by Tessa Bailey
It had taken me almost a year to stop looking for my cut to pull on before walking out the door. That leather vest had been the most important article of clothing I’d ever owned. It was strange to come to a meeting with another club and not have it on my back.
I missed its power. Its status.
Instead, I was wearing a black leather jacket I’d bought the first month after we’d put our cuts away for good. It was too hot for a jacket, but I’d needed something to cover the Glock holstered at my side.
Dad and I rode away from the Warriors and down the highway. About fifty miles away from the bar where we’d met with Tucker and his crew, Dad pulled off the road at a little turnout next to an open meadow. We got off our bikes and walked where asphalt met grass, staring at the trees and mountains in the distance.
“Do you think Tucker’s telling the truth?” I asked.
Dad sighed. “Don’t know.”
“Smart of him to bring the guys.” I’d expected Tucker to show up with his vice president and sergeant at arms. Instead, he’d brought the men previously loyal to the Gypsies.
Tucker had let us ask them point-blank if they’d had anything to do with Amina’s murder. We knew them. Spent time riding alongside them. And when each had promised they had nothing to do with setting up Dad, we believed them.
Those five were off the list.
Tucker still had a question mark behind his name.
Since the Warriors were at the top of the list of people who’d want revenge against Dad for past crimes, he’d arranged this meeting with Tucker.
The Warriors were located in Ashton, a town about three hours away from Clifton Forge. Dad couldn’t go there without violating his bond, so we’d all met at a country bar on the edge of our county. It was far enough away from town that the Warriors saw it as neutral ground.
All Dad had asked for was a meeting. No explanation. No reason. Not that Tucker needed one. He’d been keeping better tabs on us than we had on him.
“Tough to say if Tucker was lying,” Dad said. “But he made a good point. What reason would they have to set me up?”
The Warriors were making more money now with our former drug connections than they ever had before. We weren’t killing one another off anymore. They were happy the Gypsies were gone. Tucker had said so himself today.
“I don’t think he’d risk pissing us off, having us start the club back up again,” I told Dad.
“Me neither.”
“How tight a hold do you think he’s got on his members these days?”
Dad scoffed. “Considering how much control he had back in the day? Not much.”
If Tucker wasn’t the one to set Dad up, it could have been one of his members. It wouldn’t be the first time one of them had gone against orders.
The Warriors who’d tried to kidnap Emmeline had been acting of their own stupid fucking accord. They’d hoped to get some attention from their president by walking back into their clubhouse as heroes, dragging Emmeline behind them. Except they’d failed to get her. And instead of patting them on their backs, Tucker had sent a message to his members.
No one went against his orders.
Tucker delivered the men who’d tried to kidnap Emmeline to Dad’s front door. The Gypsies had dealt with them for good. Those two were buried in the mountains where their bodies would never be found.
We didn’t know if Tucker’s message had been received. Maybe another idiot looking to make a name for himself had gone rogue too.
“If it was a Warrior, we’ll probably never know,” Dad said. “Tucker won’t admit one of his brothers disobeyed his orders. Not again.”
“Then where does that leave us?”
“Hell if I know.” Dad stared out at the meadow’s grass rolling in easy waves under the gentle wind. “What’s going on with the reporter? She still a problem?”
Yeah, she was a problem. I couldn’t get the woman off my damn mind.
“Yes and no,” I answered. “Think I’ve got her convinced to work with us and not against. But it cost me.”
“How much?” Dad had paid off the previous newspaper owners for years to only print the minimum.
“Not money. A story. She wanted to know more about the club. Why we quit. What we did. Some was on the record. Most was off.”
Dad turned from the view and planted his hands on his hips. “And you trust her to keep quiet?”
“She’ll stay quiet. She’s honest.”
It was the best way to describe Bryce. When she said something was off the record, it wouldn’t make the print. It was part of her code as a journalist. As long as I held up my end of the bargain and told her the truth, our relationship would stay mutually beneficial.
It wouldn’t be hard to do. Those deep brown eyes looked at me and the truth was easy to see. Besides, if I tried to lie, she’d see through my bullshit. Those eyes were beautiful. And cunning.
After I’d fucked her twice last night, Bryce had fallen asleep exhausted and spent, naked under her sheets, her silky hair spilled over her white pillows. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly when she slept, and that little grin had made it nearly impossible to leave.
But I didn’t spend the night with women. Waking up with them gave them ideas about commitment. Rings. Babies. None of which was for me.
I left Bryce smiling on her pillow, even though there was temptation there. The urge to pull her into my arms and hold her until sunrise.
It was a damn good thing I went home. Fuck temptation. I rode home, fell into my own bed and stared at the ceiling for a few hours wondering when exactly I’d been cast under her spell. The hell of it was, it always came back to the first day.
To her in the sunshine, walking up to me at the garage.
“How long have you been fucking her?” Dad asked.
“Not long.” Am I that obvious? “How’d you know?”
“I didn’t. But I do now. Is that smart?”
“Probably not,” I admitted.
It would be much safer to keep my hookups with easy women who stopped into The Betsy searching for a one-night distraction. Bryce was not easy by any stretch. She was tough. She made me laugh with her wit and sass. She challenged me. And when she wasn’t pissing me off, she was turning me on.
“Truth. She caught my eye and I’m having a hard time turning away.”
“Your mom was like that,” Dad said quietly. A small smile tugged at his cheek. “We were little kids when we met in grade school. I didn’t think anything of her. She was just another girl on the playground. But then she walked into high school her first day of freshman year. She was smiling and wearing this yellow dress—she loved yellow. Wore it all the time.”
“I remember.”
“One look at her and I never looked away.” The smile faded. “Should have let her go. Let her find someone worthy.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “If Mom were here, she’d kick your ass for saying that.”
Dad huffed a laugh. “She had so much fire. I forget that sometimes. God, I miss her. Every day. I miss fighting with her. I miss her telling me to put my socks in the hamper. I miss those chocolate chip cookies she made every Sunday. I miss the yellow.”
“Me too.”
Dad’s face got hard as he swallowed. Behind his sunglasses, he blinked furiously to clear away the emotion. This was more from him than I’d seen in years. He didn’t talk all that often about Mom.
More since Amina Daylee.
“I found a picture in her senior yearbook.” I reached for my wallet and pulled out the page I’d folded and shoved in next to a stack of twenties.
This picture was something I’d been keeping from Bryce. I’d nearly told her about it when we’d been talking the other night, but I’d kept it in my pocket. Soon, I’d tell her and keep my promise to share. But this one was too close to home. Before I handed it to Bryce, I had to get some answers from Dad.
Maybe he wouldn’t shut me out this time around.
“H
ere.” I handed over the picture. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Mom and Amina. They were friends?”
“Best friends,” he corrected. “You could barely separate the two.”
“Did they have a falling out?”
“Amina moved away after high school.” He shrugged. “I guess they lost touch.”
“You guess?” Even if they’d lost touch, you’d think Amina would have at least come to Mom’s funeral.
“Yep.” Dad folded up the page and handed it back, that topic over.
Seriously? He was infuriating. Dad had fucked this woman. He had to have some kind of feelings for her. As far as I knew, Amina had been the only woman he’d been with since Mom. I could badger him for more, but it was pointless.
He was already on to the next topic.
“Called a couple of guys around town to see if they’ve heard word of anyone who’d want to set me up. No one has a clue. Their first guess was the Warriors too.”
“What about the Travelers?” Saying that club’s name soured my stomach. The hatred I had for them would last a lifetime.
“They’re all dead.”
“Are you sure?”
Dad slid the sunglasses off his nose and into his hair. His brown eyes met mine to reinforce his declaration. “They are dead. All of them. I made sure of it.”
“All right.” I believed him. “Who else?”
“No damn clue. I think all we can do now is wait. Hope someone starts talking.”
“That’s it?” I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. “You’re giving up that easily? This is your life we’re talking about, Dad. Your freedom.”
“Maybe this is for the best. Maybe my sins have finally caught up with me and it’s time to pay. We both know I deserve a lifetime behind bars. If it happens, I’m not fighting it.”
Who was this man? This was not the same man who’d vowed revenge against the Travelers after they’d killed my mother. This was not the man who’d taken his vengeance with horrific violence. This was not the man who refused to quit.
“You’re serious?”
“Dead.” He was done fighting.
I shook my head, waving him off as I walked to my bike. Dad might be giving up, but I wasn’t.
The trip to Clifton Forge was fast. I let the roar of the engine, the wind whipping my face and the tires beating on the pavement soak up some of my frustration with Dad. When I hit Central Avenue, I didn’t turn to go home or to the garage. I kept on straight, making my way into the quiet neighborhood where Bryce lived.
She had a way of looking at things with fresh eyes—a different perspective—and I wanted her take on my meeting with the Warriors.
When I pulled up, she was in the kitchen. I spotted her through the large window over the sink. I rang the doorbell, raking a hand through my hair as her footsteps came my way.
There was no surprise on her face as she opened the door. “You again? Is this going to become a regular thing?”
The smell from the kitchen drifted outside and I looked past her. “What are you making?”
“A roast. It’s been in the Crock-Pot all day.”
I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and my stomach rumbled. Loud.
She took pity on me, opening the door wider and stepping out of the way. “Come on in. Beer’s in the fridge.”
I kicked off my boots and followed her into the kitchen. Grabbing a beer, I twisted off the top, then went to stand behind Bryce at the stove, peering over her shoulder. “Mashed potatoes?”
“I hope you like salty gravy.” She was whisking it in a saucepan. “I only make salty gravy.”
“You won’t hear me complain.” I dropped a kiss to her shoulder, enjoying the shiver that rolled down her spine. Last night, we’d had some fun learning each other’s tender spots. That was one of hers.
Bryce turned at the stove, running her hand down my pecs to tweak her thumb over my nipple. I grinned. And that was one of mine.
My stomach growled again, insisting on dinner first. Last night, we’d had enchiladas near midnight. But tonight, even as much as I wanted her naked, I was too hungry to deliver any kind of decent performance.
“Plates are in the cupboard next to the fridge. Silverware is in that drawer.” She pointed to the one beside the sink. “We’ll eat at the island.”
“’Kay.” I set the dishes out as she finished cooking and heaped my plate full. Taking a first bite, I nearly came in my jeans. It wasn’t better than her enchiladas but it was definitely equal. “Damn, that’s good.”
“Glad you approve.”
“Keep feeding me food like this and I’ll never leave.”
“Then consider this your last meal.” She smirked. “What are you doing here?”
“Dad and I met with the Warriors today.”
“You did?” Her fork froze in midair. “What happened?”
“Their president assured us it wasn’t them. He brought along the five guys who left the Gypsies for the Warriors. They gave their word they had nothing to do with it. I’m inclined to believe them. Still, it could have been someone acting on their own, but unless we catch the guy, no one will admit it.”
“Interesting.” She twirled her fork in the air as she thought it over. “So what now?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. What do you think?”
“Hmm.” She took another bite, thinking as she chewed. “If you don’t have a lead into who might be setting Draven up, then I think we should continue looking into Amina. At least find out why she was here in Clifton Forge. That might give us a clue as to who would have known she was in town. It could narrow down the possibilities.”
“Except my hunch is that the guy who killed her was following Dad around. Waiting for an opportunity to set him up.”
“True. But don’t you think that the way she was killed was sort of personal? I mean, she was stabbed seven times. Like he knew her.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it was meant to seem personal since it was supposed to look like Dad did it after they had sex.” Still not something I liked to picture.
“Also true. But if you don’t have any leads on who could be out to get your dad, then we don’t have any other option than to look into the victim.”
“Yeah. Guess it’s worth a shot.” I scooped up a bite of potatoes and gravy—salted just right.
If we didn’t find clues to prove Dad was innocent, digging into Amina’s life might at least get me more information about her relationship with Mom.
Because the superficial answer from Dad was not going to stand. Mom had been the type of person who pulled others into her life. She wouldn’t have let a best friend drift away. Something had to have happened, and whatever it was, Dad wasn’t telling.
“Anything else?” Bryce asked.
This was probably the point in time for me to tell her about that yearbook picture. I should confess I’d stolen it and had her arrested before she’d noticed, but that would mean a fight. Tonight, I didn’t have it in me to battle Bryce. Not when she’d win.
So I shoved another bite into my mouth and hoped like hell she didn’t find out before I told her. “Nope. This is really good.”
“You already said that.” She smiled.
“Worth repeating. I’m not much of a cook. Never learned. Mom loved cooking for us, and after she died, Dad didn’t take her place in the kitchen. We ate out a lot and Nick got sick of it, so he taught himself. He got pretty good. When he graduated and moved out, Dad and I went back to eating out.”
“I learned to cook from my mom. Have you met her?” When I shook my head, she said, “I’m not surprised. You don’t exactly run in the same circles. She’s more Bunko on Friday nights than beers at The Betsy.”
I chuckled, demolishing the rest of my meal. “Thanks for dinner. Again.”
“You’re welcome.”
We both stood at the same time to take our plates, but I stopped her and took hers from her hand. “I got dishes.”
“Take a load off. I got these.” I went to the sink and turned on the water. “Nick learned to cook. I learned to clean.”
“How did the Gypsies get started?” Bryce asked behind me.
I smiled at a plate as I rinsed it clean. She always had a question, this one. In a lifetime, I doubted she’d be able to ask them all. “My granddad was part of a small club in town. Mostly it was guys who loved to ride. He owned the garage. Built it from the ground up and it was the focal point for the club. Dad always knew he’d take it over but had planned to go to college and get out of Clifton Forge for a while first. But then Granddad died a week after Dad graduated, so he stayed to run the garage. Joined the club too.”
Dad was never bitter about not getting the chance to move away. Because he’d had Mom who was more than happy to stay here, close to her family. She only ever wanted to be where Dad was.
“One of Dad’s friends from high school left for California. Stone, that guy I told you about, Emmett’s Dad. Anyway, Stone got hooked up with a big club down there. Didn’t join, but it gave him ideas. So he came home to Montana and talked to Dad about joining the club here. Making some changes. The Clifton Forge Motorcycle Club became the Tin Gypsies. The rest is history.”
“So your grandfather started the Tin Gypsies?”
“Technically. Though most give credit to Dad and Stone. And really, Stone never wanted to be the leader, so it fell to Dad.”
“He was the president?”
I nodded. “For all but the five years that the position belonged to me. Stone was his vice president, like Emmett was mine.”
Dad had told me once he and Stone hadn’t meant for the Gypsies to get so big. Things had spiraled deeper than they’d ever expected. But the garage hadn’t always made good money. Stone worked as a mechanic too, and they’d both had families to feed. Their brothers in the club all needed money too, so he’d made decisions, right and wrong, for the better of all the men.
To my knowledge, Dad hadn’t regretted any of it until Mom had been murdered.