Compass asked, voicing the same concern that had been gnawing at me.
“It’s a fucking possibility,” I replied grimly, my mind racing with the implications of such a scenario. “Look into it. If we get our hands on him, maybe we can find her.”
“For that idiot’s sake, I hope he didn’t take Faye,” Compass muttered darkly. “Fade’s already wanting to beat the shit out of him, and if he took Faye, then he’s likely to fucking kill him.”
“Fade interested in her?” I inquired, curious about the dynamics at play within the club.
“He wasn’t, but I think her disappearing made him take a second look at everything,” Compass explained, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for Fade.
The guys of the club seemed to be dropping like flies lately when it came to women. Now, it seemed, Fade was no exception.
“You bringing Poppy here when they discharge her, or just dropping her at her house?” Compass asked, shifting gears to more practical matters.
“Swing by her place to grab some shit, and then we’ll head to the clubhouse. You know that’s the safest place right now,” I replied, my mind already strategizing the next steps.
Compass hesitated before speaking again. “You think she needs our protection? She’s the one who brought the fucking bomb into the garage.”
“The jury’s still out on that one,” I admitted, my thoughts drifting back to the events of the explosion. “But from what she’s telling me, she’s pretty much as clueless as Dove was with all of her dad’s bullshit.”
“Yeah, but Dove just had to spy on us. Poppy literally drove a fucking bomb into the garage,” Compass chuckled darkly, highlighting the gravity of the situation.
“There’s a lot more going on with Poppy than you guys know. Life hasn’t been easy for her, man,” I said, my voice tinged with sympathy for her hard life.
“Okay, okay,” Compass conceded, his tone softening slightly. “But we all got shit going on. Doesn’t mean we take the easy way out and agree to blow up a bunch of people.”
I knew it was going to be hard for the club to accept the nuances of Poppy’s situation. They couldn’t understand the pressure she must have been under to resort to such drastic measures. But I also knew that if she hadn’t taken that risk, I might not be alive right now.
A loud moan from Poppy’s room drew my attention, and I glanced in to see her tossing restlessly in her sleep.
“I gotta go, man. Just keep me posted on the whole Faye thing if you guys find anything, and I’ll be back at the clubhouse tonight,” I said, preparing to end the call.
“You got it, Bossman,” Compass replied, his voice tinged with respect. “Take care of yourself.”
I ended the call and pocketed my phone, steeling myself for the challenges that lay ahead. As I stepped back into Poppy’s room, she seemed to settle at the sound of my presence. I brushed her hair from her face, feeling a pang of guilt for the role I had played in bringing this chaos upon her.
Poppy had brought a shitstorm down on the club, but deep down, I knew she wasn’t to blame.
Craig Gibbs and Boone Drake were to blame, and they were going to pay for what they had done.
Chapter Four
Poppy
My heart sank as I stepped into my trashed apartment. Every drawer in the kitchen had been emptied, their contents strewn across the floor like debris after a storm.
“Oh my god,” I gasped, unable to comprehend the destruction before me.
“Holy fuck,” Yarder grunted, his voice heavy with disbelief as he surveyed the chaos.
“Why?” I whispered, my voice barely above a whimper as I tried to make sense of it all.
Yarder kicked at a broken glass on the floor, his frustration evident. “Normally, when you toss a place, you’re looking for something,” he mused aloud, his brow furrowed in thought.
“I don’t have anything,” I insisted, feeling a sense of helplessness wash over me. “I barely have enough money to pay rent every month, let alone buy a bunch of things someone would want to steal.”
Yarder glanced at me, his expression darkening. “They weren’t looking to steal anything, babe. They were trying to send a point your way,” he suggested, his voice laced with bitterness.
“Point?” I echoed, my confusion obvious as I followed him into the kitchen.
Yarder seemed upset as he walked over to the counter and pulled out a knife that had been stabbed into the top. My hand flew to my mouth in shock as I read the words etched into the counter: “You failed. You die.”
“That would be the point they’re trying to get across, babe,” Yarder remarked grimly, tossing the knife onto the counter with a sense of finality. “Grab whatever shit you want, and let’s get back to the clubhouse,” he ordered, his voice clipped and authoritative.
I shook my head, panic rising within me. “They’re going to come after me, Yarder. I already sent them to you with my car. I can’t let you bring me to the clubhouse. They’re going to come there,” I protested, my voice trembling with fear. “I’ve already made such a mess of everything. Just leave me here.”
“That’s what I want, babe. You’re not leaving my sight,” Yarder replied, his tone low and firm. “Pack your shit. Now,” he ordered.
I didn’t argue. I headed to my bedroom, which was no better than the living room and kitchen, with clothes, books, and records scattered haphazardly as if a tornado had torn through the room. With trembling hands, I grabbed a bag from my closet and began picking through the clothes that had been carelessly strewn across the floor. There wasn’t much to begin with, but seeing it all in disarray only served to highlight the pitiful state of my life.
“What about your job, babe?” Yarder called from the kitchen, his voice a distant echo in the chaos.
I ducked into the bathroom to grab a toothbrush and hairbrush and zipped my bag shut. I made my way to the kitchen, my mind racing with worry. “I don’t work until tomorrow. I had yesterday and today off,” I explained, trying to focus on practical matters.
Yarder nodded, his expression unreadable. “You’re gonna have to call them and let them know you aren’t going to be in for a while.”
“What?” I protested, my voice rising in panic. “I need to work, Yarder. I need money to live.” Was he crazy to think that I could just not go to work for a while? He knew how much I struggled with money, especially now that my car was gone; things were going to be even harder.
He grabbed my bag and looked down at it, his expression inscrutable. “This is all you’re bringing with?” he asked, his voice softening slightly.
I nodded, feeling a pang of shame at my lack of possessions. “Some clothes and my toothbrush,” I admitted, feeling the weight of my poverty settle over me like a heavy blanket. “Do I need more than that?”
He shook his head, his eyes betraying a hint of sadness. “No, babe. Let’s go.”
He took my hand in his and led me out of the apartment, my heart heavy with worry and anxiety for what lay ahead.
The club had left a pickup truck for us at the hospital. Part of me had been disappointed when I saw it—I had hoped for Yarder’s bike, a familiar symbol of freedom and escape—but I couldn’t afford to be picky about transportation now. Hell, I didn’t even have a car anymore.
We climbed into the truck, Yarder making sure I was buckled in securely before he started the engine. As we pulled away from the apartment, leaving behind the wreckage of my life, I felt a surge of fear wash over me.
I had no idea what was going to happen next, but I had to hope that I was out of the storm and headed to the sunshine. Maybe.
Chapter Five
Yarder
