Eyes wide, he nodded up at me. “Yeah. Sorry, Link. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just sayin’—”
“Stop sayin’,” I growled, then took a deep breath and willed myself to chill the fuck out.
Everyone was watching me. They all knew I had a temper, but for the most part, I kept it reined in. Now I was in a brother’s face over a woman. I needed to get it together.
Heading back to the front of the room, I shook off my outburst and continued, “We need everyone keeping their eyes and ears open for the girl Noah Kinlan raped. Havoc didn’t give us much to go on, but we know she was thin and young. Probably early twenties. Maybe in college. He thinks she was blonde, but it was dark, so he couldn’t be too sure. Someone in this city has to know where she is. I know I’m asking for a lot, but I know that if anyone can find her, we can.”
“Of course we can,” Eagle agreed.
“Who the fuck are we?” Wasp asked, standing to his feet and riling up the group. Wasp had gotten his nickname because much like the asshole insect he was named after, his ability to rally and mobilize our little hive was mind boggling. Nobody could pull a club full of hard-headed independent bikers together like my vice president.
“Dead Presidents!” everyone shouted in response.
“That’s right. We’re the Dead fuckin’ Presidents,” Wasp said. “We don’t let one of our own rot in prison for this bullshit. We’re gonna find that girl and we’re going to nail the fuckin’ dipshit who raped her.”
A cheer went up. Beers were raised in the air.
Pride swelled my chest. “Good. If nobody has anything else, meeting adjourned. Frog, Tap, Morse, you three, meet me in my office.”
Three heads bobbed in response.
“You too, Wasp,” I said before heading out.
* * *
Morse, short for Morse Code, was a technical guru in his late twenties who communicated constantly, but spoke rarely. He kept the club’s computers working and hacker free, often scouring the internet for people I asked him to seek out. He always came through, but I’d never asked him to find someone with no name or description before. He sat on the sofa in my office, and Frog joined him.
Clean shaven with a wiry frame and no visible tattoos or scars, Frog looked so damn vanilla nobody would peg him for a biker if he wasn’t wearing his cut. This made him the perfect candidate for pounding pavement, searching for a frightened young girl who’d been raped by a powerful mayor’s son. Despite his slight frame, he was one tough bastard, so I wouldn’t fear for his safety. He’d earned his road name thanks to a seven-year stint as a Navy frogman. He’d experienced technical difficulties during his last dive in the service, completing his mission at the cost of chunks of his memory due to oxygen deprivation. They sent him home with a Navy Cross and a disability sticker for his trouble. The service had been his life, and now the club was.
Tap strolled in behind them, hands in his pockets, ball cap on his head. When asked what his road name meant, he would make up some random story that changed with the occasion, but in reality, it was short for Wire Tap. With coffee colored skin and wide eyes, he looked young, but the shit the thirty-one-year-old ex-intelligence officer had seen in the Army had aged him well beyond his years. Tap had trouble sleeping most nights. He perched on the arm of the sofa beside Frog.
Wasp joined us, closing the door behind him. He leaned against it and I stood in front of my desk.
“You want us to find her,” Tap said, watching me.
“I do. I have faith in every man out there, but this is your specialty.”
“We’re like your fuckin’ hound dog A Team,” Tap said.
I chuckled. “The three of you are a goddamn force, and I know you’ll do everything in your power to help Havoc.”
All three nodded.
“You’re gonna have to filter all kinds of bullshit, so I want you to send leads to Wasp. He’ll dispatch someone to check them out so you can keep working. You hear me?”
“Loud and clear, Prez,” Frog said.
Morse and Tap nodded in agreement.
“Good. You need anything, just ask. We need to find this girl.”
