“Devon, what are you doing?” Tigger wondered where the proof was, where the accusation had originated, and how this nonsense had been delivered. Surely, Devon was going on something more than Gaylord’s word.
“Nay.” The first vote was cast.
“Nay.” And another.
It was a continual ‘nay’ reply all the way around the table. When the vote reached Tigger, he stood and shrugged away his leather coat with all its many colors. “I’ll pick up mine when Logan is given his back…along with an apology.”
If steam had been swirling from Devon’s ears, he wouldn’t have looked any more ridiculous than he appeared at that moment. He’d shamed the club by bringing such a vote to the table.
Devon frowned. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Logan can deal with you however he sees fit.” And with that final statement, Tigger stormed outside, boarded his bike, and took off for Johnson City, leaving Fall Branch and the MC behind.
* * * *
After Tigger left, Devon retired to his private suite with Victory on his heels. The two hashed things out for the better part of the early evening. When they finally reappeared, Devon quickly made his way over to Sassy and Logan.
Seated at the bar with Sassy on his lap, Logan didn’t acknowledge him. He kept his grip on Sassy’s hip. His free hand weaved through her head of soft, red curls as he thought of the possible scenarios.
He’d made a life here for himself and for Sassy. Regardless of their circumstances, they were invested in the Heroes and Rogues. He wasn’t about to let Gaylord push him out until he was damn good and ready to go. He still had a job to do, and his work was far from finished.
“Can I talk to you?”
“No,” Logan replied, stroking Sassy’s back.
Sassy leaned over and continued her fruitless conversation with Cara. She tried to reassure her that everything between her and Tigger would work out—a likely outcome only if hell’s flames iced over and barricaded the devil.
Tigger was probably halfway to heaven by then, wrapped in another woman’s arms and wondering what he’d ever seen in Cara. Logan couldn’t blame him. Summer was probably like a breath of fresh air. And Cara? Well, Cara wore the title of the club’s sheep for a reason. She was yesterday’s news, scoured over by the dozens and worn thin by too many careless hands.
Devon cleared his throat. “I want to apologize. The lack of information was reason enough to keep the vote from hitting our table, but Gaylord was convincing. I thought he was telling the truth.”
Logan gave Sassy a gentle push and swiveled around on his barstool to face off with the MC’s president.
“I’ll say this once. Only once, Devon.” He paused for effect before pointing his finger in Devon’s face. “If you ever insinuate or cast a shadow of doubt upon my loyalty again, I will strip you of that seat you cherish and make sure you never hold a gavel again. And I can do it. We both know I can. Do you understand what I’m saying here, Devon?”
“Yeah, I hear ya,” Devon replied, playing off the threat by glancing around the room as if they were engaged in an unimportant conversation.
“Let this be a lesson,” Logan continued, unwilling to give Devon an easy out. “If you hear something about one of our brothers, you take a moment and consider the source. If anyone is undercover, it’s Gaylord. I’ve suspected it for a while now, but did I come to you and say anything? No. I started my own research.” He reached for his hip pocket and retrieved a manila envelope folded in half. “Everything you ever wanted to know about Gaylord is in there.”
“Where’d you get this?” Devon asked, arching a brow.
“Like I said, I’ve been suspicious. I’ve been gathering intel for the club. If anyone’s a cop, it’s Gaylord. He has the markings of an undercover all over him. If I were you, I’d cease operations with the Angels as soon as possible, before whatever heat they’ll have all over them comes down on us, too.”
“Cease operations? Are you out of your mind? We need them. You know how much money we make off them.”
“And the Devil’s Angels profit from us as well,” Logan reminded him, tapping the end of the envelope. “If we pull out of our arrangement and stop selling them our guns, the very weapons they could one day use against us, I might add, then they have no other choice except to question Gaylord, the man in the position of authority. And they will. They’re greedy, and they’re always hungry for more action.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Devon slapped the folder against his palm.
“Because I like to gather evidence and have the proof before I finger someone who will be marked for death if an accusation sticks. Maybe next time, you’ll grant me the same courtesy.”
Chapter Eight
Summer turned down the bed and slipped on a thin black slip, a sexy number considering the way it clung to her skin, accentuating her high breasts and rounded bottom. She stared at the dark suit she’d worn earlier, now hanging on her closet door.
Why hadn’t Mark Sampson called her? They were supposed to have a meeting, but he’d backed out, claimed a sudden change in plans couldn’t be helped. There was a problem, one he couldn’t discuss until they met again.
What sort of problem, she wondered, checking out her hair and makeup in the mirror before going to the phone again. Maybe she should call him. Perhaps something had happened, and she needed to be aware of the circumstances before she crawled in bed with the MC’s VP.
Tigger would be there soon. If something had gone wrong at this emergency Heroes and Rogues meeting, then she needed to be apprised of the situation.
She lifted the receiver and started to place her call when a heavy knock fell upon the door. She smiled as she glanced at the clock. Tigger was right on time.
Peering through the peephole, she discovered a large bouquet of flowers. The man behind the arrangement kept his head down and studied a clipboard.
He knocked again. “Floral delivery for Miss Summer Pain.”
Reaching for her robe and unlatching the security lock at the same time, Summer never questioned the authenticity of the delivery. She quickly discovered what a grave mistake she’d made.
“Miss Pain?”
“Yes. I’m Summer Pain.” She reached for the flowers, but was stopped short when one of the largest humans she’d ever seen pushed his way inside her room. She recognized the man right away as one of the subjects of her investigation...Gaylord Martin.
“Who are you?” she asked, pretending not to recognize him.
“I’m a friend of a friend.” He stormed inside her room, the door slamming behind them. Dropping the flowers on the floor, he slung her body against the wall and held her firmly in place.
“What do you want?” Summer tried to maintain her composure as Gaylord’s evil eyes filled with contempt.
Had someone on the inside of the investigation blown her cover? Had she been made? Did Gaylord know with absolute certainty what her position entailed, or was he there because of her loose, new affiliation with Tigger and the Heroes and Rogues?
“I’m here to make sure everyone understands the seriousness of the situation between the Devil’s Angels and the Heroes and Rogues.”
“How does this concern me?” Summer kept her voice even.
The man chuckled. His gaze dropped over her like a web of deception. She was outmatched in strength and weight and recognized the possible violent outcome given Gaylord’s training.
His grip changed and his nails dug into her skin with a venomous bite. “You are a gorgeous woman. I’ll give you that.”
“Did you burst into my room to dish out compliments or warnings?”
“Maybe both.” His nostrils flared. He took a deep breath and then to her surprise, he released her and made himself right at home.
Walking over to the window, Gaylord drew the curtains but never turned his back to her. He poured himself a glass of water and took a careful sip as if he thought she’d laced the rim with arsenic.
> Summer glanced at the nightstand. If necessary, she could dart across the room and grab her gun. But then what? There were two possible reasons why Gaylord had chosen to pay her a visit, Summer could safely assume he was armed. A trained agent wouldn’t allow her the first opportunity to gain an upper hand.
“What do motorcycle gangs have to do with me?” Even though she wasn’t bound, she felt like his hostage, a captive behind closed doors.
He strolled across the room. Glancing at the bed, he wrinkled his nose as if he were truly disgusted by the plans in progress. Two champagne flutes were set next to an ice bucket housing a bottle of Dom Perignon. The candles were lit; the sheets turned down. No question about it. Romance had been on her agenda.
Long salt and pepper hair tied back in a ponytail, a fitted black T-shirt, and worn chaps hugging his thighs made Gaylord look as if he belonged to a biker gang. He also resembled a hired gun. He definitely didn’t look like a Fed. Then again, he shouldn’t. He’d been an undercover for most of his career.
“You and Tigger. Who would’ve thought?”
“Who are you?” She would play dumb until he showed his hand and revealed just how much he knew.
“Name is Gaylord. I’m here to caution you, Miss Pain.” An evil smile twisted his mouth before he added, “So take my warning as a lone act of kindness, one you’ll never receive again.
“If your report—you know the one in which you give your opinion about which undercover agent has gone rogue—details anything other than what I specifically give you permission to relay, I’ll be back. When I return, I’ll come back with a vengeance. You won’t have to wonder if I’m here to scare you or if someone has decided you need to be eliminated. You’ll know beyond a reasonable doubt.”
“I don’t take kindly to threats.”
Gaylord smiled. “I was told you would be difficult. Damn shame—at least for you. See, your cooperation is crucial…and I’m an extremely persuasive man.”
* * * *
An hour later, Summer sat on her bed, dabbing her lip with a bloody tissue. How had Gaylord known where to find her? Had Tigger told him?
She quickly decided Tigger was out. Gaylord had made specific references to her job.
As the thought crossed her mind, she focused on the red digits on the clock. Another new number fell over the last. It was nine-nineteen. Where the hell was Tigger? Had Gaylord harmed him?
She cupped her swollen cheek and revisited the hour she’d spent with Gaylord. He’d given direct orders. She was to return to Mark Sampson and relay her report, one with specific findings designed to cast a bad light on Logan Marcs as a cop and as a person. Gaylord would plant the evidence and Mark, once he had received her report, would follow through. Within a week, Gaylord would be cleared, and Logan would be a marked man.
He’d also be out of a job, and no one would ever hire him in law enforcement again. Assuming he was even alive to apply for another position in the future.
Forcing herself to stand, she stumbled to the bathroom, her head swimming as she splashed her face with cool water. Lifting her chin upward, she stared at her reflection.
What had she done? Why had she opened the door? Why hadn’t she questioned a floral delivery? Who the hell would send her flowers? Tigger? After one night of incomplete passion?
Dabbing her lip with the end of a moistened washcloth, she cursed the day she’d taken this job and agreed to go undercover. She was a rookie. She didn’t belong in an investigation targeting MC outlaws and dirty Feds and cops.
She’d already proven she was in way over her head. She couldn’t stay focused on her career when she was certain, one hundred percent positive, she and Tigger would have some kind of future together.
God, this was crazy. She’d been halfway in love with Tigger long before she’d met him. Prior to stepping into her role, she’d spent hours researching the Heroes and Rogues, and she’d meticulously planned when and how she’d enter the clubhouse.
She had resolved to use Damsel Road, deciding she would assume the role of an investigative reporter studying motorcycle clubs in the Southeast. Now, she wondered why Tigger hadn’t even bothered to ask her why she’d been searching for Damsel Road. Perhaps he’d been more interested in seducing her than he cared to admit.
Someone knocked at her door. She pressed her head against the peephole and looked outside. A sharp pain shot up her neck, and the fear she’d felt when Gaylord had attacked her rolled over her like a breaking tide, without regard to timing or preparation.
She greeted Tigger with tears slipping from her eyes. Before she could stop herself, she fell face-forward, burying her face against the warmth of his body as she wept.
Chapter Nine
“Hey, hey now.” Tigger wrapped his arms around her small form. He carefully eased his way inside and locked the door behind him, torn apart as she sniffed against his neck, her body shaking as he held her close.
Dear God. What had he gotten himself into? Had he traded one basket case for another? He’d heard of women being upset and temperamental when a man showed up late for a date, but this was over the top.
“Come on now. Let me see that pretty face. Tell me what’s wrong.”
She shook her head and continued sobbing against him. Wrapping her arms tighter around his neck, Summer cried until he wondered if the woman had any tears left to shed.
Finally, he’d been patient enough. Carefully, he unlocked her thin limbs and freed himself. And as he looked down on her swollen cheek and split lip, it took all of his will to contain his rage. “What the hell happened to you?”
She bowed her head and tried to pull away from him. “Just give me a minute.”
“Summer,” he said, tilting her chin to his. “Who did this to you?”
Tears the size of lemon drops fell against her cheek. She hurried to the bathroom and grabbed a few tissues from a silver box on the vanity.
“Summer, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” He was pissed, but the fury he felt wasn’t nearly as harsh as the blame. He should’ve been here. He could’ve been here. The meeting had adjourned in plenty of time, but he’d taken a ride to clear his mind.
“When did this happen?”
Summer sniffed, blew her nose, and whispered, “It doesn’t matter.”
“Summer, you’ve got to talk to me. Do you know who did this?”
Reluctantly, she nodded. Those big brown eyes were melting like chocolate, but the pain wasn’t all he saw lingering there. The woman was pissed, too.
Good. He could work with anger a lot better than he could handle a frightened woman.
“I want a name.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She dragged the back of her hand across her scraped chin.
“Did he touch you?”
Her expression twisted.
“Whoever did this…did he rape you?”
“No,” she cried out, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Thank God.” Tigger blew out a hard breath before he squatted between her parted knees. He caressed her arm with one hand and moved her fallen locks out of the way with the other. Peering under her long hair, he said, “I promise you, Summer. I’ll handle this. Give me a name. I won’t ask questions. I won’t ask why it happened. I just need a name.”
“No questions?” She gulped. “You promise you won’t ask why?”
“Of course. It’s not my business.”
“Then why do you need his name?”
“Because, baby,” he paused and searched her eyes, “it is not okay for a man to raise his hand to a woman.”
She tented her hands over her brows and massaged her forehead. “He’s with the Devil’s Angels.”
“The Angels?” Tigger gulped. “Does this have something to do with you showing up at our club asking for Damsel Road?”
“You said you wouldn’t ask questions.”
“Fine,” he bit out. “Who with the Angels, Summer? Do you know who?”
“Gaylord Martin. He’
s the club’s—”
“I know who he is,” Tigger snapped, retrieving his cell phone from his jeans. “And I know where to find him.”
“Not tonight,” Summer pleaded, tugging at his sleeve as he rose to his feet. “Please, Tigger. I know we’ve only known one another for a few days, but please stay with me. I don’t want to be alone.”
Tigger looped his arms around her and drew her against him. Stroking her back, he reassured her. “Of course you don’t. And you won’t be. I’ll stay with you all night. But so help me God, Gaylord will pay for this.”
Seconds later, the guilt consumed him. He should’ve been there. He noticed a destroyed floral arrangement next to the wall. Leaves had fallen away from the stems. Flower petals were scattered about. “How’d he get in here?”
She pointed at the flower bouquet. “I thought he was a delivery guy.”
Damn him! Gaylord was sending a direct message. The reason Summer refused to tell him more was because she knew her affiliation with him had placed her in danger. First, Logan and now this?
“Baby, I’m so sorry. This is my fault. The Heroes and Rogues are at odds with the Devil’s Angels, and that club is full of one-percenters.”
“One-percenters?”
“Men without a conscience. They're considered outlaws, fellows who operate by their own rules without any regard to others.”
“It isn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it is. There’s no one else to blame.”
Summer shook her head. “Me. I wasn’t careful enough. When he knocked on the door, I saw the flowers and let him in. I really couldn’t see his face behind the bouquet. I should’ve told him to leave the arrangement at the front desk.”
Her shaken voice threw him into a fit of new rage. “What time was he here?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does,” he said, assuming she must’ve thought Gaylord was him if she’d opened up the door so carelessly.
“Around eight, I think.”
Oh hell. How could he live with himself? What had he been thinking? He should’ve been there. He could’ve been on time. But he hadn’t been.
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