A bike passed me on the right, and I growled when I noticed it was a black-and-white police motorcycle with the NGPD logo on the gas tank.
“Why do motorcycle cops always look so smug?” Will mused out loud.
“Those knee-high boots.” I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. The cop was close to the truck, and I was nervous for him in a way I wished I wasn’t. I shouldn’t care if he was stupid and pancaked himself. I shouldhopehe did.
“You can’t think that’s hot,” Dallas said. “Not after what they did to you.” He flicked my ear, the jerk. I swatted at him.
“I don’t think the cop is hot, I just happen to like those boots.” I glared at him in the rearview mirror, and he and Will snickered.
King noticed his company—did a double take—and I held my breath as I waited for him to flip the cop off. He didn’t. Instead, he took off faster and popped a wheelie on the wet fucking road. He shouldn’t have been able to get his heavy fucking Harley to do that so easily, but the man had come out of his mama’s twat riding motorcycles, so he pulled it off without sliding.
“Son of a bitch.” Dallas slapped the back of my seat.
Will was howling with laughter, and I joined in because the cop looked like he’d taken a bite of dog shit. He flipped King the bird—that was a first—and turned off our street at the next corner.
“Is that cop riding a BMW? Is that the K 1600 GTL?” Dallas leaned toward his window and put it down to keep staring.
“It’s a touring bike,” I said with a shrug. “Why?”
Will gasped for air, and my heart hiccupped. It took him a second to stop wheezing. “Wouldn’t it be funny—” He thumped his chest like he was trying to force it to take in more air. “—if the guys at the heist were cops?”
I slammed on the brakes and a car behind me honked its horn. “Holy fuck.”
Dallas leaned over the back of the seat so he could look at me, then Will.
“What?” Will asked. “What did I say?”
17
ROOK
“There’s no fucking way, right?” I glanced between King, Dallas, and PD, taking in the expressions on their faces. Before the accident, I might’ve discerned their feelings and understood what they were thinking, but my brain was hazy at times, and today was one of the bad ones. My head throbbed and I was launching from irritated to happy and back again. There was no in-between. My emotions changed faster than a red light.
We were sitting at a new-to-us bar, clearly a place that wasn’t used to bikers, since we kept getting apprehensive glances that made the hair on my arms stand up. The bar wasn’t anything fancy, with a western theme that included photos of Clint Eastwood and John Wayne plastered across the walls. The bartenders were all women wearing cowboy hats, Daisy Dukes that barely ended over the curve of their asses, and plaid button-up shirts tied at their midriffs.
The patrons were mostly older guys with mustaches that looked too big on their faces and sweat stains under their pits. I noticed one guy who eyed up a bartender’s ass while she cleared his table of empty glasses, his hand hovering on his thigh as ifhe was ready to smack her cheeks. I tensed, ready to come to her aid. I was in the mood for a fight. Luckily for him, she moved away too fast for him to do a thing.
“Will?” PD laid a hand on my shoulder, jolting me out of my thoughts. I glanced at him, and he frowned with concern. Clearly, I’d missed a whole conversation.
“What?”
King chuckled as he gulped his beer, and all the while Dallas eyed him with worry. I was waiting for the argument, where Dallas told King to slow down, but Dallas kept his mouth shut. He merely sighed, and I felt bad for him. I understood his predicament. King was like my older brother, and I’d noticed his drinking getting out of control. It was bad if the info had sunk in and stayed in my head. So many other things didn’t these days.
“We were talking about the chances of the hit being pulled off by cops.” PD squeezed my shoulder and let go again, dropping his elbows on the table.
“Well, we know someone who’s in a relationship with one,” Dallas said, reminding me that he’d been a cop once. Before he’d met King, he was ATF and went undercover at our club. He and King fell in love and the rest was history.
“River,” I said.
Dallas nodded.
River was the club lawyer and one of the best in New Gothenburg. He was dating a cop-slash-private investigator named Jayce, who also happened to be Bishop’s older brother. If there was anything the Kings loved, it was family, and we were well connected.
“Hmm, we could call him. Not sure how much he’ll give us, though.” King took another swig of beer, and I counted three empty glasses in front of him already. “He and Paxton don’t talk about work at home, and Paxton doesn’t get involved in clubbusiness. He tries to stick to whatever case he’s working on and ignore assholes at work.”
“It’s worth a shot.” PD stroked a line down my spine, then settled his palm on my back, and a wave of calm slid through me. My muscles relaxed and a breath escaped between my lips. “And River deals with a lot of the cops. He might know who he is if we show him my drawing.”
“Video call him,” King demanded with a cheer, raising his glass.
