by Tessa Bailey
“Former club.”
“Semantics.”
“Fuck, you’re difficult,” he growled.
“See you later, King.” I headed for the door, waving to Willy who was still engrossed in his game of pool. He’d have to find another ride to the office because I wasn’t hanging around The Betsy a second longer.
Well, maybe one more second.
“Oh, and Dash?” I turned and met his glare. He’d been watching me walk away. “How long do you think it took after your dad fucked Amina Daylee for him to kill her? An hour? Maybe two? He doesn’t strike me as a cuddler.”
Dash’s jaw barely tightened, his eyes only widening a fraction. He was good at hiding surprise, but I was better at spotting it. He’d had no idea his innocent father had had sex with Amina right before her murder.
I left him sitting there, his mind visibly whirling, and walked out the door. Slowly, secret by secret, I’d uncover the truth. First about Amina Daylee’s murder. Then about the Tin Gypsy Motorcycle Club.
And when I did, maybe this empty feeling that I was missing something from my life would finally go away.
Chapter Seven
Dash
I waited outside the county courthouse for Dad in my truck, idly tapping my knee with my thumb. His bond hearing was over, and as soon as he checked out, we were getting the hell out of here.
It was strange to be driving the Dodge in summer. I’d bought this truck only a month before spring, so we were still adjusting to one another. It was black, like all its predecessors. It still had the new-car smell because I hadn’t had much time behind the wheel. As soon as the ice thawed from the roads each spring, I only rode my bike until the snow flew in late fall. Montana winters were long and most of us who rode didn’t want to miss a single decent day.
But I’d wanted to pick Dad up today. We had too much to talk about to put it off for the ten minutes it would take for us each to ride our own bikes to the garage. And I hadn’t wanted to take the guys away from work at the garage to get Dad’s bike over here.
He came out the front door wearing the same clothes he had been in last Friday. His silver stubble was thick, nearly a beard, and as he climbed in, his deep brown eyes were tired. Dad looked like it had been a month since he’d been arrested, not just a week.
“Hey.” He clapped me on the shoulder, then buckled his seat belt. “Thanks. Appreciate you covering bail.”
“No problem.”
“Did you put up my house?” he asked.
“No. The garage.”
The judge had determined Dad wasn’t much of a flight risk, but given that he was the primary suspect for a violent murder and his past association with the club, bail had been set at half a million dollars.
“Damn.” Dad sighed. “Should have put up my house instead. Wish you hadn’t tied up the garage.”
“They’d ask a lot of questions if I just showed up with a duffel bag of cash from my safe.” I put the truck in drive and pulled away from the courthouse. “Your house. My house. The garage. Doesn’t matter. It’ll go away when we clear this shit up.”
Half a million cash wasn’t hard for either of us to come by, but considering how we’d made that money, we used it for things where it couldn’t be traced. Definitely not for covering a bond.
“Could have left me in there.”
“Never.” I frowned. Not only because he was my dad and didn’t belong there, but because I needed answers. Maybe I’d finally be able to show Bryce up. Because at the moment, in this race for information, I was losing miserably. “We gotta talk about what happened.”
“I need a day.” Dad laid his head back. “Then we’ll talk about it all.”
“We don’t have a day.”
“The cops aren’t going to find anything they haven’t already. Whoever set me up for this was thorough.”
“It’s not the cops I’m worried about,” I told him, watching as he sat up straight. “We’ve got a problem with Lane Ryan’s daughter at the paper.”
“What kind of problem?”
“She’s digging. And she’s good.”
“What’d she find?” Dad asked.
“At the moment, she’s focused on the murder investigation. But I’m worried she’s not going to stop there.”
“Fuck,” Dad muttered. “We don’t need a damn nosy reporter digging up old Gypsy business.”
“No, we don’t. We’ve been lucky. We shut things down. We played by the rules. And people just let it go.” They were happy to have peace in town for a change. “Bryce, this reporter, she’s not the type to let anything go.”
A trait that would have been irresistible had she been working on my side. Even as an enemy, she was damn tempting.
“Threatened to ruin her reputation. That backfired. But I’ll handle her.” I just had to figure out how.
The more I pushed, the more she pushed back. And Bryce was a strong-willed woman. I’d learned from my mom at an early age that most men didn’t stand a chance against a strong-willed and stubborn woman.
“Just be careful,” Dad said. “We both can’t be in jail.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to do something to land me in jail. I just . . . I have to find something to hold over her so she’ll back off.”
Fear used to be my weapon. My favorite tool. In my twenties, I’d used physical violence to make people afraid. But then I’d learned that extortion and blackmail were usually more effective. None would likely work on Bryce, certainly not getting physical. I’d never harmed a woman in my life and wasn’t about to start now. The idea of hurting her made my stomach turn.
“You could figure out a way to get her to work with us. Not against us,” Dad suggested.
Not a bad idea. Was there a way I could get Bryce to become an ally? If she were a friend, not a foe, I’d be able to feed her information about the Gypsies, not worry about her digging behind my back. And then I could control the information she put in her precious newspaper.
“Smart. That could work.”
“Maybe we should have been more open about why we shut down,” Dad said, staring out his window. “I’ve been wondering if it was going to put a target on our backs.”
“What would we have said? There was no way to explain it without bringing up a bunch of shit that needs to stay quiet.”
“You’re right.” His shoulders sagged. “Just been a long week. Lots of thinking about the past and the wrongs I’ve done. I fucking hate jail.”
“Most do.”
I’d only been in jail once, when I was nineteen. I’d been hauled in as a suspect for an assault and battery. Guilty as the night was long, I’d beaten the hell out of a man who’d cheated me at poker and pulled a gun on me when I’d confronted him about it.
Bastard should have shot me.
I wasn’t sure what Dad had done to get the guy to drop the charges, but they’d been dropped and the guy had moved out of town the next week. After that, I’d learned to be more verbal during a fight. Before I knocked anyone unconscious, they knew that if they talked to the cops, they’d pay with their life.
How many people saw my face in their nightmares?
Doubt had become a familiar feeling these past few years. Doubt. And shame. I’d been proud once. Proud of the man the club had made me. We’d lived our lives by following a set of rules not born from society, but from brotherhood. I’d been so sure of those rules, so steadfast in following them.
Then I’d begun to question them all.
That was the beginning of the end for the Tin Gypsies.
Years ago, after Emmett’s father had been murdered in the parking lot of The Betsy, the club had voted in change. Too many men had been lost, too many loved ones. It had taken us almost six years to unwind the club’s illegal dealings. To change the mindset of an old and outdated legacy.
We’d spent that time building up the garage so it could provide enough income to cover what we’d made illegally. No more drug protection runs. No more underg
round fighting ring.
Thanks to a lot of work and a little luck, the garage was more successful than any of us had imagined it would be. And when it came time to decide whether the Gypsies stayed a law-abiding club or parted ways, in the end, we were all ready to put the past to rest.
I wasn’t the only brother who’d looked in the mirror and hadn’t liked the man staring back.
Most of the club’s members took the money they’d stashed away and moved to new towns and into new homes. They left old demons behind for a fresh start. Those of us who stayed formed a new family, this one centered around the garage. Dad, Emmett, Leo and me.
I craved this normal life.
I’d thought the norms of society would be suffocating. Turns out, life was easier on this side of the law. It was nice to have people make eye contact when they passed you on the sidewalk. Nice not to see mothers grab their child’s hand when you looked their way. Nice to not be constantly looking over my shoulder.
At least, it had been until Bryce Ryan had shown up with her yellow notepad and goddamn curiosity.
I wouldn’t let her ruin this new life we’d built. I wouldn’t let her threaten my family. The only way I could protect us was by getting the information first.
“Tell me about Amina Daylee.”
Dad blew out a long breath. “Not today.”
“Dad—”
“Please. One day. Give me one day. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I frowned but nodded. Then I changed direction, driving him home instead of to the garage. We didn’t speak as I wound through town. When I parked in the driveway of my childhood home, I stayed in my seat. “Tomorrow.”
He opened the door and nodded. “Tomorrow.”
With his head hanging low, he walked to the side door of the house and went inside.
We only used the side door at Dad’s place. The front door hadn’t been used in years. Even the mailman knew to drop packages at the side entrance.
Because none of us would walk up the front sidewalk. Not Dad. Not Nick. Not me. None of us would set foot on the place where Mom’s blood had once stained the cement. You couldn’t see the stain anymore. The rain and snow and sun had worn it away.
But it was still there.
Nick and I had both tried to get Dad to move out of that house. There were too many memories there, too many reminders of what we’d lost.
But those memories had a different effect on Dad. He stayed in that house because it was where he’d lived with Mom. To him, she was in the walls. The ceiling. The floor.
He’d die in that house before letting her go.
A chill crept over my skin and I shook it off, reversing out of the driveway and heading to work. When I pulled into the parking lot of the garage, I was in a shit mood.
Why would Dad need a day? Why wouldn’t he want to talk about Amina and how she’d been killed? Didn’t he want to find the person who’d framed him?
Had Bryce been right? Did he have sex with Amina? Who was that woman besides an old high school friend? To my knowledge, Dad hadn’t been with a woman since Mom had died. Maybe to punish himself. Maybe because he didn’t want another woman in his life. Sleeping with Amina would have broken one hell of a streak.
It unsettled me some, the idea of Dad with anyone else. He’d been loyal to Mom. Always. He hadn’t done anything wrong. So why was this bothering me?
I walked into the garage and found Emmett underneath the hood of a Chevy truck. “Hey.”
He looked past me, searching for Dad. “Where is he?”
“At home.”
“What?” He scowled. “We need to talk.”
“I know. But he wants a day. We’ll give it to him.”
“Who wants a day?” Leo asked, walking up to us with a bottle of water tipped to his lips.
“Dad.”
The water bottle dropped from his mouth. “Fuck that. We need answers. If it’s the Warriors setting him up then we need to—”
I held up a hand, my eyes cutting over to Isaiah, who was working in the next bay. “Not now.”
He nodded, clamping his mouth shut.
We all trusted Isaiah as a mechanic, but we weren’t going to get into old club business with him around—not just for our sake, but for his.
“Let’s just . . . be patient.”
Emmett scoffed. “Something the three of us excel at.”
“Yeah.” I took the phone from my pocket and walked over to a workbench, setting it and my keys on top. Then I looked at the workboard. The guys had the normal stuff covered, so I’d get to work on the Mustang. Work is good.
I could use some time with my tools and an engine. I could use some grease on my hands and time to think. Because come tonight, I needed to have a plan for dealing with Bryce Ryan.
I needed a plan for getting her onto my side.
* * *
“Get off my porch.”
I chuckled, tipping the beer bottle to my lips. “Hello, Bryce.”
“What are you doing here?” She stood in front of me, her hands planted on her hips. “How did you know where I live?”
“Do you really want to know?” I doubted she’d want to hear that I’d been following her around for days.
“No.” She’d come from the gym because her hair was up in a ponytail, a few tendrils near her temples still damp with sweat. Her black leggings molded to her lean legs. Her tank top was tight around her breasts and stomach, leaving only her graceful arms bare.
My dick jerked to life as I pictured peeling those clothes from her body, setting all her curves free. Best not to think about her naked, not when I was trying my new tactic.
“Beer?” I nodded to the six-pack by my boot, which now only had three bottles.
“I’ll pass.”
“More for me then.” I shrugged.
“Now that you know I don’t want a beer, take them and go home.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?” She tapped a foot on the sidewalk. “Just hop on your bike and be on your way.”
“You weren’t here. You made me wait for you and I got thirsty. So I had to drink three beers. Can’t drive now. Someone will have to come and get me.”
“I’ll call you a cab.”
“Can’t.”
“Why?” The tapping foot got faster. God, it was fun pissing her off.
“My bike. Can’t leave it on the street. Have to take it home.”
“So you’re just going to sit on my porch until you’re sober enough to drive home?”
“If you insist.”
She growled at me, then bent low to take a beer from the pack. Off came the cap with a twist, but instead of putting it to that supple lower lip, she surprised me yet again.
She poured my beer onto the lawn.
“What the—” I shot off the single concrete step, reaching for the bottle. But she put her shoulder in my way, blocking me, as my perfectly good beer soaked into the green grass. “Is there a reason you’re wasting my beer?”
“Yeah. I want you off my porch.” She set the empty bottle down and reached for the pack again. This time it was my turn to block her. “Relax. I’ll drink the other two and maybe by the time they’re gone, you will be too.”
I put my finger in her face. “Pour another one out and next time I’ll show up with a case.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “Fine.”
“Fine.”
I sat first, taking a beer out and twisting off the top. I gave her another warning stare before handing it over.
She took a small sip. “So back to my first question. What are you doing here?”
“Getting to know you better.”
“And why is that?”
“Let’s call it curiosity.” I took a long drink. “You’re kind of boring. You go in to the paper early every morning. Your dad is always there first. Then Santa Claus. Then you. Everyone else comes and goes, but you three keep a fairly regular schedule.”
If I surprised her by knowing her r
outine, she didn’t let on. She just sipped her beer, her eyes locked on the quiet street ahead of us. “That’s the downside of being in charge.”
“Sometimes you walk to the coffee shop on Central, though not every day. Lunch is usually at your desk unless you’re running around trying to fill in one of your notepads. And then you’re gone by five, straight to the gym. Except Tuesday, when you had dinner at your parents’ place. Taking a guess that’s a weekly thing.”
Bryce took a longer swig of her beer and the color rose in her face. It was the only sign that I was getting to her, but it was enough. “Anything else?”
I leaned an inch closer, the heat of her bare arm burning into mine. With our skin nearly touching, I bent my neck so I could talk right into her ear. “You hate doing laundry.”
She turned, barely missing my nose with her own and narrowed her eyes. “How’d you know that? Did you break into my house or something too?”
“No.” I ran my hand up her bare arm, from wrist to shoulder. Her breath shook and the fine hairs on her forearm rose. Her chest heaved but she didn’t pull away.
At least I wasn’t the only one affected by this magnetism between us. By this chemistry and this . . . want. Touching her pushed my control to the edge, so before it broke, I flicked the material on her tank top and moved away. “It says so on your shirt.”
She flinched, looking down at the words on her gray tank. The color in her cheeks flushed brighter as she scooted away an inch, pretending that my touch hadn’t just scorched us both.
I’d come up with a plan as I’d worked on the Mustang today.
My intimidation tactics weren’t working on Bryce and never would. She didn’t care that I had money. She didn’t care that I had power. She didn’t care that I had enough pull in this town to ruin her precious newspaper.
Because she was different. She wasn’t going to respond in the same way as a man. So instead of treating her like I would a man, I had to treat her like the gorgeous woman she was.
I couldn’t threaten her into silence, but maybe I could seduce her onto my side instead.
The plan had seemed brilliant an hour ago. Now that I’d touched her, maybe it was as goddamn stupid as it seemed.