Zack
Steele and I slept at the clubhouse of the original chapter of the Black Reapers. It was not the most comfortable rest we had ever had, but for how everyone in the club had come out and seemed to be prepared to tell us to go the hell away, I would call it something of a win.
I woke up first. I rolled over and grabbed my phone. Brock had sent some messages, telling us to try again and do whatever we could to get them to our side. I didn’t have a lot of faith it would work. But then the other message was the one that caught my eye.
“Hey, got approached by some weirdo in a suit and tie asking if I would do some private medical work for some wealthy clients. Do you know anything about it?”
My initial reaction was no, I did not. The Bandits, well, before everything from the past few months, were the definition of small-town, low-class hoodlums and madmen. They didn’t finance trouble so much as they caused it.
But recent events dictated that may not have been the case anymore. Maybe it had something to do with the man they called King. I didn’t even know what King looked like, let alone how much money King had. But it wasn’t like the Bandits would ever be wealthy or have the means to get someone in a suit and tie to pass off as working for someone wealthy.
It was probably just a bizarre, creepy coincidence. Justine had had an odd encounter with an odd person, and in a month, we’d both laugh about that weirdo who thought he could get a doctor to his home for work. It sounded more like a pervert than something malicious.
Except…
I knew this sounded awfully superstitious for someone as educated as I was, but I didn’t believe anything was a coincidence. People called events they couldn’t understand coincidence when there was oftentimes a relatively easy explanation. In this case, I didn’t understand what the man was doing, but I found it very hard for it to be a fluke.
I’d have to keep my eyes peeled and guard Justine. The last thing we needed was for her to become a part of this ugly mess for some reason. The town of Santa Maria—and, increasingly, the city of Albuquerque—had enough trouble on its hands without the presence of some rich asshole trying to get girls to “provide private care” for him.
Steele rose a few seconds later. We moved half-awake to the bar, having had permission from Lane to get ourselves one drink in the morning. But almost as if they’d had eyes on us the whole time that we were asleep, the second we got our first sip, Lane and Patriot walked into the clubhouse.
“Rise and shine, fuckers,” Lane said. “I was wondering if you two would ever wake up.”
“You’ll fucking forgive us for having driven on our motorcycles for twelve hours yesterday and feeling exhausted.”
I shot Steele a look that said “chill.” He was a lot more on edge about this than I was—probably because he had a woman to protect and I did not. But if I wanted any chance of a yes from these Reapers, we had to at least not outright disparage them.
“Listen, Lane,” I said, “I know you said that we couldn’t walk out of here expecting a commitment from you or anything. But King—”
Lane held up a hand.
“If you’re going to even get us to consider what you’re talking about, I need my brother to wake up,” he said.Or die. But we won’t say that.“I need to hear what’s going on from him. I believe everything you are saying. But I can’t be getting our club into wars that we may not have to get into, not after the hell we went through for far too long. Get it?”
I grimaced, but it made total sense. Too much sense, unfortunately.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Good,” Lane said. “We’re going to grab some food shortly. You’re welcome to join, but we need you out by the time we wrap up food.”
I looked to Steele, who wasn’t even bothering to hide his frustration. There wasn’t much point in trying to salvage something that apparently had no chance of being salvaged, at least for the moment. And even if they were saying we could come and they would pay, I didn’t want us to be in debt in any fashion.
“We’ll get the fuck outta here,” I said. “Appreciate you letting us sleep here.”
“Of course,” Lane and Patriot said together.
We got our stuff, nodded, shook their hands, and then headed to our bikes. I asked Steele if he wanted to make it a straight shot back to New Mexico, but he answered not with words but with a roaring engine. When we got on the roads, in fact, he sped up so fucking fast that I just let him go.
It was going to a lonesome ride home, but we were in for a lonesome battle, anyway. Maybe it would be good practice.
* * *
When I got back to the New Mexico clubhouse, night had already settled in. I was exhausted beyond all measure. I’d just spent close to twenty-four hours on a bike over two days, and I may have loved bikes, but no one in the world loved bikes that much. My legs felt like they’d vibrate from now until the end of time, and all I craved was to just lie on a bed, not hunched forward, and to get a full-body massage.
But as soon as I pulled up, I could see that that was not going to happen. Brock and Steele stood with arms folded at the front, with Connor, Mason, and Garrett leaning on walls nearby. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought that I was in trouble for something.
“The fuck’s going on?” I said as I stepped off the bike. “Don’t tell me there’s been another attack on Cole.”
“Nope, we got two prospects at the hospital watching him right now,” Brock said. “Actually, quite the opposite of bad news. I know your trip to California didn’t produce any results, but we got something that might.”
