After lunch was over, the club called their monthly meeting in Chapel—the big room in the back of the clubhouse where business was discussed in private. Since Viper and I were Prospects, we weren’t allowed to attend. So we cleared away the remnants of lunch, packing up any leftovers into the fridge in the kitchen.
And we waited.
Taking out Keely’s napkin, I studied her number, committing it to memory. The scent of her perfume was sweet and faint. I traced the outline of her lipstick print with my thumb. Thinking about the way she pursed her lips. Or sank her teeth into her lower lip.
They really did look like very kissable lips…
It doesn’t have to be anything serious,I reminded myself.
Just a phone call.
Maybe a date.
But I still hesitated.
Because I could feel the ache of want for Keely. And that unsettled me.
I had wanted a woman before. Wanted her so much that I was sick with it.
Was I ready to do that again? Even if Keely didn’t want me back for anything more than some temporary fun?
Before I could make a decision either way, the meeting came to an end and the Order filed out of Chapel. Hillbilly gestured at me.
“It’s time to make yourself useful besides running errands, Prospect.”
Finally.Thank God. I sat up straighter in my chair, waiting for my assignment.
“Ironside and Pretty Boy will be meeting one of my personal contacts on Saturday night,” Hillbilly went on. “He doesn’t like phones. And he’s too damn skittish to visit the clubhouse. So, we have to meet him on his terms or he ghosts and takes his info with him. You’re riding along for moral support. Donotpull any lone wolf heroic bullshit to show off, got it?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
***
On Saturday night, I found myself shadowing Ironside and Pretty Boy to a rock concert that was so loud, I could barely hear myself think.
It was a genius cover. No one would look twice at tattooed bikers like us around here. We fit right in. And bumping into someone, striking up a conversation wouldn’t raise any suspicions, so passing along information should be a quick and easy process.
“What should I be looking for exactly?” I asked, scanning the crowd.
“The code word to identify him is Poughkeepsie,” Ironside replied. “We don’t know anything more than that.”
Ironside, Pretty Boy, and I had stationed ourselves toward the back of the venue—a local park where a temporary stage had been set up with strobe lights and a speaker system. The press ofthe crowd was thinner here, and we could move around, giving us the ability to make a hasty exit if need be.
One hour blended into two. At this rate, the concert would be over before we ever made contact with the informant.
Then someone cleared their throat. The three of us turned to see a young woman standing nearby, dressed in baggy jeans, combat boots, and an oversized jacket that swamped her figure. Her vibrant red hair was twisted up into a messy knot on the top of her head.
“I’ve heard Poughkeepsie is nice this time of year,” she said.
Ironside lifted his chin in acknowledgement.
“And I heard you have a message for us.”
I kept my mouth shut, watching the scene play out. Hillbilly distinctly said the informant was male. But chances were, that was a coverup for identity protection. Or this woman had been sent as a messenger.
“Are you boys familiar with the Filthy Rebels MC?” she asked.
I had no idea what she was talking about, but I kept my mouth shut. My purpose here was to observe, and provide backup for my brothers if they needed it. Nothing more.
