“That’s your real name?”
“That’s my cage name. Was a fighter before I joined the MC. Not many people know my real name.”
I nod. “My name’s Trouble.”
He throws back his head and laughs, and I manage a weak smile.
“Pleased to meet you, Trouble.”
“My real name’s Bethany. Bethany Crawford.”
“You want to tell me how you ended up in High Vale, Miss Bethany Trouble Crawford?”
I tell Striker about my brother. About his cybersecurity job at a federal contractor two states away, and how he was warned bad people might want access to him through his job. How I’d finished my IT degree and wanted to start paying back my loan. Then I tell him the embarrassing part about the modeling website, and how I ended up at the Lodge about to get married to a crook.
A muscle in his jaw works, but he keeps his hand where it is.
“I need to leave. I shouldn't pull you into this.”
"Where would you go? Storm’s getting worse.”
I open my mouth and then shut it with a snap. “I'll stay, if that’s okay. Just for tonight.”
He nods. “You stay as long as you like, princess.”
Chapter Five
STRIKER
I wake up before sunrise and lie on the couch staring at the ceiling for fifteen minutes. The storm passed in the night and the morning is clear.
Next door, Bethany is asleep in my bed in my t-shirt. I’ve spent the last few hours alternating between trying not to think about her and failing; by six in the morning I'd given up trying.
I get up and make coffee.
When I open the bedroom door to leave her a note, she's fast asleep. Her wavy blonde hair is spread across my pillow and one of her hands is curled against her cheek. I stand in the doorway for longer than I'd want anyone to know, then leave the note on the nightstand.
Eat something and stay inside. Keep the blinds down. I'll be back. — S.
The bar is quiet this early in the morning in a way it's never peaceful once it’s open. I set the chairs down and make more coffee. I feed the cat, who’s caught three mice during the night.
Wrench rolls in around eleven, carrying a paper bag of Marvin's danish pastries under his arm. Hawk tries to goad him about being a feeder. He sets the bag on the bar, takes a stool, drinks the coffee I pour him, and listens to my run-down ofyesterday without interrupting. He’s the Outlaws’ road captain and engineer; never met a bike he couldn’t fix or a map he couldn’t memorize.
“What do you need from me?”
“More security. New locks on the back office and take a look at the bar's perimeter cameras. Eyes on the surrounding properties in case those Rotten Corp bastards try to stake us out.”
Wrench nods and goes to look at the locks.
Lucky walks into the Saloon mid-morning, dressed like a man who was expecting to spend his day flying men in expensive shoes around. Like his brother Hawk, he’s been undercover at High Vale Lodge for the last couple of months at Prez’s request. He drops his sunglasses on the bar, and I give him the run-down of what happened last night.
“I’ll send you my passenger log. This Rico Taylor is a new one to me, but I don’t believe they’d marry off one of their small-time crew to run a blackmail sting.”
“I appreciate it.”
“So you’re keeping the girl?”
“I’m making sure she stays out of sight, yes.”
