“Did the delivery person say anything to you when she delivered the food?” he asked.
I’d never told him it was a she…
But I could put two and two together.
Based on his reaction, this woman who’d delivered the food wasn’t who she said she was.
Nor did he order any food…
“No. Just handed it and left,” I answered. “She drove a black…”
“Tahoe. California license plates,” he guessed.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Was that the woman who tried to bug Webber’s shop?”
“One and the same,” he grumbled.
“What’s going on?”
He contemplated not answering for a hot minute before he grumbled, “Your sister or Doc ever tell you anything about me?”
I blinked. “You mean, other than you like spicy food? No. You’re the one that I know the least. Which is saying something, because no one really talks to me at all. And Doc’s not one to share any personal info about y’all. So unless you share something with me yourselves…I wouldn’t know anything.”
He looked at me thoughtfully again before he said, “Probably that eight-foot-wide, eleven-foot-tall, topped in razor wire wall you have built up between you and the world.”
I flipped him off, which caused him to smile.
Albeit briefly.
“When I first came here, it was because I was sent to go undercover with the Truth Tellers MC.”
I blinked in shock.
“In the beginning, I just wanted to feel something. I went back to working as a police officer as soon as I was cleared to do so. But I just got bored. I wanted something different. So I moved to New Orleans. During a few cases, I got on the radar with the FBI. They knew my background. Knew that I was a biker. Knew that I’d fit right into an operation that they’d been working on for a while.”
“An operation involving your motorcycle club?”
“Wasn’t my motorcycle club at the time,” I pointed out. “But yeah. I was tasked with working a joint task force that would get information leading to the arrests of a few choice members of the club. Webber, who was the vice president at the time, and the president.”
“Whoa,” I said. “What happened?”
“I met them,” he answered simply. “They weren’t the awful people that the FBI led me to believe. I patched in as a prospect, and from there, I integrated myself into the club. I did the grunt work. I spent a year of my life immersed in this life…and I decided that I liked it. I liked them. I liked how they thought. I liked how they didn’t take any shit. I liked how they were down to earth and giving. They didn’t take any shit from anyone, but they didn’t do it in a way that went against my morals. And when they offered me the full patch…I turned in my resignation to the task force and took the patch. I became a Truth Teller.”
“Did Webber ever find out?” I gasped.
“Yeah.” He shifted. “That was when I took a bullet to the chest for Silver.”
I remembered it vividly.
I’d been away at college earning my degree.
It’d been a big deal.
“So they let you stay?” I asked.
“They let me stay.” He chuckled. “Webber had told me to go. He took my cut and everything. He said not to come back…then that psycho shot at Silver, and I took the bullet meant for her. Webber changed his mind.”
“So they sent someone else,” I guessed.
