“The Gray Wolves MC compound in Tucson.”
“We’ll be there in two hours to talk to you.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Rachel shows me how to fix Junior’s bottle, and then she feeds him while I take a much-needed shower and change into a pair of soft, gray pajamas.
Without my emotional support bra, I look like a cow with a swollen udder, but there’s nothing I can do about that. It’s part of getting Mommy healthy.
I don’t unpack the rest of my things. Who knows how tonight’s gonna end?
The Wolves won’t be happy that I invited another MC onto their territory, but every moment I waste could be a moment needed to save Hawk’s life.
I keep looking at the clock as I pace back and forth. When I hear a commotion downstairs, I know it’s time. I grab DJ from his playmat, and we head out.
The common room is empty, except for the prospect manning the bar.
Outside, Prez and Truck are having a heated discussion with two unfamiliar bikers in denim vests; if I had to guess, I’d say they’re Hawk’s Prez and VP.
His Prez is a bearded man in his fifties who towers over Sly in both height and build. The other man, tall and wiry, with thick black hair and a goatee, stands behind him, observing everyone and everything around him as if scanning for the biggest threat.
The scary part is that both VPs have a hand on their holsters.
The rest of the Gray Wolves men who found themselves at the clubhouse, including Dylan, are standing and glaring at the newcomers in a way that I guess is supposed to be intimidating.
Five more denim-clad bikers are calmly waiting on their bikes outside the gate, next to the expensive-looking SUV that their leaders must have come in. I can’t see their faces because they haven’t taken off their helmets.
“Marissa, go back inside,” Dylan shouts when he sees me approach the Prez’s group, and the newcomers’ heads whip towards me.
“That’s her,” the older guy tells his friend, and gives me a nod as I walk up to them.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” I tell them.
“Thank you for calling,” he replies, and I think that’s the voice I heard on the phone earlier.
“Marissa, I told you the club would handle this. You had no business calling another MC into our clubhouse,” Prez says angrily, and the two men step closer to me.
Truck frowns at his President. Dylan runs up to us and stands next to his brothers.
I stand with Hawk’s people, facing them.
“Letting a friendly club know about one of their own that’s missing is part of the biker code,” the older biker says in a conciliatory tone.
I can almost hear the wheels in Sly’s head turning as he considers whether this could lead to some immediate gain for him. Then, he nods.
“I would have appreciated a heads up, that’s all. I’ll have a word with your ol’ man later.” He glares at me, and I look away.
“And who is this little fella?” The older man waves at Junior, who’s perched on my hip.
“This is DJ,” I tell them.
“I’m Squid, and this is Uncle. We’re with the Redemption Chasers.” He turns to Prez. “We’d appreciate it if we could sit down with Marissa here to get info about our missing brother, and then we’ll be on our way back to Phoenix.”
DJ swats at Uncle’s cut, most likely trying to grab it so he could chew on it. The man glances down to see what the movement was, frowning at first, but then his face completely transforms, and he smiles at my baby, who giggles like they’re two friends sharing a joke.
“You two are welcome to come in and talk to her in front of us,” Prez finally says. “The rest of your men stay outside.”
Squid and Uncle share an odd little smile, and Squid says, “Thank you for the courtesy. Our club will not forget this.”
