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“Hello to you too, Cade,” she said.
“You’re Cade?” I blurted, unable to stop myself.
His eyes found mine. They didn’t flare in recognition, as they were still pissed off, but not the same as when they were directed at his sister. It totally made sense they were related.
“Gwen’s Cade?” I clarified.
The corner of his mouth twitched in what I suspected was his version of a smile. “She’d be more than happy to hear me being referred that way instead of the other way around.”
“Holy crap,” I muttered.
At first, I couldn’t compute the glamorous, beautiful, kind woman from the boutique with this gruff and terrifying biker. But I saw it with that mouth twitch, with the way something moved in his eyes with the mention of his wife.
Oh yeah. I got that.
Every woman in the world would give up their soul to have a man make that expression when their names were mentioned. I know I would.
“We don’t have long to execute a plan, so I’m going to need you to save whatever lecture I know you have prepared for me and just call church so I can explain this all once and we can get cracking,” Rosie said. “Wire, of course, is already briefed. Again, save whatever tongue-lashing you have for that little nerd until later. We have a crime organization to topple and not much time.” Rosie said all of this with the confidence and casual demeanor that one might have ordering a fucking burger at a drive-thru. She didn’t even wait for Cade’s response; she just grasped my hand and dragged me across the parking lot toward a structure off the garage, which I guessed was the clubhouse.
“I already texted Amy,” she said, nodding to a cherry-red convertible in between the Harleys. “Since Gwen had the fashion part of our mission under control, she’s got margaritas waiting for us. Trust me, we’re going to need them.”
The weight of what I was doing hit me the second we set foot in the biker clubhouse. I hadn’t let myself think how shitty this was. But no, it wasn’t shitty. It was on-brand for me.
I don’t know what I expected an MC clubhouse would look like, but this was the furthest from my expectations. Then again, looking to Rosie—who I knew was the sister to the President of the MC, a big deal—and Gwen, who was married to said president, and the fact they were swathed in designer clothing, I guessed they wouldn’t really put up with bikers who had used condoms and heroin needles littering the floor.
Not even a few half-naked women and men passed out on various surfaces.
It smelled like Gwen’s store, the same expensive candles burning.
The décor wasn’t exactly elegant but it was classy for a biker compound—enormous sofa in front of a giant TV, man-sized coffee table with a neat stack of books and candles in the middle.
There were a handful of armchairs scattered around, free of stains. Various Harley art hung on the walls and what looked like a framed collection of mugshots.
It was a massive house, much more impressive than it looked from the outside, but my perusal was cut short when yet another beautiful woman came rushing toward us on six-inch Manolos.
Her fire-red hair was falling in excellent curls around her face. Two margaritas were in her hands, in glasses, salt rim and all.
“You’re here,” she said, smiling wide and handing us the drinks.
I took the glass more out of habit than anything. Plus, I’d been through so much these past thirty hours or so, tequila was medically necessary.
Up close the woman was even more beautiful. Her makeup was expertly applied but a dusting of freckles showed through. Her eyes were wild and warm, her smile the same.
She was wearing a white Balmain blazer and white slacks. She looked like she should be sitting at the head of a conference table, not in a biker compound. But somehow, like Gwen, she fit.
“I’m Amy,” she said, the same warmth in her voice that was in her smile. “I could go through the farce of pretending I don’t know who you are, but I’m not going to. You’re Anastasia Edwards, and you witnessed a murder by a really bad dude. Until a couple of days ago, you were in Greenstone Security witness protection on Duke’s ranch in Montana, which sounds like a total nightmare to me but you did the alpha male, badass bitch dance and you got together. But of course, there had to be some badass bitch behavior that landed you here.”
I blinked. I was used to people knowing details about my life. It was part of the game, but all those details were meant to be top secret, not to mention the personal shit.
I looked between the two women. “Okay, I need to know it right now. Did you two make a deal with the devil or something, to give you badass skills, style and overall glam?”
