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“Come in, please.” The woman led us to the bar inside and took our order while we waited for Snoopy. Sal had just finished his drink when an older version of the man in the photos we found walked in followed by someone else.

“What can I do for you?”

It wasn’t long before more men entered the room. Though two of them were noticeably missing. Montana, the club’s president and Fury, Sal’s cousin.

It would have been a lot easier had Fury been here, but after shit hit the fan in December, he had taken off. Last time Sal spoke to him, he and his wife were in California.

Sal stood up and walked toward Snoopy. He looked up and down and sneered. “You don’t look like much, old man.”

Shit!

I slipped around in front of my boss. “Easy, Sal. Let’s not have a repeat of the last clubhouse we were in.” I spoke in a hushed tone, hoping he was the only one who heard me.

“What the fuck is your problem?” the older man asked as his brothers came to stand behind him.

I pushed Sal back to his seat, giving Mac a look. He leaned over, his hand on Sal’s shoulder, and whispered to my boss who let his shoulders drop but still wouldn’t sit.

I turned back to the bikers with my hands up. “I apologize for my boss. We recently learned some news, and it involves you.” I handed him the picture of him and my sister. “Do you remember this woman?”

He took the picture from my hand, his eyes still on Sal. I assumed the older man beside him was Popeye. They were the only two retired members still alive.

George Stone, former president of the Soulless Sinners and Montana’s father, died last year. According to the news, it was natural causes. And well, I guess in our world, a bullet to the head was considered natural.

Then there was Michael Hamilton, known as Happy. He shacked up with Virginia Stone not long after George’s death and the two of them moved to Oklahoma to be near her youngest son, Kansas. Only Happy and Virginia were murdered on Christmas Day.

That left Stephen Hartley, aka Popeye, and Charles Kennedy, aka Snoopy.

“Of course I remember her. Bridgit Mahoney,” he said, handing the picture back. “Why?”

“Her fuckin’ name was Darcy Murphy,” Sal snarled.

I closed my eyes and exhaled a gust of breath, hoping to dispel the tension in my shoulders. Nothing had worked to ease my stress. Except getting off to thoughts of Freyja. Though that wasn’t an option right now.

“What the fuck are you talking about? Her name was Bridgit Mahoney.”

“My boss is correct. This is my sister, Darcy Murphy. She took off in 1986. We haven’t seen her since. My younger brother seemed to think she might still be alive. Do you remember when this picture was taken?”

Snoopy held out his hand and I gave him the picture again. He rubbed his chin as he studied it. He looked at Popeye. “When did we go to Ireland?”

“Shit, that was over thirty years ago. Must have been 1990 or ’91.”

Snoopy pointed at Popeye. “It was ’91. We had that meet with Buchanon. He had that party. We were there, what four or five days?” Snoopy looked at the picture again. A wistful look washedover his face. “I tried to find her when we got back. Wanted to bring her here.”

“You got another kid we don’t know about Snoop?” Mercy asked, coming forward to look at the picture.

Fuck me. I hadn’t thought about my sister having more kids.

“If I do, I don’t know about ‘em either. Never did find her. Even had Shame look for her when we brought him on. She disappeared.”

“Yea, she was good at that,” I muttered.

“Another fuckin’ dead end,” Sal grumbled. “Let’s go.”

“I know why he’s looking for her. Why are you?” Snoopy asked, directing his question to Sal.

Sal glared at Snoopy. “Let’s go.” He shrugged off Mac and walked toward the exit.

“Thanks for your help,” I offered, following behind the others.