Cam ashed his cigarette and boxed the butt. “That’s on the assumption we want what you’re selling.”
“Let’s say you do.” The fed ventured nearer. “Let’s say there are events and personnel within your organisation that you don’t want us to look at more closely than we have already. Let’ssaythat we all acknowledge that the Rebel Kings Motorcycle Club isn’t a major target for us.”
“We can agree on the last part,” Cam said. “Unless you think we’re laundering money through hog roasts and record fairs.”
“Not record fairs,” I corrected blandly. We hadn’t had one in years. “Maybe we should start charging for the yoga classes, though.”
“Very funny, Mr McGovern.”
My stomach rolled again. Only my woman got to utter my surname and get away with it. And Locke, though he never had.
I miss them.
Fucking hell, Iachedfor them, and I’d only been gone a few hours. Which was apparently all the time I needed for my patience to evaporate.
Hell, look at me going level-ten O’Brian.
I surged from my seat, kicking my chair back. “This is bollocks. It’s obvious you want us to rat on someone, and whatever think you know about us, you don’t know shit if you believe we’d ever do that.”
“Not even if it was one of ours?”
My gaze snapped to Bear. “What?”
He smirked and tossed an envelope on the table.
It skittered towards me.
I ignored it.
So did Cam.
Bear tapped a stubby finger on the table, then pointed it at me. “I’d open it if I were you. It might make you, in particular, feel more cooperative.”
Unlikely, but curiosity got the better of me. I reached for the envelope.
Cam caught my arm. “Gloves.”
I dragged my riding gloves from my pocket, slid them on, and picked up the envelope. It was featherlight, and inside were two grainy photographs.
One was a beat-up Dyna parked at the top of Hill Farm, its tall, broad-shouldered rider a study of tension.
The other was me passing a wedge of cash to another two-faced cunt with a badge.
* * *
“Nash, wait.”
I ignored Cam’s call and stormed to my hog, engine revving before my arse touched the seat. Responsibility made me wait for him, but I couldn’t lay eyes on him. I couldn’t lay eyes onmyselfor I’d fucking explode.
With him behind me, I roared away, hitting the roadhard, riding like Embry on his maddest, baddest day, flying around narrow bends at a reckless speed that was as alien to me as the proposition we’d left behind.
Die before you rat.
Was that my plan tonight? For a few miles, I wasn’t far off.
Then I thought of Orla and the promises I’d made to her. I thought of Locke and the promises he deserved, and I slowed the fuck down.
The safe spot we’d left our phones came up on us. I eased to a stop and yanked my helmet off, lungs contracted, the muscle in my chest skipping beats. I dismounted on autopilot and dug Alexei’s trackers out of the hole I’d buried them in. “How come he isn’t here waiting on you?”
