Page 9

I cruised into Anarchy, California, just as the sun dipped low, the sky ablaze with amazing colors. Didn’t mean shit to me except that it was getting late. The day had been hot as hell, and the wind biting at my face as I roared down the highway didn’t cool me off nearly enough. My Harley rumbled beneath me, a familiar promise of speed and power.

I’d been on the road for days. Not that I really wanted to. Kingpin had made it clear I was on babysitting duty, and I was never good at playing babysitter. Sure as shit never wanted to play it to some older broad who’d messed with the wrong criminals. But I was in deep with Kingpin. He had me by the balls, and if he said “fetch,” I had to fetch. Being stuck as a puppet for that bastard wasn’t exactly how I’d pictured my life, but I’d had plenty of illusions beaten out of me already.

As I neared the edge of the rally, I could hear the thunder of bikes and the blare of rock music. The place was a goddamn zoo. Tents and tarps lined up on a dusty field, bonfires going, random crowds shouting and laughing. Engines revved, women giggled, men hollered. It was everything you’d expect from a massive biker event, drugs, booze, fights waiting to happen. It might’ve been my scene once, back when I still got some kick out of chaos. Now, it felt like just another job.

I found a spot to park among a sea of motorcycles. Some engines still humming around me gave the impression I was stepping into a hornet’s nest. Perfect for a guy like me, someone who’d be gone before dawn, if I had any goddamn luck.

I took a quick walk around, letting my gaze slide over the scene. Men in leather, sporting cuts from different MCs, the Kings of Anarchy, a few from Royal Bastards, random independents. Women tottered around in heels, some in fishnets, some wearing practically nothing at all, tits out for the world to see. Usually, that’d make my day, but I tried to stay focused. Vendors hawked cheap beer, questionable meat off a grill, and T-shirts with slogans like Live Fast, Die Last.

Kingpin’s intel told me Dirty Diana was already set up here. She was supposedly the queen of gossip, a woman who sold secrets or traded them like currency. On the trip here, if I wasn’t riding, I was digging, questioning my contacts.

Half the men in the biker underground had warmed her bed, or so the rumors went. Except, from what I’d heard, she was pushing mid-fifties and no spring chicken. Not exactly top of my personal to-do list. But Kingpin wanted me up close, and said she had blackmail potential. Or she was being blackmailed, one of the two. He needed to know if she’d talk to the wrong ears. So, yeah. Lucky me.

I spotted her near a bonfire, nursing a beer and laughing raucously with a cluster of old dudes that looked like they’d stepped right out of 1978. She stood out because she had dark dyed hair, too much makeup, and clothes meant for a woman half her age and size. She wasn’t as big as some had hinted, but she had a roundness to her. Looked older than her years, too. Life had not been kind to her. Neither had her own choices, if I had to guess.

Time to play nice. I plastered on my best charming grin. The one I used to bust out when I was an undercover cop, back in a life that felt like it belonged to someone else and strolled up to the fire. “Hey, sweetheart,” I said, letting my gaze flick over her in a way that usually works wonders on lonely women. “You look like you could use some company.”

She blinked at me, eyes bloodshot, lips cracked from the heat of the flames and probably too many cigs. “Company?” She dragged out the word, a little uncertain.

I gave a slow shrug, letting the patches on my vest catch her attention. Road Monsters MC. She’d know that name carried some weight, even if it wasn’t as flashy as the local clubs. “Yeah, or maybe you want me to fuck off?” I teased, playing the line between confidence and arrogance.

She stared a moment longer, then a big grin split her face. “Shit, honey. Don’t you know old Dirty Diana never says no to a handsome face?”

I tried not to cringe. Jesus. This is your life now, Maverick, I told myself. Deal with it.

I sat down on a log next to her, ignoring the smirks of the old guys she’d been chatting with. They lost interest fast once I joined in, drifting off to find more drinks or easier women. She turned to face me, leaning in close.

Her breath reeked of stale beer and cigarettes. I forced myself not to recoil. “You’re new,” she purred, letting a hand settle on my upper thigh. “What’s your name, sugar?”

Thankfully, my cock didn’t even twitch. I gave her a lazy grin. “Maverick.”

She made a show of batting her lashes, though they were caked with cheap mascara that’d started to flake. “Maverick. Mmm, I like that.”

She leaned closer, but I twisted slightly so her hand slid off my leg. The last damn thing I wanted was to have her pawing all over me. Still, I needed to keep the conversation flowing. “I hear you’ve got a story or two to tell, Dirty Diana. Word says you collect secrets like some folks collect baseball cards.”

A flash of something. Fear? Excitement? Crossed her eyes. “Who told you that?” she asked, voice sharper.

I shrugged. “People talk. Or it could be that I simply have good ears.”

She snorted. “Yeah, well, maybe they should keep their mouths shut.” She took a long swig from her beer can. Then, abruptly, she turned to me, eyes wide. “You know what? You might not be safe talkin’ to me. There’s a man named Grinder, some big mob boss. He’s put a hit out on me.”

Fuck, that was easy. The woman really did have loose lips. I kept my face neutral. “A hit, huh?” I asked. “Why’d he do that?”

She glanced around, lowering her voice. “’Cause he thinks I’m talkin’ about stuff, I shouldn’t. I know a lot of shit, Maverick. Dangerous shit. And he wants me dead. Hell, he wants my daughter dead, too. He threatened her name specifically.”

My detective instincts, long buried, stirred. She was either telling the truth or spinning a story. She had that sweaty, jittery look of someone in real fear, but it could be an act. I’d known plenty of hustlers. “Your daughter?” I asked. “Does she know she’s in danger?”

Diana’s eyes darted. “I… mighta hinted. But she’s busy, you know, has her own life. She’s in Texas. No sense dragging her into my mess, right?”

What a load of bullshit. If she really thought her kid was in danger, she’d call her. Well, maybe a normal mother would. Then again, Dirty Diana sure as hell wasn’t normal. “If Grinder is for real, you should warn her,” I said flatly. “More than a hint. Unless you want to see her in a casket.”

She pursed her lips, her face twisted with concern or guilt. “Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled. “Maybe I will. Could use a lawyer’s mind on this anyway, and she just passed the bar.” She rummaged for another cigarette, lighting it with shaky fingers. “But what about me, Maverick? You gonna keep me safe?”

I avoided making any promises. “We’ll see. Let’s talk more after I catch my breath.”

She gave me a considering look, then nodded. Seemed I’d earned a tiny shred of trust.

I left her by the fire, telling her I needed to take a leak. In reality, I had to find Kingpin. He’d texted me earlier that he was in a big black RV near the south side of the field. I was supposed to give him updates, like some fucking errand boy. My lip curled with anger, but I forced it down.