He was in a deep sleep now, his breathing slow and regular. Restless, Naiya walked over to the window, her mind going over what Holt had said. He was having doubts about his plan to go after the Sinners, but he still intended to follow it through. How could she save him from himself? Save the bikers who were his closest friends? She knew how overwhelming the desire for revenge could be. She’d been there, ready to pull the trigger, without any thought about the consequences other than an end to the man who had caused her so much pain.
Holt didn’t have a priest to save him. But he did have Naiya, and the answer was out there. Rider’s Bar wasn’t far away.
She dressed quickly and left a note for Holt, telling him she’d gone for a walk. As an afterthought, she stuffed his cut in her bag before heading downstairs. Although it was nearly midnight, the lavish hotel lobby was busy with people chatting in the huge overstuffed chairs and clinking glasses in the hotel bar.
A cool breeze blew through the pink cotton sweater she’d bought during a rest stop on their way to Conundrum. She pulled it tighter around her as she raced through the streets, dodging pedestrians on their way home from the bars.
By the time she reached Rider’s Bar, her hands were white from the cold. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped into a proper, old school biker bar that smelled strongly of beer with a hint of leather. The dark, cherry-stained wood walls and warm colors gave it a comfortable, yet masculine, appearance. Rough-hewn wooden tables were scattered throughout, and the walls were decorated with pictures of whiskey bottles, motorcycles, Harley symbols, fancy cars and, of course, women.
Conversation ground to a halt when the door closed behind her, and it took Naiya a moment to realize she had walked into a sea of biker cuts with not a civilian in sight.
“What do we have here?” A burly giant of a man wearing a padded “Security” vest cracked a toothy smile. “You get lost on your way to a wedding, sugar?”
Naiya gave him what she hoped was a winning smile, or at least a smile that would convince him to let her into the bar. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Don’t think the kind of someone a girl like you would be looking for would be in a biker bar.” He took a step in front of her, blocking her way. Yeah, he was intimidating, but so were all the Black Jacks she’d encountered. And look what she’d done to Viper, who was the most intimidating biker of them all. Although her penknife had barely scratched him, she’d dared to stab the man many called untouchable.
“I’m here for a drink.” She looked up, met his gaze head on, her hands dropping to her hips. “So unless this is a private bar, I suggest you let me in, or does the owner not want paying customers?”
A grin spread across his face. “Why don’t you ask him?” He gestured to the bar. “His name is Banks. He’s the dude in camouflage who looks like he just came back from a Black Ops mission. Tell him Gunner’s buying your drinks tonight. He can put them on my tab.”
Gunner.
Holt said he was the club’s sergeant-at-arms, responsible for internal discipline at the club. And she could see why. His arms were like steel pipes and, despite his smile, he was clearly not a man to be crossed.
“Thanks.” She stepped to the side, and looked back over her shoulder with a genuine smile. “You’re lucky I’m not a big drinker.”
“You’re not a big anything.” Gunner gave her a wink. “But I like my girls small, cute, and curvy.”
She made her way through the tables and sat at the counter. The bar had a good vibe going, busy but not buzzy, with the Moonshine Bandits’, “For the Outlawz” playing through the speakers, and the murmur of conversation punctuated by the soft click of pool balls, the thud of darts, and the occasional bang of a fist on a table.
Banks looked up from the bar and folded his arms. “You legal?”
“I’m twenty-two.”
“Everyone’s twenty-two.” He held out his hand. “You got some ID?”
“My purse was … uh … stolen.”
He snorted a laugh. “When I hear ‘uh … stolen,’ that tells me right there you’re lying. And if you’re lying about that, you’re lying about your age. And if you’re lying about your age, you shouldn’t be here. Already had an underage girl in the bar the other night. Don’t want another one. Got enough trouble with these bikers. Not keen on being shut down for serving minors.”
“I’m not here to drink. I’m looking for someone.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Then do your looking outside. You ladies know better than to bring your business into my bar.”
Naiya stared at him aghast. “I’m not a hooker.”
“Suppose not looking all pink and pretty. But you don’t look like you’re twenty-two either. And if your purse was stolen, you wouldn’t be sitting at my bar.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t name you Cerberus,” she muttered.
“The three-headed dog who guards the gates of Hades?” Banks laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Maybe one day if I ever join an MC, I’ll tell them I want that as a road name. I gotta be fucking on guard for these boys twenty-four seven, even if they don’t realize it.” He poured her a glass of water and slid it across the bar. “No alcohol unless you produce some ID or a good story about how you lost your purse.”
God. All she wanted to do was find Tank. “You wouldn’t believe the truth if I told you.”
Banks threw back his head and laughed. “Sweetheart, after the shit I’ve seen since the Sinners started coming to my bar, I’m pretty much open to anything.”
“Fine.” She licked her lips. “I’m from Missoula. Originally from Devil’s Hills. I went home to bury my mother, and Viper grabbed me and threw me in his dungeon under the Black Jacks’ clubhouse.” She paused, tilted her head to the side. “You know who Viper is?”
Banks’ eyes narrowed. “Mighta heard of him. Go on.”
“I escaped, but without my purse or my phone. I can’t go home because he’s after me to pay off my mother’s debts with my body as currency. I might also have stabbed him with a penknife but not hard enough to do anything more than piss him off. Anyway, I met someone who helped me. Now I want to help him, and the only way I can do that is by talking to a Sinner named Tank. I’m not here to cause trouble or stir things up. I heard the Sinners come to this bar, and I figured someone might know where he is. I’m not armed. I don’t even know how to shoot a gun. I just really, really want to talk to Tank.”
Silence.
Naiya bit her lip. “Will you help me?”
“You a Black Jack bitch?”
She recoiled, and her nose wrinkled. “No.”
“That’s one hell of a story.” Banks poured a shot of vodka in a glass and added some soda and lime. “And you’re leaving a lot out.” He pushed it across the counter, and Naiya took a grateful sip of the drink, sweet and tart with just the faintest kick of vodka. Perfect.
“Yes, I am, but only to protect someone, and because Tank should hear the rest of it first.” She heaved a sigh. “I’m telling you the truth, and if you don’t help me I’ll stand outside the door and ask everyone who comes out where he is.”
“Looking the way you look, dressed the way you’re dressed, talking sweet the way you talk, that’s tantamount to suicide.” He looked over her shoulder then back to her.
“Tank was here earlier, but I think he’s gone. Jagger’s in the back room. He’s the president of the Sinners. He’ll know where you can find him.”
Naiya sucked in a sharp breath. Now here was a part of the plan she hadn’t thought through. Jagger was with Arianne, and Arianne knew her from the few times her mother had dragged her to the Black Jack clubhouse, and the weekends she’d played with Jeff. In fact, Arianne only knew her as a club brat, and she didn’t want to think about what might happen if Arianne outted her as a Black Jack in a Sinner bar.
Bank stilled, assessing her. “You got a problem with Jagger?”
“No,” she said quickly, thumbing the ring on her finger. “I’ve never met him. It’s just … talking to the Sinner president sounds kind of scary.”
“Who’s scary?” A grizzled biker with a long, unkempt beard joined them at the bar. He had hazel eyes and a face weathered from years of riding.
“You are with that rat’s nest attached to your chin. Fucking thing is a health hazard.” Banks poured a shot of whiskey and shoved it across the bar. “This here’s Shaggy. Oldest member of the Sinner’s Tribe. His claim to fame is that fucking beard he hasn’t cut in twenty years.”
“Twenty-two and counting.” Shaggy stroked his beard, his fingers lost in the tangle.
“Our sweet rose here is looking for Tank.” Bank gave her a wink. “You seen him around?”
“He was out for a bit, but he just came in.” Shaggy nodded to the door, and Naiya turned to see a tall, heavily built biker crossing the floor toward them. He was about the same height and build as Holt, but dark where Holt was fair, his eyes chestnut brown, and his hair thick, but closely cropped to his head, bringing his wide jaw and defined cheekbones into stark relief. Handsome but rough.
“There’s a girl here,” Banks said when Tank joined them at the bar. “Wants to talk to you.”
Tank’s gaze flicked to her, and he frowned. She could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. Who was she? Had he slept with her?
He glanced over at Banks, shook his head. “Another fucking night I don’t remember. You’d better start cutting me off at two.”
Naiya’s mouth opened and closed again. This was Holt’s best friend; the one person in the world he missed most of all; the man whose betrayal hurt him beyond anything Viper had done to him. And now that she was standing in front of him, she didn’t know what to say. What if Holt was right and Tank and the Sinners had abandoned him? What if Tank was the bad guy? What if he used her to find Holt and …
“You’re scaring her,” Shaggy said. “Lookit her eyes turning green. I think I remember a sweet butt whose eyes did that, or maybe it was a waitress…”
Banks snorted a laugh. “Or maybe you looked in the mirror one morning and scared the shit out of yourself ‘cause your beard looks like it’s swallowing your face.”
Shaggy cursed at Banks and the banter continued. For a moment, she felt like she was in the Black Jacks’ clubhouse all over again. But she’d had enough hiding and feeling scared, running away again and again. If she didn’t do something now, Holt would never know the truth and he might kill an innocent man.
She swallowed hard, looked up at Tank. “Could I talk to you outside?”
Tank gave her a curt nod and gestured her toward the door. “After you.”
“Congrats in advance if you’re gonna become a daddy,” Shaggy called after them.
Tank shot him a withering stare, then guided her out of the bar with one hand against her lower back. A gentleman biker. Kinda like Holt.
Once outside, Tank leaned against the brick wall fronting the bar, arms folded, his muscular body casting a large shadow on the sidewalk beneath the streetlight. Cars zipped down the street in front of them, and a biker pulled up beside the row of bikes to Tank’s left and waved.
“What’s this all about?” Tank asked.
Naiya unzipped the backpack and handed him Holt’s cut.
Tank unfolded the leather vest and his face contorted in pain. “Where the fuck did you get this?”
“Viper’s dungeon.”
He fisted the leather, and a shudder ran through his body. “So you came all the way here to bring it back to the Sinners? You some kinda Good Samaritan? Why me?”
She shivered in the cold. “You were his best friend.”
Tank’s face tightened, and he leaned over her, glowering. “How do you know that?”
“He told me.”
The pulse on his neck throbbed, and his voice, when he spoke, was harsh. “When?”
“Tonight. Holt … er … T-Rex is alive.”
His breath left him with a moan, and he pressed a closed fist to his mouth. “How do you know?”
“I’ve been with him,” she said, feeling braver. “We escaped Viper’s dungeon together. You know I’m telling the truth. You saw him. At the gas station in Still Water. We were there.”
Tank staggered back to the wall, scrubbed his hands over his face. “Christ. I knew it was him. I fucking knew it, and no one believed me. I knew he wasn’t dead. I would have felt it. Just wait till I tell—”
“No. You can’t tell anyone.” Naiya held up her hands, keeping him back. “He thinks … you betrayed him. He thinks the Sinners left him to die in Viper’s dungeon.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Tank groaned and wrapped his arms around his middle, clutching himself. “We came for him. A week of recon, a massive attack on the Black Jack clubhouse, explosives, trucks driving through the building, ambush … the works. Two brothers got into the dungeon and saw a body. Same build, same hair … they even found the medallion he used to wear. But they couldn’t see his face.” He thudded the wall with his fist. “They couldn’t see his damn face, but they assumed it was him.”
Naiya backed up a step. “I think it would be better if you don’t tell anyone and come with me to see him first. But you should know he’s here for vengeance, not just against Viper, but the Sinners, too.”
“Three months being tortured by Viper, waiting for your brothers, losing hope.” His voice cracked, broke. “I’m surprised we’re still alive. Take me to him. And if he shoots me before I get a chance to talk, then I’ll die a happy man ’cause I’ll know he’s alive and he’s free, and that’s all I ever wanted.”
* * *
Holt startled awake, his heart pounding.
Viper coming. Must have fallen asleep
. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to prepare himself for what was to come. But he didn’t hear the chains. He tested one arm, then the other …
Reality hit him in a rush. He was free. In a hotel. And vengeance was close at hand.
He reached for Naiya, felt the empty bed beside him, the cool sheets, pillow barely dented.
“Naiya.” He pushed himself up, looked around the room. Waited. Called again. His skin prickled, and he left the bed to search. First the giant marble bathroom, then the living area, the balcony, and finally the hall. Her shoes were missing. And her bag. And her new sweater was gone.
A black hole opened in his chest, sucking the air from his lungs. Had she left him? Had he been too rough? Too hard? Had he done something wrong? Was she still angry he’d left her behind?