“Better. I can walk now.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Good. Now, what do you need?”
“Need?” I asked.
“As in supplies. I know women need shit. Clothes, hair stuff, tampons, what? I’ll order it and have it delivered.”
I stared at him. As hot as it was for a guy to care about my needs, I couldn’t help but wonder if we were on the same page about our situation. “Um… How long are you planning on keeping me down here?”
He shrugged. “That depends on what the guys figure out.”
That cleared up nothing. Not a damn thing. This new version of Tap was as confusing as he was sexy. “What guys?”
“The Dead Presidents. I told Havoc your story, and he passed it along to Link. They want to help and are working on a plan to get the girls out.”
“They can’t help, they’re civilians. Hell,Ishouldn’t even be doing this.”
“No,youshouldn’t. But a motorcycle club full of former servicemen… I think they could figure some shit out. Link and Havoc were Special Forces. They were specifically trained to tackle situations like this. Eagle was a sniper in the Marines, and he’ll have their back. Wasp was… well, he’s an excellent mechanic. Give Morse a Raspberry Pi and an internet connection and that motherfucker can take down an empire. Frog was a Frogman for the Navy. We’re not civilians, Sasha. Every one of us has more combat training than you do. The club is dedicated to helping this country, and we can’t stand aside and let these girls be trafficked any more than you can.”
“What you’re talking about is vigilantism. It’s dangerous and illegal, and without knowing which cops are on the Serpents’ payroll they’re taking a huge gamble. Your club brothers could go to jail for this.”
He gave me another shot. “They won’t.”
“You sound awfully sure of yourself.”
“The club president is married to Emily Stafford… well, Emily Lincoln, now, but I think she still practices law under Stafford.”
Cops were familiar with defense attorneys. Especially the ones who were good enough at their job to be a pain in our ass. Nobody in my department liked Emily Stafford. I’d heard she got married, but didn’t realize it was to a biker. “Black hair, blue eyes, known to feed the prosecution their spleen through the tiny straw she reduces their evidence to? That Emily Stafford?”
Grinning, he nodded.
“Wow. She’s good.”
“Sure is.”
“But she can’t keep them from getting shot.”
“They’ve survived worse than the Serpents. Far worse.”
Chewing on that bit of information, I studied him. “What did you do in the service?” I asked.
“Intelligence Officer.” He frowned and his eyebrows drew together like he was surprised he told me.
“Is that a secret?” I asked.
“I don’t usually discuss it.” But he leaned back on the sofa and made himself comfortable.
“Do you want to? Discuss it, I mean.”
“Not particularly. It’s not a nice story.”
I rolled my eyes. “I told you all about my mom, the heroin-addicted prostitute. I think I can handle it.”
“You didn’t tell me she was a prostitute.”
“I just did.”
I wanted to say more, but I knew better. I needed to give him the time and opportunity to talk. So, I sat in silence and waited. It was peaceful in Tap’s basement. Listening to the faint sound of our combined breaths and the hum of his computer server, it would be easy to forget about the outside world and just exist down here. Of course, I’d go out of my mind with boredom, but it was nice for a minute or two.
