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

15. Journey

CHAPTER 15

JOURNEY

What can you tell me about Wren Abbott?

“Fucker just picked his nose!”

I stifle my laugh at the indignation in Ghost’s tone. We’ve been parked down the street from the Wingless Angels’ road captain, Jester, for two hours, and I’m bored out of my mind. He’s gone as far as his rickety front porch, and the most excitement there’s been is his offensive nose-picking.

“At least he’s not eating the boogers,” I say dryly.

Ghost shakes his head. “How the hell is this club a threat? If the rest of them are anything like this guy, then we’re dealing with overgrown toddlers.”

“Crow says they’re a threat, so we treat them like a damn threat.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Ghost keeps his focus on Jester, and we let the silence take hold. It’s been a while since we’ve had the need for a good old-fashioned stake out. I’ve always enjoyed them, but I’ve got other things I’d rather be doing.

Like Wren.

After seeing her at the grocery store and getting a very obvious brush-off, I returned to the clubhouse and dove into her therapist’s notes. I want to understand her, but she’s making it virtually impossible with her insistence that I stay away.

“Thank fuck,” Ghost mutters, pulling me from my thoughts. “The cavalry has arrived.”

I look in the rearview mirror and see the club’s minivan parked behind us. Don’t judge… A minivan allows us to surveil places where we’d otherwise stick out like a sore thumb.

Now that Screamer and Python are here, our shift is over. We fill them in on what we’ve observed, which admittedly is jack squat, before I turn on the Jeep’s ignition and start to drive back to the clubhouse.

“What’re you up to the rest of the day?” Ghost asks after a few minutes.

“I’ve gotta run an errand in Austin,” I reply cryptically.

“Would this errand have anything to do with Wren?”

“And if it does?”

He lifts his hands in mock surrender. “No judgment here, bro. Just a question.”

Heaving a sigh, I nod. “Yeah, it’s got something to do with her.”

“You’re really gaga over her, aren’t you?”

“Gaga?”

“You know what I mean.” He chuckles. “Crow hit the nail on the head when he said things were gonna get interesting.”

“I take it you’d handle things differently,” I comment.

Surprisingly, I really am interested in his response. I value the opinions of my brothers above pretty much anyone else in the world, and maybe I need a little reassurance that I’m not as crazy as people think Wren is.

Ghost shrugs. “Don’t know. I mean, my mom has Alzheimer’s, and I guess that could be similar to Wren’s disorder, but then again, there’s really no comparison.”

“Thanks. You’re a big help,” I mutter.

“Look, my mom is my mom, ya know? I’d do anything for her. Hell, I did by coming back to this town to take care of her. But a mom is different from an old lady. I’d like to think I’m the kinda guy who wouldn’t give two shits about what issues the love of my life is dealing with, but I haven’t been put in that position yet.”

“Love of my life?” I repeat. “How’d we get to that?”

“Face it, Journey. You claimed her. You love her. Lord fucking knows why because you really do barely know her, but the heart wants what the heart wants. Sometimes, you just have to run with it and pray to all that’s holy that you don’t get sliced to pieces in the process.”

“Damn, G.” I whistle. “When did you get so wise?”

Pain crosses his features, but he quickly masks it. There’s a story there, I’m sure of it, but I won’t press. When he transferred from the Oregon chapter, Crow made it clear that Ghost would talk when he was ready, and we weren’t to push. Pres said he’s loyal to a fault and lives for the club, and that’s all I need to know.

“So, what are ya gonna do in Austin?” he asks, returning to the original subject.

Having reached the clubhouse, I put the vehicle in park but make no move to get out.

“Wren’s therapist is based there,” I say.

“No,” he breathes.

“What?”

“You can’t go to her therapist.”

“Why?”

“Confidentiality, for one.” Ghost narrows his eyes at me. “And for two, that’s crossing a major line.”

“Bro, I’ve gotta do something. Wren’s avoiding me like the plague. I’ve tried to call and text, and I’ve gone to her apartment a few times, and I’m getting nowhere. Maybe Dr. Young can help shed light on a way in.”

“And if Wren finds out?”

“She won’t,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “Dr. Young won’t even know I’m digging for information.”

“How do ya figure?”

“I made an appointment under Sam Lincoln. The good doc thinks I’m a new patient.”

“Of course, you’d use your legal name.”

“It’s not like I can use Journey. I’m not fucking Prince.”

“Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter what name you use. What you’re doing is unethical.”

“Because we live such an ethical life,” I snort.

“I hope, for your sake, you know what you’re doing,” he says as he opens the passenger door. “Good luck.”

It takes a little over an hour to get to Austin due to traffic, and my conversation with Ghost plays on a loop in my head as I drive. Maybe he’s right, and this is a fucked idea, but I’m running out of options.

After parking, I make my way inside the building and look at the directory to see which floor Dr. Young is on. Before I know it, I’m walking into her waiting room, which is empty. There’s no receptionist, so I take a seat and wait.

Five minutes pass before a door opens, and two women step out.

“I’ll see you next week,” the older of the two says. She waits until the patient leaves, and then looks at me. “Sam?”

I rise to my feet and thrust my hand out to shake hers. “Yep, that’s me.”

“Give me a few minutes, and then we can get started.” I sit back down to wait some more, and I replay the cover story I came up with until the door opens again. “Come on in.”

I follow her into the room and am surprised to see it set up cozier than I expected.

“Have a seat,” she instructs. Once I’m across from her, she lifts a pad of paper from the small table next to her chair and rests it on her lap. “So, what brings you here?”

I open my mouth to recite my cover story, but none of those details are what comes out of my mouth. Instead, I blurt the one thing guaranteed to get me into hot water.

“What can you tell me about Wren Abbott?”