“Hi!” She reached out like an old friend and steered Amelia to stand beside her. “What’s your name?”
“A-Amelia,” she managed to stutter out.
“Ooh, I like that name,” Bishop said, her green eyes lighting up. “I love your skirt. Where did you get it?”
Amelia’s cheeks flushed at her words. “I-I got it at Beado’s.”
“I’ll have to check it out. It’s so pretty!”
“Can I get you to stand here for the picture?” a tall man with black hair and blue eyes said.
I moved to where he gestured, standing among the band. Bishop stood next to me, her head leaning in to smile with Amelia.
“Look here,” the cameraman called out, snapping his fingers.
We did as instructed, the guy with the blue hair muttering behind me.
“I’d like to break his damn fingers and shove them up his ass. Always snapping at us.”
“Cas, stop,” the blond guy muttered. “Smile.”
The flash went off, and we all smiled. I cast a look over to Amelia to see that Bishop was talking to her again. I knew we got thirty minutes back here. I mused to myself how all the pieces fit so perfectly. A year ago, we were going to steal Klaus Seeley’s car, the mob guy associated with Bishop, and now here we were, getting our pictures taken with the band.
“We have drinks and food back here if you want some,” the black-haired guy said to me.
“Oh, uh, thanks, man,” I said.
He followed me to the table where all the food was, as Amelia kept talking to Bishop. She seemed to have loosened up now and was actively engaging the singer in conversation.
“What’s your name?” the guy asked me.
“Oliver,” I said. “Oliver Knight.”
“Of Knight’s Ride?”
I widened my eyes at him. “Yeah, man.”
He held his hand out to me. “I’m Anson. My brother Evan and I were looking at your shop online. You have some pretty amazing reviews for such a new business. You do custom work?”
“I do. Cars and bikes,” I said.
“We ride. We have some ideas for some custom work. If you’ve got the time, we’d love to show you our ideas and get some work done.”
“Hell, yeah, man.” I dug around in my leather jacket pocket and pulled out my card. “Call me and set something up.”
“This is great.” He took the card and grinned at me. He stuffed it into his pocket before looking over my shoulder. He gestured someone over, and I thought my eyes were going to bulge out of my head as Klaus Seeley came to stand in front of me.
“Klaus, this is Oliver Knight. He owns Knight’s Ride,” Anson said.
Klaus said nothing, simply narrowing his eyes at me. He was a big, intimidating son of a bitch. I was a big guy, and so was Anson, but staring up at the German in front of me, I knew if he’d have caught me taking his car, he’d have crushed my ass with a flick of his wrist.
“I remember you,” Klaus finally said in a deep voice, his German accent peeking through. “Mikhail and the warehouse.”
“Uh, yeah,” I muttered, glancing to see that Amelia was sitting on a couch backstage with Bishop, and they were looking at a tablet together.
“You got off that easy,” Klaus continued.
“I wouldn’t say easy. I got shot,” I said, wincing at the ugly memory.
