Without Declan and Saint, he had so much keeping him busy with the running of the training center that he couldn’t get away much—just for an occasional dinner at Redfeathers. Ava was never there. Cameron and Harper were remarkably closemouthed about her, which he found odd for women, and even stranger for women living in Hell, where gossip was a fine and respected art. Trace decided those two might be a better fit for Hell than he’d realized. They were tough, resistant to even his most well-disguised digs for information about Ava. He missed her. Like crazy, almost to the point he thought he was going to go mad. He woke up with an erection, he went to bed with one made of rock, and he’d find himself in his office staring at nothing during the day, his brain completely drained by fantasies of Ava. She, on the other hand, obviously wasn’t suffering. He finally located her at Hattie’s Rolling Thunder Café on a late Saturday night, only because her truck was parked outside. Telling himself he should check on her—it was the courteous thing to do when a woman was out late on a Saturday night—he knocked on the café door.
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