“Bikers?” Sway said, shrugging. “None of us have any.”
“What I did find was a property record,” Rook said. “For, I’m assuming, her old clubhouse. The last record I could find was for a Darron Spencer. I’m assuming that’s her dad.”
“But you got nothing for Dylan Spencer?”
“No arrest record. Not even a parking ticket. She wasn’t some high-achiever in school, so there are no articles about her winning games or any extracurriculars. There’s just… nothing,” Rook said.
“What about Darron’s wife, her mother?”
“I somehow doubt Dylan’s old man married anyone,” I said, making Slash look at me, awaiting a further explanation. “Just her whole attitude toward relationships. She thinks they’re fairy tales. She said believing in love was like believing in Santa Claus.”
That got a few chuckles from the guys.
“Can’t imagine most clubs are a healthy place for a little girl to grow up,” Saint said, leaning back in his chair, his arms lifted in the air as he stretched.
“Yeah, meth was a big problem in Darron’s club. And it sounded like club girls were pretty regular.”
“You talked about all this on the way back to the motel?” Slash asked.
“It was a long walk,” I said, shrugging it off.
I went ahead and left out the part where I’d been fishing for information. Not because of what Slash wanted us to dig up, but because I was genuinely curious about her.
And there was no fucking way in hell I was going to say anything about her pulling a gun on me… or the little interaction afterward. The one that had her all melting and soft, that had her voice going thick and breathless.
I shook those thoughts away since getting a semi in the common area of the clubhouse was not ideal.
“Did she say anything else useful?”
“Mostly just that her dad was a dick. Misogynistic even to her once she got older. She got the house just because there was no one else to lay claim to it.”
Slash exhaled hard. “What about the clubhouse?” he asked Rook. “Anything on that?”
“I have a very grainy aerial view of it. Can’t really even see much of it.”
“Where is it?”
“Not far from where the drop was.”
“Anything about the former club members? The girls?”
“I did find two girls who were registered to vote at that address a few years back,” Saint said.
“And?”
“And I found arrest records for both of them,” Rook said, turning his screen for Slash to look at.
There were the two women—one blonde, one brunette. Both looked sunken in the face. Their eyes were hollow. Their skin fucked up.
“Meth, probably,” Rook said as Slash looked. “This is what those same women looked like a few years ago, per their socials.”
They’d both been gorgeous, healthy, glowing.
“Sick what Roach did to them.”
“So some of the girls have social media. Did you dig into those? Find other girls? Pictures of Dylan? Or the inside of the clubhouse?”
“Most of their socials are either locked down tight or inactive, from what I can tell. I have friend requests out to a few of them. If they accept, I can see more. But so far, no pictures of the clubhouse. Though there was one with Dylan in the background.”
