“You’re shittin’ me.”

Yeah, he didn’t like it either.

Shit.

And I was beginning to feel that hole open up inside me again.

Shit.

“I wish I was,” I told Xun. “I need to come upstairs. Can you come get me?”

“I’m not there, but Chen is. I’ll call him.”

“Thanks, Xun.”

“Now, where’s Abel?” he asked.

“No clue. Maybe donuts?” I suggested hopefully, trying to rein in the feelings of anger and fear that were battling for supremacy inside me as well as trying to ignore that hole that was opening wider.

“The man likes his sugar, but he is not gonna get his ass scented for donuts. He’s doin’ somethin’ stupid.”

This was my thought.

Fucking shit.

“I’ll call Chen. Then I’m on my bike to find his stupid ass,” he muttered.

“Thanks again, Xun.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, still muttering, before he hung up.

I brushed, flossed, washed my face, and threw on some clothes, doing my morning routine breaking two cardinal rules.

One, I did not shower or do my hair and makeup even though I intended to be seen by someone that was not me (or, now, Abel).

And two, I did not make a pot of coffee so I could suck back some caffeine as a morning priority.

As I was tugging on my boots, I heard pounding on the door.

“Come in!” I shouted.

Chen opened the steel door. With one look at him I knew he wasn’t happy, just like me.

“Please tell me there’s coffee upstairs,” I begged as I walked to him.

“Ma’s got a war room filled with bikers. There’s coffee,” he replied.

This surprised me. My phone said it wasn’t even nine yet. Bikers didn’t do before nine.

I didn’t take this as a good sign.

Then again, maybe The Chain didn’t offer coffee, and bikers did coffee for certain.

“Have you heard from Abel?” I asked.

“Called him. Xun’s called him. No answer. Xun’s lookin’ for him. Called Wei. He’s gonna be lookin’ for him too.”

He closed the door and we walked down the murky hall made of cement (at our feet) and cinderblock (at our sides) toward the sun shining on the stairs at the end.

“Any idea where he’d be?” I asked as I hit the stairs.

“No clue,” he answered.

But he had a clue.

I had a clue too.

The Biltmore.

And if he went there, when he got back (and I hoped to God he got back), I was going to kick his ass.

Chen escorted me through the back door of the restaurant and, thankfully, straight to the coffeepot. I poured Chen and me a cup. We were sipping, and I was doing it angrily in order to stop being scared out of my brain, when Jabber filled the door.