Journey (Soulless Kings MC: Marble Falls, TX #2)

9. Journey

CHAPTER 9

JOURNEY

It is her.

“Where are you headed in such a hurry?”

I skid to a stop and turn to face Ghost. Jackyl just texted me that Wren’s at the bar tonight, and I’ve got questions… lots of fucking questions.

“Out.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Ghost counters. “Any place in particular?”

“Nope.”

“Ah, so Ballinger’s again?”

“Nope.”

He grins mischievously. “Have fun then.”

“Bite me,” I snap before whirling around and racing out of the clubhouse.

I throw my leg over my Harley and start her up. The rumble of the machine lulls me into a false sense of security, and I use the ride to replay my last conversation with Tracer in my mind.

“Dude, you were right.”

I close the door to Tracer’s room and move to stand behind him. He’s been digging into Wren for me, trying to make sense of my second encounter with her.

“About?” I ask, not at all sure I want to know what he’s found.

“That chick is crazy with a capital ‘C’.”

I groan. “How so?”

“Let’s just say, life with her would never be dull.”

“How. So?”

“You might wanna sit down,” he suggests, nodding toward the lounge chair he has in the corner. “There’s a lot of information to digest.”

I hesitate for a moment before moving to the chair, sitting, and throwing my legs over the arm. “Okay. Hit me.”

“For starters, she’s squeaky clean as far as a criminal record, so that’s good.”

“Because I’d give a damn if she had a record.”

“Fair enough. But at least it’s less likely that she’s in cahoots with any enemies of the club.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s good.”

“Now onto the not-so-good.” Tracer takes a deep breath. “She grew up in foster care, bouncing from one fam ? —”

“So her parents were pieces of shit,” I snap, inexplicably angry on Wren’s behalf.

“Well…”

I level my stare on him. “Well, what?”

“Her father is a piece of shit. Worse than that, actually.” His eyes harden. “He killed her mom and baby brother.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “When?”

“From all accounts, Wren was five and present when it happened. Fucker used a hammer as a weapon.”

“Please tell me he’s dead,” I snarl.

“‘Fraid not,” he says. “Serving a life sentence, though.”

“Not good enough.”

“No, it’s not, but that’s the justice system for ya.”

Shaking my head, I try to process what he’s told me so far. Just when I think I’ve seen the worst of humanity, humanity decides to pop back for an encore.

“Okay, Wren had a worse than shitty childhood,” I say. “But that still doesn’t explain her behavior at Ballinger’s.”

“I’m getting to that,” Tracer informs me.

“Fuck, there’s more?”

He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh yeah.”

Shoving a hand through my hair, I swing my feet to the floor and lean forward. “What else could there possibly be?”

Tracer glances at his computer and taps his mouse a few times before his printer starts spitting out papers. It takes a few minutes for everything to print, and he watches me warily as it does.

“Here,” he says as he hands me a stack. “I think you should read these on your own.”

Taking the pages of information, I maintain eye contact with him, almost as if looking at the words will suck me into another dimension.

Parking in the lot across the street from Ballinger’s, my brain locks onto the one line in the massive amount of mental health jargon I read about Wren: Patient has been diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder, and the presence of thirteen alters have been observed.

Music filters out through the open door of the bar, and I let it overtake my thoughts. When I step inside, I immediately seek out Wren. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for my eyes to land on her, and she’s standing at the bar with her friend, Leah, and Jackyl.

As if we’re connected by an invisible tether, Wren’s gaze shifts, and her eyes widen. I assume that means it’s really her because there’s recognition in her expression.

I cross the room, weaving my way through small groups of people, and when I reach her, I smile. Finally registering my presence, Jackyl glances at me and opens his mouth to say something, but Wren beats him to the punch.

“Journey.”

Relief floods my system.

It is her.

“Hi, Wren.”