by Tessa Bailey
Was he a killer too? I definitely didn’t want the answer to that one.
“Stone had been with the club since the beginning.” Dash spoke to the ground but there was sorrow in his gaze. “He and Dad both joined about the same time. He was like an uncle. Stone helped me fix up my first bike. Gave me condoms when I turned fourteen and told me to always keep one in my pocket. Neal Stone. He hated his first name. He was balder than a baby’s ass so he grew out a big white beard to compensate, then braided the damn thing.” Dash shook with a silent laugh. “Shit, I miss that guy. Emmett went off the deep end for a while. It wasn’t good. But he came back to the club. Made peace with it, or tried to at least.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” Dash blinked a few times before he looked at me again. “Anyway. Timing was on Dad’s side. Enough fucked-up things were happening to our members, our families, that we all hit pause. Saw the writing on the wall. It was time to change.”
“You disbanded.”
“Not right away, but we got the wheels moving in that direction. The first thing we did was come to an agreement with the Warriors. Their president knew they’d crossed a line. He knew if family was fair game, they’d risk losing some of their loved ones. So we agreed to a truce.”
“You and your truces,” I muttered.
He chuckled, the corner of his mouth turning up. “We sold them our drug routes. Made sure our dealers were good with it and wouldn’t retaliate. Got out of drugs all together.”
“Just like that?”
“Yep. I smile every time I spend that money.”
And I was guessing there was a lot of it. Probably stacks of cash he’d hidden under his mattress or buried in his backyard.
“After that, we unraveled the rest of the illegal activities too,” he said. “The fights. The payouts from businesses in town. All of it. Just wasn’t worth the risk we’d end up in jail. Wound it all down in about six years.”
“And then you disbanded.”
He nodded. “Then we called it quits. We could have stayed a legal club but too much had changed. And the Gypsies would always have a reputation. No matter what we did, people would have been afraid. Expected the worst.”
It made sense. Though I couldn’t imagine how hard it had been to say goodbye to something that had been his life. The club had been ingrained in every aspect of his world, his career. His family. It must have been like cutting off a limb, but he’d done it.
They all had.
We stood across from one another, the only sound coming from the breeze and a few birds flying overhead. I processed everything he’d told me, hoping it was true.
It seemed true. Was it? Had he trusted me with his story? It was hard not to be moved with his gesture of faith.
My gut was telling me Dash hadn’t lied. And for now, that was good enough, especially because nearly everything had been off the record. I could see it now, why he’d want to keep his secrets. If all this got out, it would ruin the reputations they’d been trying to repair. It could mean a deeper investigation from the police.
“Hold on.” My head cocked to the side. “If you came to a truce, why would the Warriors set up Draven for Amina’s murder?”
“Good question. Could be one of their members is acting without permission of the president. Could be one of our old members who joined the Warriors.”
Wait, what? “You had members who left the Gypsies and joined the Warriors even after they killed your”—what did they call each other?—“brothers?”
He scoffed. “Yeah. The life of an honest, hardworking mechanic isn’t for everyone. These guys were all in their early twenties. Drawn to the club life. It wasn’t that big a surprise.”
“You think a former member is framing Draven?”
“At this point, anything is possible. But there are five men who went to the Warriors. Right now, they’re my top suspects.”
If I were in his position, I’d be wary of them too. I wanted their names, but I doubted Dash would give them to me. I had a feeling I wouldn’t get invited to a club-to-club meeting.
The silence returned, the birds having found a tree in the distance to land and sing. The information rolled over and over in my mind but I was out of questions for the moment.
“What now?” I asked.
“Now?” He stood from the bike and walked closer. “Now you make a decision. You take all this and decide how deep you want to go. You believe me or you don’t. You trust me or you don’t. You keep it quiet or you don’t. But now you know what kind of men you’re dealing with. Ones who hold grudges for years. Ones who have no boundaries. Ones who aren’t afraid to come after a woman just because she’s fucking a man with the last name Slater.”
“Fucked. Singular. Past tense.”
Dash stepped closer, the heat from his body chasing away the chill from the breeze. Goose bumps broke out on my forearms and I clutched them tight around my waist.
He raised an eyebrow. “Past tense?”
“You got me arrested. I have to go to court tomorrow. Definitely past tense.”
“Hmm.” He brought a hand up to my face but didn’t touch my cheek. Instead, he took the end of an errant lock of hair and tucked it behind my ear. His fingers skimmed the shell, but the slight brush was enough to send shivers all the way to my toes.
I was pathetic. I’d spent hours in a jail cell, yet here I was, panting over him again.
“Is that why you told me all of this?” I asked. “So I’d fuck you again?”
Dash shook his head, taking a step back. “You want the truth?”
“You know I do.”
“Then help me. Help me find it.”
Was I really going to do this? Was I going to trust him? There was no doubt if we worked together, whatever story I told would be better. Deeper. Fuller. And damn it, we both knew how badly I wanted that story.
“If you hide something from me, something that makes a difference or puts me in danger, I’ll print it,” I warned. “All of it. Whether or not it’s on the record. Whether or not it ruins your life and those of your friends, I’ll tell the world.”
It could cost me my newspaper. I would have to violate my journalistic ethics and no source would likely trust me again. And it might even cost me my life if this former motorcycle club decided to retaliate. I was putting myself, my integrity and my job on the line. But it was the only leverage I had over Dash.
In the meantime, I’d print the superficial. I’d print the things he gave me on the record. And I’d hold the rest.
“I mean it.” I shoved a finger in his face. “No hiding things. I won’t do this if I can’t trust you.”
He hesitated, his hand going to his pocket, but then he nodded. With a turn, Dash walked over to his motorcycle, throwing a long leg over to straddle the machine.
“Do we have a deal?” I called before he started up the engine.
He shot me a sexy grin. “Deal.”
* * *
Going through old newspaper articles was not exciting on a normal day, but today, it was akin to torture. Not only was the Clifton Forge news from decades ago exceptionally boring, it was also incredibly incomplete.
I’d gone back thirty years in search of information on Dash’s mother. When I’d done my previous digging into the Tin Gypsies, I’d been focused on club references and those associated with the prominent members, like Draven and Dash. I hadn’t kept an eye out for Chrissy Slater’s name.
When I’d come across the obituary stating she’d died in a tragic accident, I’d read it and moved on. But last night’s conversation had stirred my curiosity.
How had she died? What exactly was the tragedy? Dash had said it was a story for another day, and given the look on his face, it wasn’t a happy tale.
So I’d gone looking this morning. Maybe I’d save him from having to relive her death if I could read about it instead. Except all I’d found during that time was her obituary, which I’d already seen, and a picture of Draven and
his two young boys at the funeral.
Draven’s grief consumed the photo, his hands resting on the shoulders of his sons. Draven looked nothing like the confident man I’d watched be arrested. His frame bore the weight of a thousand boulders, his face ashen. The photo was black and white but I swore his eyes were red from crying.
Dash and Nick had looked so alike as kids. I wasn’t sure how old Dash was, maybe middle school, but he looked lost. Nick was the opposite. While his little brother and father wore their grief outwardly, his face gave away nothing. Nick wasn’t only lost, he was angry. And now it made sense why he hadn’t joined the club.
Nick’s punishment for Draven was turning his back on his father’s lifestyle, but how had his relationship been with Dash? I pushed that thought away, drawing a firm line there. Dash’s family dynamics were none of my business. That was too personal. Too intimate. That was his problem, not mine.
Was I curious? Absolutely. But if I let myself cross over, if I cared too much, the person who’d suffer most would be me.
I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.
I can’t care.
My task was to obtain information to write the best story possible. I’d fail if I allowed myself to get wrapped up in feelings.
This wasn’t about Dash. This was about facts. This was about Amina and finding her killer.
Dash was so certain of his father’s innocence. Me? I wasn’t sure. Not yet. But Dash’s conviction was hard to ignore. He’d planted doubts in my mind that popped up constantly.
How would Dash react if Draven was, in truth, the murderer? My stomach knotted at the idea of Dash’s heart breaking.
Damn it.
I cared.
Logging out of our archive system, I jotted down a few more notes in my notepad. As I’d been searching for information on Chrissy Slater, I’d come across most of the articles I’d read before on the Tin Gypsies.
It was interesting reading them again, this time knowing more about their history. The stories were all superficial, which hadn’t come as a shock. Unless one of the club members betrayed their secrecy, no one from the outside would ever know the truth.
But I knew.
Even shallow news articles fell into place with what Dash had told me last night. Maybe he really had told me the truth.
Maybe it was a test to see if I’d betray him. I wouldn’t. He’d get to keep his secrets. I’d take them all to the grave because I’d given him my word.
Unless.
Unless he deceived me. Then I would do exactly as promised. I’d tell the world every sordid detail and he could rot.
Last night when I’d arrived home, I’d spent hours writing up everything he’d told me. All of the information was safe on my computer and backed up to an encrypted cloud file.
If anything happened to me, Dad would get access to that cloud drive per my will.
My brain was overloaded with information and I dropped my head into my hands, massaging my temples. I couldn’t stop thinking about everything Dash had told me.
Was it strange that I believed him? That I believed every word?
Why? Because we’d had sex? I should have been able to maintain my distance. But the arrogant bastard had snuck his way under my skin. I couldn’t write him off completely, even after the stunt he’d pulled at the high school.
I groaned. God, I was pathetic.
“What’s wrong?”
I sat up straight, spinning around at Dad’s voice as he came through the pressroom door and took a seat at his desk. “Nothing.”
“Hmm. I thought you might be upset because you have to go to court in an hour.”
“You heard?” I winced. I hadn’t planned on telling my parents about my arrest, but I should have known they’d find out. This was Clifton Forge, not Seattle. “How?”
“You’re not the only one who talks to Marcus Wagner on a regular basis.” Dad shook his head, the same slow shake he’d given me growing up whenever I’d disappointed him. That disappointment was ten times worse than any spanking I’d ever received from Mom’s wooden spoon. “What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t,” I admitted. “It was stupid.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Does Mom know?”
He shot me a look that said what do you think? My parents didn’t believe in keeping things from one another, especially when it came to their only daughter.
“Damn it.”
“Be ready for an ass chewing.” While Dad was the one to give me the disappointed look—it was his specialty—he’d always left the lectures to Mom because those were hers. “What’s happening on the murder investigation? What can I expect for the paper on Sunday?”
“Right now, it won’t be much. The police haven’t released anything new.”
“And what have you found?”
“Nothing solid. Yet.” As soon as I had a story to tell, Dad would be the first to know. “I’d better get to the courthouse. I don’t want to be late.”
He chuckled. “Tell Judge Harvey I said hello.”
I did not tell the judge hello. Instead, I stood in front of him and received a lecture that put thirty-five years’ worth of Mom’s lectures to utter shame.
Luckily, the lecture about my responsibility as an adult and member of the press was the worst of it. Judge Harvey made me swear to always obey school hours and ask for permission before entering a library, to which I promptly agreed. My punishment for trespassing at the high school was time served—plus the lecture. It was arguably the worse of the two.
Wiped and ready for an evening alone, I didn’t go back to work after leaving the courthouse. I swung by the grocery store and bought ingredients to make homemade enchiladas. Then I skipped the gym and went home.
I’d just convinced myself to double the cheese in my enchilada recipe—screw the calories, I needed cheese—when I turned onto my street. All thoughts of dinner went out the window. A gleaming black Harley was parked in front of my house.
Its owner was sitting on my porch.
I pulled into the driveway and got out of my car. Then I loaded up my arms with the grocery bags and walked to the front door. “What are you doing here?”
“What’s in the bags?”
“Dinner.”
“Enough for two?” Dash stood and took the plastic sacks from my hands, his biceps flexing. The bags weren’t heavy but a lickable vein popped on his forearm, making my mouth water.
Pathetic. I was pathetic.
Sex with him two nights ago had turned me into a hormonal mess. I was achy. Squirmy. I couldn’t stop thinking about those long fingers digging into my curves. Those soft lips on my bare skin. And his eyes, those vibrant hazel eyes that saw way beneath the surface. I couldn’t be around him and not think about what had happened in the garage. Had I not been so furious with him last night, that ride on his motorcycle would have brought me close to an orgasm.
“Did you just invite yourself over for dinner?” I slid the key into the lock, hoping to hide my flushed cheeks.
“What are you making?”
“Enchiladas with extra cheese.”
“Then yes, I did.” He trailed behind me into the kitchen, depositing the bags on the counter. As I put the groceries away, he showed himself around my living room. “Nice place.”
“Thanks. What are you doing here? Besides encroaching on my meal.”
“You said something I didn’t like last night.”
“Really?” I tossed a bag of shredded cheese onto the counter. “And what was that?”
“You said, ‘Fucked. Singular. Past tense.’”
“I did.” Impressive he remembered it word for word. “Your point?”
“I didn’t like it.”
“Too bad. I don’t like you.”
“Huh.” He stared out the window from the living room for a long moment, his hands planted on his hips. Then he gave the glass a single nod, turned and stalked my way. The temperature in the kitchen went up twenty degr
ees as he approached. He didn’t stop walking until he was right there, the heat from his chest hitting mine like a wave. His hands framed my face with those rough, calloused palms. “Grammar isn’t my thing.”
“No?” My breath hitched as his mouth dropped to hover above mine. “I love grammar.”
Dash’s breath whispered against my lips. “Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?” The proximity to him made my brain short-circuit.
“Singular.” He placed a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Because we were explosive in that garage. Aren’t you a little curious what we’d be like in a bedroom?”
“No,” I lied.
I wanted to say yes, but my pride was on the line here. My heart. He’d treated me horribly after the hookup in the garage. But it was only sex, right? Casual sex. It didn’t need to mean anything. Because I didn’t care.
I don’t care.
My body, on the other hand, cared a lot about having a decent, non-self-induced orgasm.
Screw it. Yes, I wanted to know what sex would be like in a bed. My hand stretched for the counter’s edge, bracing for Dash to take a deeper kiss. To let him. But a whoosh of air forced my eyes open as Dash spun away and sauntered out of the kitchen.
He reached behind his head, tearing off his black T-shirt as he headed for the hallway that led to my bedroom.
He knew I’d follow.
Bastard.
Chapter Thirteen
Dash
“Dash.” Tucker Talbot shook my hand. “Take it easy.”
“Have a good one, Tucker.” I waved at the Arrowhead Warrior president and climbed on my bike.
Dad gave Tucker one last nod goodbye, followed by the same for the five men he’d brought along to this meeting.
All the men who’d once been in the Tin Gypsy MC.
The six of them stood next to their own bikes, each wearing their cut. On the back of the vests, the patch for the Warriors was stitched into the black leather. The design was an arrowhead framed by their club’s name and year they were founded. It was all in white, simple and plain compared to the artwork of the Tin Gypsy patch.