Fade Out (The Morganville Vampires #7)(73)

I glance around the field, at all the wary faces watching us. The faces of the guys I’ve lead over the past three years. Do it for them? For my dad? For my brother? Hell, for Ari?

Who the f*ck am I doing this for?

Gavin curses, breaking into my conflicted thoughts. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair. “Look, it’s all good. I know you’ll pull it together; you always do. And I’m sure Ari’s doing better now.”

My attention snaps to his face. “What are you talking about?”

“Shit,” he hisses. “Nothing, man. Let’s just get back to the practice game.”

“What has Vee told you?”

His lips harden into a tight line, like he’s trying to keep his mouth sealed. I’ll be damned. I’m stalking toward him, ready to get answers, but a loud rumble bites into my eardrums. The vibration rattles my chest, and I can feel the growl of an engine rolling along the soles of my cleats. Whistles sound out, and I follow my guys’ drawn attention to the road just past the fence.

A Harley cruises past the cars and pulls to a stop in a parking space. The rider pops off her helmet, revealing flaming burgundy hair. Her gaze hard on us, she throws a leg over the seat and then jumps off the bike. She saunters right through the gate, pulling her shades down past her nose.

“Damn, bro,” Gavin says. “Who’s that?”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” I say. “One that I’m going to get some answers from if you don’t tell me what’s going on with Ari.” But he doesn’t pay my threat any attention. And truthfully, I’m only half committed to it. My line of sight on the girl, keeping time with her sure movements as she heads straight for us.

Gavin nudges me, as if all is forgotten. For him, it probably is. He said his piece. “Yeah, I care for Vee. But there’s no crime in looking.” He’s not saying jack about what I want to know. Which means Vee has him pretty whipped. Never thought I’d witness that day.

As the girl approaches, she checks out each player in turn, then pushes her sunglasses back over her eyes. My guys have all lined up, as if waiting for this hot little number to make her selection.

“I’m looking for Ryder Nash,” she announces.

“Damn, dude,” Gavin says. “You get all the trim.”

I turn toward my guys. “Run the next play, you *s.” They groan, but Gavin claps his hands, calling the play, and they hustle to the middle of the field.

Hands to her hips, the girl checks me out hard as I make my way toward her.

“So. You’re Ryder,” she says, a laugh in her throaty voice. “My, my. I bet all the girls just cream their panties over you.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, stopping a few feet from her. “Do we know each other?” I note her ripped jeans and the tats along her collarbone, peaking out between the open collar of her leather jacket. The pink bandana around her neck. She doesn’t look like she’s a local. In fact, she looks like she’s from some motorcycle club. Something we don’t have around here.

She smiles and curls a finger before her face, beckoning me closer. I shake my head, but hell, I’m game. I stalk toward her, and when there’s only a couple of inches between us, I look down into her face. With a quick jerk of her hand, she grabs my faceguard and brings my face right before hers.

She rips her sunglasses off and stares into my eyes. “We have a mutual friend, jockstrap. My girl Ari sent me a rather distressing text that has me super worried about her.” Her dark eyes glare into mine. “And I have a feeling that it’s your doing. I’m here to make sure she’s okay, and kick the shit out of your ass if I find out otherwise.”

I yank my faceguard out of her grasp and pull back. Then I look her over, really study her. There’s no way this girl is acquainted with Ari. Shit, they wouldn’t even breathe the same air. “The hell,” I say. “Are you trying to get money from her? What the f*ck do you really want? How do you know her?”

She laughs, then pulls out an envelope from her back pocket and shoves it before my face. I recognize Ari’s handwriting. The letter is addressed to one Melody Lachlan. The return address is Braxton University. She lowers the letter. “I’m Melody. And I know it seems unlikely that our sweet girl would run with the likes of me—” she fans a hand down her body—“but rehab doesn’t discriminate, duce.”

The pieces click together. Ari did mention a girl she became friends with in rehab, someone she considers close—but damn, she left out the scary biker chick part.

Then Melody’s words register, finally getting past my confusion. Fear trickles down my spine. “Ari sent you a message? Something’s wrong?” Dammit, Vee.

She shrugs, flipping out a cigarette from her pack. She lights it before saying, “Her message was short. It was also f*cking weird. Like she was out of it, or like she was being dragged away.” Her face pinches in worry. “With what she battles, I’m scared something bad has happened. That she’s off sick somewhere… She won’t answer my calls.”

I feel my forehead crease. “What she battles?” I scoff, indignant. “You mean her engagement to Mister Money Douchebags? Yeah, that’s a real first world problem right there.”

The bewilderment that crosses her face quickly morphs into one of understanding. “You don’t know.” She says it so fast, so assuredly, that her words strike me like an insult.