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Wizard’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “Of course it is. You couldn’t care less about anyone else’s boundaries, but you make sure your property is safeguarded. What’s the code?”

Cornbread gave it up easily. “1824.”

Wizard pressed the numbers, and the phone unlocked. Scrolling through the text messages, he read most of the exchanges between Stella and Cornbread.

“Fuck.” Irritated, he tossed the phone back to Doom.

Doom frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Bitch has been ghosting him for the last week.”

“Stella’s not ghosting me.” Cornbread raised his head. “She regrets talking me into going after The Last Riders. She’s getting therapy to deal with what was done to her and needs time to heal.”

Wizard stared at Cornbread then looked toward Doom. “He can’t be this stupid, can he?”

Doom shook his head at the pathetic man lying on the floor. “Apparently.”

“It would have been easier if I could have sent her a text from his phone to meet somewhere. Since that isn’t an option, Burn, you and Puck go check out her address. Watch her place. When she leaves, give her an escort here.”

Neither Burn nor Puck needed him to clarify how they were to escort Stella to the clubhouse before leaving the office.

Interlacing his fingers, Wizard studied Cornbread. “Wanna bet she won’t be there?” he asked Doom.

“No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

“Go ask Chai to make a fresh pot of coffee. It doesn’t look like either of us will be going to bed anytime soon.”

Doom left to follow his order.

While he waited for his coffee, Wizard raked his mind through the myriad women who held a grievance against the club. Two immediately came to mind: Taylor and Raci. He could have sworn Taylor hadn’t been the instigator behind sneaking the girls inside. She would have too much to lose professionally. Raci had tried hard to rebuild her relationship with The Last Riders. Her husband was a well-liked brother; she would know the consequences if it was discovered she was involved. Wizard didn’t think it was Raci, either. Then who?

As he waited for the coffee, he lit another cigarette. “Did Stella tell you her club nickname?”

“No.”

Releasing a stream of smoke, he went back to searching his mind. “What does she look like?”

“She’s beautiful.” His expression garnered his first round of sympathy for the used fucker. “She has short black hair, five-four, slim.”

The description didn’t ring any bells. Neither Taylor nor Raci fit that description.

“You have any pictures of her on your phone?”

“No. She hates getting her picture taken.”

“I bet she does,” he scoffed. Whoever the woman was had planned for every contingency in case Cornbread was caught.

Taking another draw from his cigarette, he was almost certain Stella was a fake name. If it was, the address would be bogus, too.

His suspicions were confirmed when Doom returned with his coffee.

“Burn texted. The apartment at the address Cornbread gave is empty. It’s an Airbnb,” Doom said, setting the coffee down.

“Figures.”

“You’re not surprised?”

“No.” Wizard lifted the steaming coffee to his lips. Repeating Cornbread’s description, Wizard looked over the rim of the coffee cup. “Ring any bells?”