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Since my thoughts are already on seeing Wildcard again, I ignore the cabbie and step out onto the shoulder. I approach the glass-enclosed guard house, making eye contact with the prospect standing guard.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, I hope so. I need to see Wildcard. If he’s here?” My heart drops when I realize he may not be. Hell, he may not still be alive. What will I do then?

“Can I have your name?”

“Brigit, Brigit Jones,” I tell him, just as the front door opens. I spot Wildcard coming down the steps towards an older man who was driving the trike. Wildcard says something to him, but I can’t hear their words. However, I can see the man pull a gun from the waist of his jeans. The echo of the shot ricochets around the space. I watch in horror as Wildcard falls to the ground.

CHAPTER THREE: WILDCARD

Someone is using the back of my eyeballs for shooting practice. How much did I have to drink last night? Prying my eyes open only makes it worse. I can’t get my arm to move and block the blinding sun.

“Son of a bitch,” I grumble, glancing down to see a bandage near my shoulder. What the hell happened? At least I’m in the club’s infirmary and not the hospital. So, it can’t be too serious. But what the fuck happened?

“You’re awake?” asks Splint as he comes into the room.

“Unfortunately. How much to knock my ass out again?”

He chuckles. “I could do that, but I figured you’d want to be awake so you can take part.”

“Take part in what?”

“Chill has the shooter in The Pit. She hasn’t started on him yet. Thought you’d want to be there to help get some answers. Viper says he’s a former biker. But the guy’s old. Doubt he’ll last.”

“What?” I’m at a loss. Who are we talking about? Then the image of an old man pointing a gun at me comes into focus. Shit! Preacher. He shot me. A man I considered a friend. The man who asked me to take his daughter away from Vegas and hideher in Boston. What had Preacher said about her? Something about how much money I got for her? What the fuck?

In my rush to get out of bed, I find myself almost back on my ass. Grasping the bed, I close my eyes and fight back the pain and dizziness.

“Woah, there,” Splint says, grabbing my shoulder and arm. “Jeez, take it easy or you’ll pop the stitches if you don’t break your neck first.”

“I have to talk to him. Where is he?”

“Who? The guy who shot you? Where do you think? Chill has him in The Pit.”

Shit! I stumble to the door before realizing that I don’t have my kutte or boots.

“Slow down. Your boots are on that chair, so is your kutte. Had to cut your shirt off.”

After jamming my feet into my boots, I yank on my kutte, giving a hiss of pain when I pull at the stitches. Rushing out the door, I run straight into a brick wall. Looking up, I find Puma staring down at me from his lofty height. I’m not a small guy, but standing at seven feet, Puma makes me feel like I could play an extra in the Wizard of Oz.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Puma’s booming voice bounces off the walls, reigniting my headache.

“I have to stop Chill before she hurts Preacher,” I tell him.

Puma frowns but turns to walk with me through the clubhouse and out the backdoor. “Explain.”

“Preacher was a member of the Demon Dawgs when Squiggy was President. He had a young daughter he kept away from the clubhouse, for good reason. Her name was Brigit. Preacher knew about Squiggy’s preference for young girls, so he kept her away. However, he never told Brigit why he didn’t let her near the clubhouse. She stopped by one day to give Preacher his wallet. He’d left it at home and she thought he might need it.She was only seventeen. I was a prospect working the gate when she drove up. Don’t know what happened inside, but Preacher hustled her out and tore into her for coming to the clubhouse. I realized later that Squiggy got an eyeful and wanted her.”

“I bet. That guy was a sick fucker,” Puma grunts. “Glad he’s fucking dead.”

“You and me both.”

“Did Squiggy want Preacher to give her to him?”

“He didn’t come out and ask, but he suggested Preacher bring her around more. How the club was a family. He really put on the pressure.”

Puma snorts.