And it wasn’t until I lost sight of him that I released the breath I had been holding.
“Jesus fuck,” I whispered to myself.
I knew something had happened at Heist. Something big. Something bad. I mean, what was the reason for their secretive nature, if not for that? I raked my hand through my hair as I drove back toward my apartment.
“Fuck, I didn’t get his name,” I groaned.
I had everyone else’s name but his, and I wondered if he had done that on purpose. Maybe he did that because he was directly involved in whatever happened, and if I knew his name, I could connect the dots. I gnashed my teeth together. I chewed on my lower lip while my mind spiraled me into an endless amount of rabbit holes.
I had to figure out what the hell had happened.
And I knew that the only way to do that was to talk to people that were there, but also weren’t bought and sold by their club.
I pulled into my parking space and stormed up the steps. I locked my apartment door behind me and went to heartily flop down face-first into my bed. I took a small catnap, needing a moment to process everything that had happened.
Then, I woke up around three in the afternoon and pulled my laptop toward me.
I pulled out my phone and replayed the video I had taken in the alleyway. I had a clear shot of a handful of license plates as those blacked-out SUVs rode by me while I had been hidden, and it was a great place to start. If I could figure out who those cars were registered to, it would give me someone else to speak with.
Someone else that might know what in the absolute fuck was going on.
“Research, don’t fail me now,” I murmured.
A quick Google search turned into paying a two-dollar fee per license plate to obtain information on the owner, but that was a small price to pay for the truth. I waited for the four reports to download on the four license plates in the video that I stored not just on my phone, but also uploaded to my laptop via email. I needed the evidence in multiple places. That was rule one of investigative journalism.
But, after opening the reports and seeing who owned the vehicles, I sighed.
“I’m going to need a cop for this,” I whispered.
And lucky, I knew one.
He just so happened to be my ex-boyfriend.
SEVEN
BENDER
It didn’t shock me when Fangs picked me and Viper to go meet Bullet. But as we stood there waiting for the man to show up with his goons, something didn’t feel right.
“You sure about this?” I murmured in Fangs’s direction.
He shot me a look. “You already pissing yourself or something?”
Viper snickered. “Just stay on the lookout, you guys.”
That was when we saw it: Bullet’s bright orange and yellow two-door Mustang. It pulled up to us, sitting about seven feet away before Bullet climbed out with two of his meanest-looking men. The fucker was a president of a motorcycle club and yet his regular ride was his pussy ass mustang. He stared Fangs down before a grin crossed his face. It seemed as if we had all come with the same idea in mind.
No show of force, but ready to fuck with someone if they fucked back.
“Well, well, well,” Bullet said as he closed his door, “fancy meeting you here.”
Fangs rolled his eyes. “Can we get to it? It’s late.”
“I’m sure you guys are tired, yes?”
My eye twitched, but I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t there to argue, anyway. I was there to provide backup. After staying up all damn day worrying about this meeting and how it could all go sideways, I watched and stayed alert for any sign that I needed to reach for the gun behind my back.
But I didn’t like the way his guys stared at me and Viper.
