Page 10

Spotting the RV, I knocked once and stepped in. The inside was surprisingly spacious, with a little living area. Kingpin sat at a small table, a cigar clamped between his teeth, while a man I recognized as Murder, the president in Charleston, sat across from him, swirling moonshine in a plastic cup. Both turned at my entrance.

“About goddamn time,” Kingpin growled, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

Murder lifted his chin in greeting, though he gave me a once-over. “So, you’re the one Kingpin set to sniffin’ around for that mouthy broad?” He had a gravelly voice that reminded me of a man who’d smoked a hundred cigarettes for breakfast.

“Lucky me.” I crossed my arms over my chest. I hated being in the same room with Kingpin. He’d stolen everything from me, my first love, my illusions, my sense of belonging. Now I was his lacky, forced to do his bidding so he wouldn’t have me fucking killed. Living the dream.

Murder poured me some moonshine. “Good to see you, again. Picked some up from the Black Rebel Riders on our way,” he explained. “Local shit’s the best.”

“Mind the smoke,” Kingpin said with a sneer, blowing another puff in my direction. “Eve hates it, so I gotta catch my puffs when I can.”

I nearly flinched at the mention of Eve’s name, but I covered it by taking a long drink of moonshine. Shit was good. But I didn’t want to think about Eve, or how she’d been mine once upon a time, how we’d lost a baby, how she’d run to Kingpin after. Fuck , I hated even hearing her name.

“She’s not here, so you can calm your tits, son,” Kingpin said dismissively.

Murder gave a wheezing laugh. “Poor old Kingpin, pussy-whipped by his hot, young, new wife.”

Kingpin shot him a glare but didn’t disagree. “So, Maverick,” he said, turning his gaze on me. “You find ol’ Dirty D yet?”

I nodded, knowing he was inviting me to speak in front of Murder. Made sense. The two presidents were as thick as thieves, and twice as cunning. I wondered momentarily if he was one of the Road Monsters' aces himself before I answered Kingpin, “She’s here, all right. Says some mob boss named Grinder put a hit on her. She’s spooked. Told me the asshole’s after her daughter, too.”

Kingpin cocked his head, “Diana has a daughter? That’s news.”

Murder snorted. “A hit. Probably a crock of shit. That woman would say anything for attention.”

Kingpin took a long drag of his cigar. “Perhaps. But I ain’t takin’ chances. I need to know if she’s got anything on me or my club. Something she might trade to the highest bidder. You keep her close.”

I resisted, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, I’ll keep her close. But I’m not screwing her, if that’s what you’re aiming for,” I added, letting a note of sarcasm slip. “She’s older than my damn mother.”

Murder burst out laughing, nearly spilling his whiskey. “Fuck, son, no one’s asking you to pork her.”

My jaw set, ignoring that little dig. Murder wasn’t my enemy.

Kingpin smirked, half-lidded eyes glinting at Murders quip. “You do whatever you gotta do, Maverick. If you can keep your dick in your pants, more power to you.”

Murder pointed a finger at me, still grinning. “Ah, you poor bastard. Diana used to be a wildcat in the sack, when she was young and hot. We all get old, eventually.”

Kingpin spoke up. “We all had a turn with Dirty D over the years.”

Murder continued, “Yeah, before we knew, she would suck us dry in a whole other way. Then we used to have new prospects handle her so that no one else had to. They’d get a new Harley out of being on her arm for a while, in her bed, and when they tried to leave her, they’d get blackmailed. They’d learn their lesson to steer clear of a sugar mama.”

Kingpin chimed in, “We had to stop doing that when it backfired. She had too much to hold over the clubs. She drifted west.”

“I’ll do what I need to. Just make sure I’m compensated for this bullshit.”

Kingpin didn’t even blink. “You keep me informed, and I’ll keep you alive. That’s enough compensation for a Pig like you.”

I stiffened. He never missed a chance to remind me I was an ex-cop. “Fuck you, Kingpin,” I muttered, but we both knew there wasn’t much bite to my words. He had all the leverage.

Murder cleared his throat. “So, about that other shit… I hear he wants more money outta you guys.”

Kingpin nodded, stubbing out the cigar in a little ashtray. “He’s pushin’ for bigger dues, more loyalty. Says if we don’t show we’re ‘all in,’ he’ll strip us of our territory. But we built these chapters ourselves. No thanks to that asshole. We pay enough. Hell, we do all the heavy lifting. He just sits on his ass, counting money.”

Murder took a swig of his moonshine. “And rumor has it he might be behind our Cloud Nine drug fiasco in Charleston. Pushing that shit to line his own pockets.”

Kingpin’s features darkened. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Also, we got word from the guys in Nashville that some info got leaked to the mob. Stuff only he would know. Might be him fucking us over, dealing with them behind our backs. I ain’t got proof yet, but it smells rotten.”

Murder let out a dangerous chuckle. “Are we thinking of ditching them?”

Kingpin shrugged. “Might or might start something new. We got options. If we can get enough allies, who knows? Either way, he’s welcome to gargle my balls.”

I listened, stone-faced, but my mind buzzed. So, Kingpin was planning to jump ship, maybe align with another club or form his own coalition. That spelled big changes. And if I was being honest, I didn’t give a damn, so long as it didn’t screw me over.

A scuff of boots sounded behind me, and I turned to see a large, red-haired biker stepping inside, a smattering of freckles on his brawny arms. He bowed to Kingpin, ignoring me at first. Then his gaze slid over, and his expression shifted. “Ah, well, if it ain’t Hallow,” he said in a thick Irish brogue I struggled to decipher.

I swallowed a curse. “Name’s Maverick,” I corrected him, trying to keep my tone neutral.

He flashed me a friendly smirk. “Aye, you can change your name, but I remember my brother.”

I gave a curt nod, forcing a tight smile. “Good to see you too, Irish.” The last thing I needed was reminding of my past, but Irish was a genuine soul.

He looked me up and down. “You were trouble then. Guess you’re trouble now. Glad to see you survived. Surprised you’re not signed up to fight.”

“Not this time. My new boss, whoever’s over the Road Monsters is a real piece of shit. Has no interest in having me do what I’m good at,” I said to Irish, gettingin a dig at Kingpin, since I wasn’t supposed to know who called the shots.

Irish’s curiosity was piqued. He asked, “Is that so. What’s wrong with the bastard. You’re one of the best fighters, you are.”

“Yeah, guys got small dick syndrome or something. So, I’m too busy.”

Kingpin tapped a finger on the table, clearly done with the pleasantries. “All right, enough. Irish, go find some whores to amuse yourself with until we reconvene.”

Irish laughed, heading back out. He threw me one last knowing look over his shoulder as he left.

Murder and Kingpin turned back to me, but I raised a hand. “If we’re done, I gotta get back to Diana. Don’t want her running off or opening that big mouth.”

Murder shrugged, lifting his whiskey. Kingpin waved me off, bored, his eyes already drifting to the phone on the table.

I stepped out of the RV, relief washing through me as I breathed the night air. Something about being so close to Kingpin for more than a few minutes made my skin crawl. I liked to pretend I was free, even though I wasn’t, not really.

I started cutting back through the tents, heading in Diana’s direction, when I heard the pulsing beat of music from a corner. A ring of people had gathered, watching something. Curious, I coasted over.

In the center, a short, lithe red head wearing shimmering booty shorts and a cropped top was dancing with several large, color-changing hula hoops. Her skill was mesmerizing, spinning them around her waist, arms, and neck in a rapid, hypnotic swirl. The flickering lights made patterns in the dark. With a whoop and a holler, the men cheered. The women clapped.

When the music ended, the woman, took a playful bow. She had a wild grin, blue eyes dazzling with mischief. I found myself oddly captivated. She looked up, and our gazes locked. Without warning, she beckoned me closer with a flick of her finger.

Like pulled by a string, I moved forward. She looped her arms around my waist, pressing her body close. “You look like trouble,” she said, her tiny voice high and sickeningly sweet. “I’m a big fan of trouble.”

I smirked. “Then you’re in luck. I’m Trouble.”

“Hoops,” she purred, lifting a slender hand in a wave. Then she traced a fingertip along my shirt collar, noting the patches and that my name wasn’t Trouble. In this crowd it could’ve been.

“Trouble is my middle name,” I quipped.

“You also look like big dick. I’m a big big fan.”

I cleared my throat. “Last name, Big Dick.”

She licked her lips. “Maverick Trouble Big Dick of the Road Monsters MC, huh? New in town?”

“Just passing through,” I replied watching her tongue.

She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear, making my dick spring to life. “Come find me at my tent tonight, Mr. Big Dick. I’m over there by the red banner.” She pointed to a distant bright flag swaying on a pole. “I got a bottle of tequila with your full name on it.”

My grin widened. “I’ll see what I can do.”

And just like that, Hoops disappeared into the crowd, her hips swaying, leaving me with a renewed appreciation for the night’s possibilities. Maybe this trip isn’t all shit, I thought, continuing my trek to check on Diana.

I was trudging around the rally grounds to find Diana when I saw a familiar face leaning against a battered truck. I’d glimpsed him the other night, but we weren’t able to catch up.

“Smoke,” I called.

He turned, and a huge grin split his face. “Well, I’ll be damned. Hallow, or should I say Maverick?” He grabbed me in a rough, friendly embrace. Smoke was from Charleston, a Royal Bastards brother from my first club. He’d always been laid back, the type to share a joint and a laugh more than start a fight.

I clapped him on the shoulder. “Good to see you, brother. Didn’t know you’d be here.”

He punched at my arm. “The Charleston guys wanted to scope out the rally, see what the Kings of Anarchy had to offer. A big patch-over might be in the works.”

I inclined my head, not surprised since hearing it from Kingpin. “How’s life in the hills?”

Smoke grinned big. “Got engaged, actually. We got a baby on the way.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Never thought I’d settle down, but here I am.”

I gave a genuine smile, ignoring the pang of envy in my gut. “Good for you, brother. Proud of you.”

He nodded, glancing around. “So, I hear you’re stuck with Dirty Diana. She cornered me earlier this morning, asked if I had any weed. Then told me some crazy story about a mob boss wanting her dead.” He snorted. “That woman lives in her own reality, I swear.”

I rubbed my beard. “She told me the same. Says it’s some guy named Grinder. Put a hit out on her and her daughter.”

Smoke folded his arms. “Half the time, she makes shit up. Think the old girl’s senile. But who knows, she’s been tangled up with shady crowds before.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, the old detective itch present at the back of my mind. I needed to figure out if she was lying or not. “Well, watch your back. If there’s truth to it, we might have trouble.”

Smoke nodded. “Sure thing. But we’re heading home soon. Good luck to you.”

We said our goodbyes. I continued onward, eventually spotting Diana near a mud-wrestling pit, spectating with a giggly group of women. She seemed in high spirits, her paranoia from last night either faded or drowned in liquor. I cursed under my breath. Babysitting a half-sober old woman was one thing. Babysitting a wasted liability was another.