Two more bikers step through the doorway behind him. “He came with us.”
“Shit,” Journey mutters, adjusting his hat on his head. “I forgot I told Lobo to send you guys over.” He thumbs over his shoulder at me. “That’s June.” Then he points at the big man who came in first. “This is Tacoma.” He gestures to the other two. “And these assholes are Bash and Gator.”
I lift my hand and wave shyly. “Hi.”
Tacoma’s blue eyes land on me. They’re not unkind, exactly, more like assessing in a way that makes me feel like he’s already catalogued everything about me and filed it away.
Gator, the one with the dark hair, icy blue eyes, and a smile that’s a little too easy, sweeps his gaze around the apartment, and does a double-take when he notices Brooklyn rising from her hiding spot behind the couch.
She brushes imaginary dust off her cutoffs with as much dignity as a scaredy cat can manage after hiding behind a sofa cushion.Not that I’m judging her, because hello… they were pointing guns up in here.
Gator’s easy smile gets a little less easy, and a lot more interested.
Brooklyn either doesn’t notice or pretends she doesn’t. Knowing Brooklyn, it’s the latter.
“Damn.” Bash, I think his name was mutters.
And let me just say, wow! He is a major hotty. Not as good-looking as Journey, but yeah, he’s a looker.
His dark eyes sweep around the apartment. “What the fuck happened in here?”
Tacoma pulls his gaze from me and looks at Journey. One dark brow goes up.
Journey drags a hand over the scruff on his jaw. “Someone’s been sending her messages from a bunch of different Tokker accounts. Creepy ones. Whoever it is got in here while she was out.” He glances at the wall. “Left her that.”
Tacoma reads the message, and his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
He turns back to me, and I resist the urge to take a step back. “Do you have any idea who might have done this?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I really don’t. I’ve tried to think about it, but I can’t come up with anyone who would—“ I gesture around the apartment. “—dothis.”
Tacoma nods, slow and deliberate, like he’s turning the information over in his head. Then he looks at Bash. “HaveCyber pull the account history. Every handle that’s messaged her.”
Bash already has his phone out. His thumb moves across the screen without a word.
I blink. That’s it? No forms to fill out? Nocan you describe the individual in question? Just—done?
Okay then. Good to know how the other half lives.
Tacoma looks at Journey, and something passes between them. One of those silent conversations that men who’ve known each other a long time have.
Whatever Journey reads in that look, he doesn’t like it.
“No,” he says flatly.
Tacoma’s brow climbs toward his hairline.
“I’ve got Stella to deal with.” Journey crosses his arms over his chest, and I notice the coffee stain on the front of his cut has already started to dry.My fault. Again.
Gator snorts. “Thought that’s what the bootlicker was for.”
“Fuck off,” Journey snaps.
“Then what’s the problem?” Tacoma grunts.
Bax stiffens from his spot by the door, and I watch the tips of his ears go red. I feel a little sorry for the guy.
“You’re such an asshole,” Brooklyn says under her breath, shaking her head.
