The Lost Boys MC Series: Books 1-4

by Savannah Rylan

  “I like your laugh,” he said, smiling.

  “I like your tattoos. Could I know more about them?” I asked.

  He paused. “That’s the question you wanted to ask?”

  I shrugged. “Is it a bad one?”

  “Not really. Just not what I was expecting.”

  “What were you expecting?”

  He paused before he spoke. But that pause told me everything. He was thinking. Conjuring. Planning.

  Which meant he was about to lie.

  “I honestly thought you were going to ask for my number,” he said, chuckling.

  I shrugged. “Not really necessary. Whenever the shop is shut down, my work phone forwards things to my cell. You technically already have my number, if you need it.”

  “And what if you need mine?”

  “Caller ID,” I said coyly.

  He grinned as the two of us finished getting our clothes on.

  “What tattoos are you wanting to know about?” Notch asked.

  “Any of them, I guess. The pile of dust with the date. The blazing Phoenix on your left shoulder blade. That one that says ‘Lost something or other?’” I asked.

  His eyes snapped over to mine as he pulled his leather jacket onto his body.

  “‘I Am A Lost Boy’?” he asked.

  “That’s the one. Kind of an odd saying. I was wondering where it came from,” I said.

  “Comes from nowhere, hence the statement. I come from nowhere, and I will end up nowhere.”

  “But you’re an EMT. Surely you’ve ended up there, right?”

  “You trying to be my therapist now?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve done it for other patients. Listened to their weary woes.”

  “And you want to hear about mine?” he asked.

  “Does that bother you?” I asked.

  “Why do you want to know so much about me?”

  I furrowed my brow. “Because I’ve only seen you in my shop. And you keep coming back. I like to get to know my repeat customers. Especially after…”

  I waved my hand around, signaling to what had just taken place between us.

  “Don’t you think it’s a little late to get to know me, so to speak?” Notch asked, grinning.

  “I don’t think it’s ever too late to get to know someone,” I said.

  “And that’s it. That’s all you want to do,” he said.

  “Should I want to do something else?”

  He eyed me carefully, and I wondered what it was he really wanted to say.

  “Well, there isn’t much to know about me. But I have to go,” Notch said.

  “So soon?” I asked.

  “I told you I’d be back to finish what we started. We finished. And now I need to go.”

  I smiled. “That why they call you ‘Notch’?”

  He glared at me. “‘They’?”

  Fuck. Shit. Holy hell, I couldn't believe I’d let that slip.

  “Your friends, Notch. The guys you work with? Notch can’t actually be your mother-given name,” I said.

  “I have to go,” he said.

  “Notch, please. Don’t go. Just—stay?”

  “No,” he said plainly.

  I wrapped my arms around myself and moved me off to the side. And before I could stop him, he flipped the lock and bound down the stairs.

  “Notch!” I called out.

  But my voice only echoed after him as he strode through my shop.

  I ran down the stairs, trying to keep up with him. I jumped over the railing of the last flight, landing on my feet. I chased him through the shop and saw him throw the front door open. And as he stepped out into the light, I finally got a glimpse of the massive patch on the back of his leather jacket. The patch I’d only caught a glimpse of the first day he stepped foot in my tattoo shop.

  It was a massive emblem. With yellows, oranges, and blues. The colors of San Diego, topped with a line that stopped me in my tracks.

  The Lost Boys: Where The Lost Are Finally Found.

  The engine of his motorcycle cranked up as I slowly walked toward the front door of my shop. I watched him speed away, and it only gave me a better look at the emblem. And slowly, things dropped into place. The tattoo on his arm. The article I’d found online. What my brother had said to someone over the phone.

  Notch wasn’t an EMT. He was in a biker gang.

  A biker gang my brother’s own damn gang was trying to track down.

  “Shit,” I hissed.

  What the hell was I going to do?

  13

  Notch

  She was a spy. She had to be. A spy who took advantage of an opportunity when she saw it. “They.” She had been doing research on me. I knew she knew about the crew. About my affiliation with them. Which meant she knew I wasn’t an EMT. Well, not anymore, at least. What all did she know? And what the fuck was her connection to that gang in the first damn place? My gut screamed at me. Told me I was still missing a connection. Something I was gravely misinterpreting about this girl.

  But it wasn’t screaming at me regarding her connection to Harry Cheng.

  She was connected. I knew it in the pit of my gut.

  Was she trying to get information out of me? Was this what she wanted? Pushing herself on me because she knew who I really was this entire time? Our interactions kept running through my mind and I sighed. No, she didn’t push herself onto anyone. I was the one who had done the pushing. Who had sought her out after that first tattoo. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t taking advantage of a prime situation.

  And that didn’t mean she hadn’t attempted to lure me into a trap in the process.

  I refused to be the reason this club was compromised. I knew I had enough circumstantial information to feed Stone in order to update him on what I had figured out. But for now, I needed to get to the bar. I needed to call Bronx and set a plan in motion I knew he’d had set up for us in case we ever needed it.

  “Call Bronx,” I said into my helmet microphone.

  “Calling, Bronx,” the woman’s voice said back to me.

  The phone didn’t even ring twice before he picked up.

  “Are you fucking insane right now?” he asked.

  “Listen to me, I need you to meet me at the bar. In the back,” I said.

  “Why? Why the fuck would you leave like that when Stone gave you direct orders to not leave, and why the hell would you think I’d do the same damn thing?”

  “Plan D.”

  He paused. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “No. I’m not. Plan D. Bar. Now.”

  “Fine. Fine. I’ll find a way out of here. But we shouldn't do it at the bar. The Chinese might get the jump on us if we’re there, just the two of us.”

  “Plan C bar?” I asked.

  “Fine by me. See you in thirty.”

  The call hung up as I whipped a U-turn in the middle of the road.

  Car horns honked at me as I headed for the dive bar. Our club was intricate and we always spoke in code, but that was how we flew under the radar in such a big city. As Road Captain, I had four distinct plans that fit perfectly into my job. Mostly, having to do with drama that hit the crew whenever we were on road trips. Plan A was to split up and get home. Plan B was to meet up at the hotel we all camped at to figure out our next move. Things like that. Depending on who we were talking to and what plan was thrown, that told us what we were supposed to be doing.

  For Bronx? Plan D was meeting up alone to discuss shit before taking it to Stone. He was the most level-headed of us all and was easily the one we poured our souls out to whenever we couldn't cope. But Plan C was built around a very specific dive bar that was honestly on the verge of closing. It was rundown. It stunk. The beer was always warm and the food was just on the side of spoiled. But no one ever thought to look for someone there because of how disgusting the place was.

  Just to be safe, though, I left my leather cut in the storage compartment on the back of my bike.

  I smiled when I w
alked inside, because I saw Bronx had done the same.

  “He’s gonna be livid when he finds out I’m not there,” he said.

  “This won’t take long, I promise,” I said.

  The two of us sat down and ordered nothing but waters, much to the owner’s dismay. But we waited for them to be set down in front of us so we knew we’d be alone while speaking.

  “All right. We’re clear. What the hell is on your mind?” Bronx asked.

  “Stone’s lost his mind. I know you know that,” I said.

  “You’re going to have to be a lot more specific than that,” he said, chuckling.

  I grinned. “Even if we do take out the hoard coming for us, we still have the detective to deal with. Especially since his daughter’s connected to us now. He’ll stop at nothing, and I know you know that.”

  “Yes, I do. Eventually, we’ll have to take care of him in some way.”

  “Why can’t Stone accept that?” I asked.

  “That’s what you wanted to talk about?”

  “Will you shut up and fucking humor me for a second?”

  “I’m risking my own ass and place in this crew to come meet you for this. I want to make sure your own conversation’s gonna be worth it.”

  “It will be. If you sit here and listen like a normal person.”

  He sighed. “Fine. Yes, I know we’ll have to finish off the detective. But I also get why Stone is putting his foot down with it. I mean, he’s engaged to his daughter, for fuck’s sake. Doesn’t bode well for their future if Stone is off plotting her father’s death.”

  “Stone doesn’t have to be the one to take care of him, you know.”

  “What are you saying?”

  I sighed. “I’m saying that no more innocent lives have to be lost. And with all you guys hooking up with women you love, I’m the only one who’s free right now to get his hands dirty.”

  “Notch, just because—”

  I held up my hand and listened as Bronx scoffed.

  “I’m happy you’ve found someone, Bronx. I really am. I see how happy Freya makes you. Hell, I see how happy all the women make you guys. But with women comes a higher standard of living. They expect more of us. Of you guys. And that’s wonderful. Great. Superb.”

  “Superb?” he asked, grinning.

  I shrugged. “Not my fault I’m smart.”

  He laughed, but the laughing soon died down.

  “You don’t have to be the one to take out the detective. That alone could get you thrown out of the club,” Bronx said.

  “And it’s a chance I’m willing to take if it keeps you guys safe. These women, too. And Keva. Just a little girl who’s got no clue what the fuck’s going on. Come on, it’s a no-brainer at this point. No more innocent lives need to be lost and scarred in all this. Especially after what Freya had to do to protect what she felt she needed to.”

  Bronx’s face fell, and I knew he understood.

  “How is she, by the way?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “She’s about as good as she can be for taking someone’s life for the first time.”

  I shook my head. “Shit was rough when I first did it. I didn’t sleep right for months. I can still remember that man’s face. The whites of his eyes.”

  “She’ll live with it forever. It has changed her, though she might not want to admit it now.”

  “And that’s what I’m saying, Bronx. Her innocence was collateral damage in this war we’re fighting, and Stone won’t let us step in either direction.”

  “I’m not letting you do this alone.”

  “Which is why I called you. I want you to promise me something,” I said.

  “Name it,” he said.

  “If it comes down to the club or this detective, we’ll choose the club. You’ll help me stave off Stone and Texas long enough to take care of this man, no matter what.”

  “You have my word,” he said, nodding.

  “I’ll deal with the backlash later. I’ll preach your innocence to save your spot. Because I know Stone will lose his head. But this way? His fiancée’s father’s blood isn’t on his hands, and the crew is safe from him forever.”

  “Only if you promise me one thing.”

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “You’ll only kill Terry if it’s absolutely necessary,” he said.

  “You have my word,” I said.

  I held out my hand and we shook on it. What we were doing was essentially mutiny. And if Stone ever caught wind of it, he’d be irate. Both of our lives would be on the line with that man. And whenever he got angry, the only thing he saw and smelled was blood. I sighed as the handshake broke, then the two of us looked at our waters.

  “There’s shit floating around in it,” Bronx said flatly.

  I chuckled as I pushed the glass away. Then, I got up from my seat.

  “Ten minutes, then leave,” I said.

  “I’ll have tetanus in eight.”

  “Good thing I used to be an EMT, then,” I said.

  And as I started for the front doors of the bar, I questioned whether or not to tell him about Maya. To double back and clue him in on my swirling mind. But I still had unanswered questions. Things I wanted to ask her, but I couldn't with how heated and taken aback I was by the revelation that she had been obviously doing research on me. For a spy, she was a terrible liar. She got flustered way too easily. Which meant she probably wasn’t a spy at all.

  “How the fuck is she caught up in all this, then?” I murmured to myself.

  I didn’t know, but I needed to figure it out before I came clean with the guys.

  Especially if I was going to have a ghostly gun pointed straight at the detective until all this shit was wrapped up.

  14

  Maya

  I curled up in my bed as I read through the multiple tabs I had open. I’d lost myself down the rabbit hole of the Lost Boys M.C. Every piece of information I could scour on the internet, I’d found. Blog posts. Newspaper articles. Pictures. Conspiracy sites. The works. I had them all open, and one by one I read through what each of them had to say. Some of the articles boasted of the wonderful things this gang supposedly did for the community. Charities. Outreach. The bar they opened. Reviews for it. And as I continued to read, it painted me a lovely picture of what Notch was involved with.

  Even though I knew that wasn’t his real name.

  Whether that was a nickname or something else, I didn’t know. What I did know was that jumping through the links in all these blog posts led me to something else.

  It led me to what my brother and father had been involved with.

  For some reason, the conspiracy blogs thought my brother’s gang was somehow involved with The Lost Boys. The more I read, the more memories jumped from the treasure trove of my mind and fell to the forefront. So many things made sense. Nonsensical things my brother had said to me over the years. Things I heard my father saying in passing when I was younger. I was able to strip away folklore and get to the relative bottom of everything that had surrounded my life for years. And it left me only one question I needed answered.

  Was my father killed by the gang or my brother?

  My mind ripped me back to that night I got that phone call. My eyes fell closed as tears slipped down my face.

  The last night I ever heard my father’s voice.

  “Maya?”

  “Daddy! Daddy, what’s wrong? I can hear it in your voice.”

  “You have to get out of San Diego. It isn’t safe any longer,” he said.

  “Why? What’s going on? I haven’t heard from you in months. Talk to me,” I said.

  “Listen to me, just this once. I know your mother and I let you go. I know I said I’d never get into contact with you unless I had to. But you have to listen to me. San Diego isn’t safe any longer. You have to find another place to go.”

  “But but my shop is here. I just got it up and running. You’d love this place. It’s very ‘me,’ to use your phrasing.”

&nb
sp; “Maya!”

  “Well, what about Harry? Where is he going? I know you said you’d send him after you guys sent me. I could go to Harry if he’s settled somewhere,” I said.

  “Just get out. Promise me.”

  My eyes slowly opened and I sighed. My father never did answer my question about Harry. Where he was and what had happened to him. The next phone call I got a few days later was an officer informing me that my parents had died. A home invasion, they said. I’d been so stricken with grief I hadn’t even asked for the officer’s credentials. Or how he knew my number. Or where they had gotten my name, or my contact information.

  The only answer I had, other than getting a hold on one of my father’s burner phones, was Harry feeding them that information.

  The thought made me sick to my stomach.

  I closed out the tabs on The Lost Boys and focused solely on the ones I had opened. The gang was called “The Elusive,” and I knew I had the right one when I came across the name “Yung.” My father talked about whoever that person was a few times during my childhood. When I snuck into his office just to be a little closer to him. Harry mentioned that name once as well. Whenever he spoke with my father one night when we were all still back in Tianjin.

  I came across a part in the blog post I’d found titled “Initiation.”

  And my stomach fell as I continued to read.

  According to the article, most gang initiations required the new guys to kill someone. Preferably, someone close to them. The closer the kill, the more prominent the position in the gang. And if they could kill more than one person, it was a show of good faith to the new boss. An act of trust and dedication, so to speak.

  Reading the blog post made me physically ill. But it all made sense. Why my parents died that night in their own home. Why the officer told me it looked like they didn’t put up a fight. Why I couldn't get in touch with my brother after our parents had died. Why he seemed to fall off the face of the map and pop up in San Diego, wearing tailored suits and sporting expensive watches on his wrist.

  “Oh, my god,” I whispered.

  There was so much I had overlooked. So much I had let fall to the wayside in an attempt to move on. To forge a life for myself. But now, my brother’s icy comment about him tracking me down made all the sense in the world.