So who does?
I still didn’t know, so I left Alexei’s opening question unanswered and lay back, closing my eyes, just for a moment. I wondered if he would leave, but he didn’t. He pressed up against me, his long leg thrown over mine, his head on my chest.
Drifting, I dropped an arm around his shoulders, and we stayed like that for a long time.
12
Alexei
The green-eyed brother put a tracker on my car. I was ninety-nine per cent certain Cam hadn’t asked him to, but I left it there anyway. If Saint Malone—that’s right, I knew his name now—cared enough about Cam to monitor my movements, I’d do him the courtesy of not distracting him by removing it. Besides, I liked that he had eyes on me. It amused me, along with a shade of something else that had me picturing all the things Cam hadn’t admitted when I’d called him on the connection he shared with his loyal soldier.
A week after he cooked me dinner at his seaside cottage, I left my car in the space below my building and retrieved the sleek Yamaha from the lock-up I kept in the city. The sport bike was nothing like the beefy hogs the MCs rode. It was lighter. Faster.
Quieter.
They’d never see me coming.
Dressed all in black, I eased my helmet over my head and took off out of the underground car park, careful to stick to a speed that drew no attention.
The roads south from Bristol were fun to ride, and the wet weather made the long bends and fast straights thrilling enough to keep me occupied while my mind replayed my last encounter with Cam, from the cat and mouse conversation we’d shared to the axis-tilting sex. As a result of that long, heady night, I’d become certain of three things: Cam O’Brian was a dangerous, clever man, and an absolute sweetheart.AndI didn’t know what I admired about him the most. Perception or kindness, it was a tough choice.
I chose both and let my mind drift back to Saint Malone. I believed Cam when he said they weren’t lovers, but something simmered between them. Something that thrilled me almost as much as Cam himself.
Stop.
With considerable effort, I reined in my wandering fantasies and picked up speed, leaving the city and built-up suburbia behind, zipping along the coastal roads, past Cam’s hometown of Whitness and further south, eventually leaving Devon and entering Cornwall.
I passed Newquay and Porth Luck, the tourist hotspot where Cam part-owned a motorcycle garage he hadn’t told me about, perhaps because his business partner there was his estranged brother.River. I liked that name too.
The Cornish chapter of the Rebel Kings MC lay just before Lizard Point, a three-hour ride from my penthouse flat.
I got there before Cam, but that had been my intention, to wait in the shadows for his chapter to roll into territory where they believed they’d be safe.
And they were... for now. Saint Malone wasn’t the only one handy with a GPS tracker, and in the days since I’d last seen Cam, I’d been busy, riding my Yamaha east to the other side of Devon, trailing the leaders of the Dog Crows. Their president was now firmly in my sights, as was an unidentified man who would ride with them today when they left their club colours behind and hit the Rebel Kings’ convoy as they returned home.
You should warn Cam.
Perhaps. But it wasn’t my intention to disrupt MC business, only to protect him from the threat that came from whoever the Crows had welcomed into their fold.
I still didn’t know who that was, but I’d find out, if not today then another that came soon.
Watch and wait.
It was early afternoon when the Devon chapter of the Rebel Kings rolled into town. They rode in formation, Cam at the front flanked by his VP and road captain, his enforcer and chaplain at his back.
The membership fanned out behind them, around fifty strong. I searched for my green-eyed friend and found him at the rear, tail-gunning alone, alert and menacing. His demeanour set in stone what I already thought: that whatever attack the Crows were planning, it would come as far away from him as possible.
A sensible plan, but hitting the front of the convoy was madness too.
The middle then?Hmm. I wasn’t convinced, unless the Crows were running a distraction for something else. Something silent and deadly that crept up on Cam when his attention was diverted by protecting his brothers.
That’s it.A click sounded in my brain and the search for details expired. I observed the Whitness Rebel Kings as they swept into their sister compound and dismounted. Cam held court, his seniority over his contemporary clear to see, and I watched the Cornish president closely, searching for signs of discontent.
There were none. Cam was well liked and respected. Revered, even, by some. My gut told me the Kings were loyal and they’d fight to the death for their leader. Sound knowledge that should’ve eased my concern.
It didn’t. The Kings could fight for Cam all they liked. Wouldn’t do him much good if they didn’t see the enemy coming.
I’ll see it.
