“Crazy thing,” Raff said. “Someone tried to kill us the other night.”
“Really? Imagine that,” she said.
“Then, crazier still, some hot chick with a sexy gun put a plug in one of those guys.”
“Wow. How generous of her,” the woman said.
“It would be rude of us not to let her in and offer her a drink,” Raff said, nodding.
He was already reaching for his phone, likely shooting off a text to Slash.
“Did I hear… oh,” Saint said, coming to a stop halfway into the room. His gaze zeroed in on the woman’s face, likely taking in the dark hair, eyes, cleft chin, and body I’d described. “Is that…”
“Yeah,” I said, finally taking a step back in a silent invitation.
Saint, more used to being a leader than the rest of us, strode forward and offered his hand to the woman.
“Saint Courtland,” he introduced himself. “That over there is Raff,” he said, gesturing. “And this is Colter.”
“Dylan,” she introduced herself. “And Sugar,” she said, gesturing down to the dog when Saint’s gaze slid there.
“This is Cat,” he said, waving toward the gray and white cat with the big blue eyes. “He hates women. I wouldn’t get too close.”
“How is he with dogs?” she asked, pulling her chocolate lab closer.
“He tolerates them if they’re not too pushy.”
She loosened the hold on the leash.
“Are you in charge here?” she asked Saint.
It was an easy assumption to make. Because back before he went to prison to save his brother the same fate, Saint had run his own operation for years. He still carried himself the way a boss might.
“I’m not,” Saint said. “But if I’m reading it right, Slash should be here any second. Can I get you something to drink? Eat? A bone for the dog?”
“No, we’re good.”
Her head turned, hearing the rumble of bikes suddenly making their way through Shady Valley and toward the clubhouse.
“Well, this is awkward,” Raff announced as the air seemed to grow thick.
I couldn’t force my gaze away from Dylan’s profile as she looked around the clubhouse, taking everything in.
Luckily for everyone, the bikes rumbled into the lot, and within a minute, the door burst open, and Slash, Detroit, Rook, and Sway made their way inside.
Sway looked Dylan up and down. “That was a good description,” he declared, nodding at me.
“So, you’re the president,” Dylan said, zeroing in on Slash. Either because he had the same leadership carriage as Saint. Or simply because his road name matched the scars on his face.
“So, you’re the woman who saved Colter’s life,” Slash responded.
“That’s why I’m here,” Dylan agreed.
“To shake me down?”
“To propose a… partnership,” Dylan said.
“Slash, this is Dylan. Dylan, Slash,” Saint made the introductions. “And Sugar.”
