Page 18

I scratch my neck and look off to the side to think. “The day I arrived for sure. Maybe Casper can give you dates on when he was here, and we can see if the former VP was talking to anyone we don’t know about yet. Oh, and two nights ago.”

I hear the clickety-clack of the keyboard stop as he looks straight at the camera, at me, with raised eyebrows. Flint looks back at Casper, who nods, then at me again before shrugging and pulling up the feed for both of us to watch on the side of the screen .

“What’s so bad about this?” He’s talking about me carrying Viv inside.

From the angle, I can see my face, and I’m so focused on her that I wonder if my friends can tell.

I can. I remember it well, from the moment she closed her eyes when I scooped her into my arms till I walked into the clubhouse.

Even with the bruising and swollen face, she was beautiful.

“Not that angle. You got one on Howlers, the tattoo shop?”

“Yup, coming right up.” Flint loads it, and we all watch it play out from her arriving and waiting on the pickup, then fast-forwarding to when the limo comes back.

Flint whistles when he sees her come out and start pounding on the guy. “Damn, that’s hot. Hello!” he shouts when Lucky goes down.

Casper shakes his head and chuckles. “Got yourself a spitfire, I see.”

I shake my head. “Not mine. She’s MMA. Does some underground fighting or something. I want you to see if you can dig into her story and see if it’s legit. Maybe even see if she’s part of C8.”

This has Casper holding my stare through the cameras before nodding.

Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve dealt with an operative from the Crazy Eights.

They have a habit of sneaking into the club life without us knowing.

Viv has given me nothing to indicate she’s part of the group, and that’s why I’m asking.

C8’s operatives blend into society so well, it’s almost impossible to tell who belongs with the group and who doesn’t.

They were the ones who brought us here in the first place when they pulled the club into a deal to clear our debt to them.

It’s why Casper almost got blown up and how he got his old lady all in one.

It would make sense if they left an operative close to a clubhouse that might still have members inside dealing with something they want to end.

I still don’t know if I trust C8. Casper does.

Well, he trusts some members. I think he’s in the same boat as me and hesitant to group all of them into the warm-feeling category.

We now have a link with them, a partnership if you will.

It’s new. Possibilities of how far we both could go are large.

But it also means we need to be careful, as the fallout could be detrimental.

They claimed that if we parted ways, it would be fine, but I can already see that some Hounds are too connected with them already.

A break from the group could break some people.

At the very least, it’d make people choose between the person they love and the life they love.

And they aren’t the same thing in my book.

“Got it. Anything else?”

“The girl’s friend, Summer, mentioned some shit when she was busting Bane’s balls to get to her girl.

Said something about people being removed.

The way she said it, and with the things going on here, I don’t think it was a coincidence.

Rooster had Link look into it last night, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to cast a wider net. Kid’s good, but you know.”

“Come on.” Flint smiles as he eggs me on. “You can say it.” I shake my head and refuse to say it. Not that it holds him back. “Kid’s not as good as me.”

“Actually, I was going to say Gator, but hey, you’re a close second, man.”

Casper bursts out laughing, cracking whatever somber mood we might have been having with the talk of kidnapping people for sex trade .

Flint raises his lip in a snarl but does nothing more.

It’s all love anyway. Honestly, I don’t know who’s better.

Flint was here first, but Gator was meant to be Flint’s replacement one day.

All I know is I’m good with numbers and not so much the tech world beyond spreadsheets.

I stay in my lane and let the others duke it out to decide who’s the top man for the title.

“What else?”

I shrug as I take another sip of my coffee, setting it down before I answer my boss. “Not much to tell. No one’s squawking out here. We’re doing a few more check-ins, but so far, nothing’s coming up.”

“What about the former brother you had on ice?” Casper asks.

I shake my head. “Got nothing out of him. He was tight-lipped, and we did almost everything possible to the guy. I called it a few days ago and released him to the Reaper.”

“Good call. I was going to recommend the same thing. We were just wasting our time with that one.”

I nod. “Yeah, but now he’s dead, and we’re back to nothing.”

“You almost sound bored. Ready to pull up shop and come home?”

It’s a test. It’s got to be a test.

I shake my head and earn a smile from Casper.

“Right. Keep digging. I know there are more in on this. Maybe not inside the club, but they have a link to the club up there somehow. Give it some time and I bet something will show. In the meantime, try to keep busy. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you also brought in the driver and the guy who fell out of the car. Anything there? ”

“Nah. Some douche drugged the girl. She might have knocked him around a bit, but me and the boys are feeling antsy. Figured it would be a good steam releaser is all.”

“Drugged, huh? Might be a connection there. Might not. Ask on it.”

I nod and am reminded why he’s the mother chapter’s president. He sees all the angles.

“Catch up next week unless you need something.”

I give him a two-finger salute as the call ends.

I stew over what I know, what Casper has told me, and just life itself for a bit as I finish my coffee.

Not knowing things pisses me off a bit. I can usually push it down and just not care till I’m told to.

Be the happy-go-lucky guy everyone’s used to.

The one who rolls with everything but is always down for when shit goes south and you need someone to hold the guy while you beat the hell out of him.

But now I’m in charge. And I fucking hate that I can’t get what I want done while I’m at the top.

The reason I got into the tattoo gig and went out for the treasury patch was because I got instant results.

You want a tat? I got you. Name what it is and where you want it and you get it done.

Same with numbers. They never lie to you.

You notice an issue, it’s easy to find. But this?

Trying to figure out who’s gunning for you and who isn’t?

Who’s trying to use the club as a back door for trafficking and get away with it?

It’s harder than I want it to be. Sure, I could just start blowing shit up—which I’m really good at because, again, instant results—but I can’t.

Not really. It’s not a guarantee that it’ll get me anything other than a hole in the ground.

And I’m kind of liking it here. Not Michigan—fuck no, too cold.

But the people seem all right, and the food’s good.

Plus the clubhouse has heated floors. You ever wake up to heated floors? It’s a game changer.

I drink the last of what’s left in the cup, refraining just enough to not lick the inside of the mug before dropping it by the coffee area.

I even got fancy with the coffee maker stand and have a section to the left for dirty mugs.

Mama Bear would be so proud. She isn’t necessarily a clean freak, but she likes order and can go a bit nuts about things like that.

I take the stairs this time as I head to the basement.

The ear-piercing heavy metal makes me wince as soon as I open the soundproof doors.

The club did right in spending money on those.

You can’t hear a single thing on the other side, much less Mickey torturing everyone with his music choice to keep people awake.

“Yo,” I say when I walk into the room that’s reserved for “holding” people. Not cells, but we have chains to keep people in place down here in a room we keep locked most of the time unless one of us is inside.

Mickey’s here, leaning against the wall, staring hard at the driver and other guy, the drugger.

We’ve kept them down here for two days. We haven’t asked much—not that they aren’t talking.

Well, the driver is, saying anything and everything to try and convince us to let him go.

But it’s the other guy I want to crack, so I keep both and just let the boys have some fun.

No one has gotten a big beatdown yet. Just a few hits here and there, and then it’s been a mental game.

And when Mickey’s on duty, it’s a screeching-music torture game.

I speak again, but no one moves. I can barely hear myself talking.

I walk closer to Mickey and put my hand on his shoulder.

He’s slow to look at me, but I have little doubt he could react at a moment’s notice.

I half expect he was actually asleep with his eyes open.

He blinks a few times as if coming out of a trance, and then he pulls out an earplug and says, “What?”

I laugh, and he just grins. Fucker. I shake my head with a smile as I nod to the two guys. He pulls out his phone, and the volume lowers. Not off, but enough for me to speak and think.

“Where did you get the drugs?” I don’t beat around the bush and play games. No need to when I’ve had the boys messing with them for days.

The driver is quick to speak. “He brought them. Nothing was in the limo when I took it out. I cleared it myself when prepping it like he wanted.” From the snarled lip of the other guy, I take it as truth.

“What were his specifications? How did he want the limo prepped?” I demand.