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It strikes me as funny how humble she is about other equally fucking brilliant people. I lean towards her. “I think if you’re comparing yourself to the elite pool of people who won Jeopardy!, six might not sound like a lot. But to the rest of the population who watch it and ask themselves how the hell someone knows the answer to that, I’d say it was pretty impressive.”

“What question took you out?” Ridge asks.

“I confused a seventeenth-century Dutch master with his son.”

I blink at that. “That sentence means absolutely nothing to me.”

“Painters, right?” Ridge says, but he looks to Della for confirmation.

“Correct. But back to my questions?”

It’s good to see some color in her face. On the way here, we went back to her motel room. Della took one look at the way the sheets had been ripped away from the way I’d staged them and had gone pale. I’d helped her to the edge of the bed to sit and reassured her nothing was going to happen to her with me and Ridge around.

But we’d taken photos, packed up her stuff, and left after she’d decided she would inform the police later.

“To become a biker, you start as a hangaround, as a friend of the club,” I say. “You aren’t brought into club business, but you come to the open parties, might even follow behind the official formation when we ride out. The club then gets to see what kind of person you are.”

Ridge nods. “Once we know we like you, and you like the club, you can ask to become a prospect, but you need another member of the club to put you forward.”

Della’s eyes go wide. “So, you have sponsors?”

“Yes,” Ridge and I say at the same time.

“Fascinating.” Della cups her hands around her mug of coffee and takes another sip. She’s got blunt, unpolished nails. They’re practical and so on brand for her.

“Did you decide on what you want to eat?” Patty asks, reappearing by Della.

“You guys go,” Della says, burying her head in the menu. “I’ll have decided by the time it gets to me.”

“The usual,” I say. I don’t think she’s noticed she keeps nudging my boot. Above the table, she’s all calm and collected. But below, her foot’s jiggling away, tapping against me.

“Usual for me too,” Ridge says.

Della’s eyes fly over the menu so fast, I can barely keep up with them. “Can I get the smashed avocado on toast, then add two poached eggs, and could I get halloumi on the side instead of feta on top?”

“Sure thing,” Patty says.

“You read that fast,” I say as Della slides the menu back into the holder, and the foot jiggling stops.

“I’ve always been a quick reader. Helps with my line of work. You didn’t tell me what you have to do to become a one percenter.”

Ridge huffs. “And we’re not gonna. Next.”

Della looks to me, but I shake my head. “There are some things we just don’t talk about, and that’s one of them.”

She bites down on her delicious lower lip. “Well, you’re no fun. Tell me about road captains and tail gunners.”

Ridge points his thumb to his badge. “Road captain. I plan rides. And it can sometimes be for forty to sixty bikes. It’s my job to know which areas other clubs own and create a safe route through them. I plan breaks, plot the route, keep us all moving forward. And I ensure that everyone’s bikes are in fit condition to ride.”

Della nods. “So, kind of risk assessment to ensure safety.”

Ridge grins. “Risk assessment. I sound smarter than I thought. Sure, I do risk assessment.”

She looks at me, and I notice just how hazel her eyes are. They’re intense and engaged. They’re also wide. “What about tail gunner? What does that entail?”

“I ride at the back.”

“That’s all?”