“Not if it’s the same river water you brought me an hour ago.”
Cam feigned offence. “Drank it, though, didn’t you?”
“Caffeine is caffeine.”
“Is that your only vice?”
“What do you think?”
Heat flared in Cam’s dark gaze. He held my stare a beat too long and licked his lips, an unconscious action thatalmostdrew me closer to him. “I think,” he said slowly, “that your vices are something you don’t know yet.”
“Cryptic. And vague.”
“But accurate?”
I signed out of the personal tax account I’d managed to find and access for him in my search for Kings Building Ltd. “Think what you want to think. It does not make it true.”
“Well, as yourfriendI’m telling you that I like your vices.”
“As in?”
“As in, I liked what you offered me the other night. I know we’re not doing that shit ever again, but I wanted you to know that.”
“That’s sweet.”
Cam chuckled. “Keep your voice down. I got a rep around here.”
I could believe that. While the curious stares had evaporated, demands for Cam’s attention had not. In the two hours we’d spent together, we’d been interrupted six times and I’d observed the interactions with eager eyes. Absorbed the reverence and respect that the people around him bestowed on him. What he’d done to command it, I had no idea.
True to my word, I asked. “Tell me, Cam, how does a man of thirty-two become president of a motorcycle club? The only biker institutions I’ve ever known, their leaders were middle-aged men.”
“And whatinstitutionswere they?”
“Angels in California. Night Wolves back home.”
“In Russia?”
“The headquarters for the local chapter was across the street from my apartment when I was young. We used to watch the bikes come and go.”
“We?”
“Yes.” I didn’t elaborate and he didn’t ask me to. Despite his declaration that he had questions of his own, he’d yet to ask me any, and I appreciated that. It made his company easy enough that time was passing in the blink of an eye.
“I’m not that young,” Cam said after a beat of silence.
“Is your date of birth a lie?”
“No. I’ve just been in this life a long time—shit.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “This isn’t a conversation I can have with an outsider.”
I nodded, understanding. “We do not have to talk at all if you wish.”
“It’s not that.”
“Okay, well, let us bring the subject back to what you asked me for then.” I pulled the handwritten ledger closer and opened it, tapping at the smudged and incomplete records for him to see. “As far as I can tell right now, you haven’t paid corporation tax yet this year. And until you file your accounts, you won’t know how much you owe.”
“That’ll tell me how much we’ve made too, though, right? How much we have in the bank as assets?”
“Correct. But to do that, you need to balance your expenses against your turnover. That will take both time and a... how do you say it? A fine-tooth comb? To go through this container of madness?”
