“I’ve seen your dad in prison. I know the type of man he is, and I’m tellin’ ya, babe, he’s fucking fearless. There’s something about him that’s lethal in a way I can’t describe, but it’s there, lurking, and not many men are foolish enough to test it.”
I couldn’t argue because Crypt was right. I’d always known my father was a powerful, influential man. He was respected, and it wasn’t only by other bikers. My father had connections everywhere he went. I almost laughed at the thought that he could be mafia. If he wasn’t so integrated into the Graven Bastards MC, I would suspect it.
“I just want my daughter home and this nightmare to be over.” I sniffled as a few tears slipped from my eyes.
“Hey, I’ve got you. It’ll be all right.” He gently swiped the tears from my cheeks. “Hannibal will find your daughter. I don’t think he’s going to fail to bring her back to you. I’ll just keep you safe until we’re all back at The Crossroads.”
I didn’t really have a choice. Hannibal was already gone.
“I’ve never even been there,” I admitted.
“Never?”
“Nope.”
“Well, that’s changing now, Rachel. Come on.”
I let Crypt lead me from the lobby, sighing as we walked outside and toward the rodeo. Crypt’s hotel wasn’t far, and we took the elevator up to his floor, only pausing long enough for him to grab his two duffel bags. He certainly traveled light.
It honestly looked like he never unpacked. The two bags sat on the bed, zipped shut. If I wasn’t so worried about Rylee, I would probably ask him the reason he was staying in a hotel if he was a new member of the Graven Bastards. But it wasn’t any of my business.
“You know how to ride?” Crypt asked as he stopped beside a motorcycle parked toward the entrance.
It was dusty, but also a gorgeous, deep blue. A grim reaper was painted on the tank in black with a silver scythe. I didn’t know much about Harley-Davidson bikes, but I did know the brand was popular, and most GBMC members rode one.
“I’ve ridden once or twice,” I replied with a shrug.
Hannibal had taken me on a few rides, but my mother hated it, and he got sick of hearing her freak out about her daughter on a death machine. To be fair, I was young.
Riding a motorcycle had to be like riding a bike. Once you learned you never forget. Right?
Crypt stashed his duffels in black, hard saddlebags. The expensive ones, labeled with the Harley-Davidson name. They looked sharp on his bike. It was a sexy motorcycle.
“Hop on, beautiful.”
I climbed on, settling onto the seat as he stared at me. “What?”
“Did you drive your car to Vegas?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not gonna like it, but we can take it instead if you don’t wanna ride.”
I snorted. “Old Blue is probably on her deathbed. She doesn’t have much left.”
“Ah. You got anything inside you need?”
No. I never thought to pack a bag for myself. “I left in a hurry.”
“So, no?”
I shook my head. “I don’t have anything in that car other than a few tears, a little desperation, and some bad memories.”
“Okay.” Crypt straddled his bike with ease, reaching back to tug me closer. “Babe, you gotta hug me with those pretty thighs and wrap your arms around me tight. Not risking losing you. Get closer.”
I moved as close as I could get, noting that my body was plastered to his from behind. My hands circled his waist, and I could feel his stomach muscles tighten and flex beneath the material of his shirt.
“You ready?”
I tried to block everything from my mind and clear the worry, fear, and doubt trying to strangle me. “Yes, Crypt.”
He started the engine, and as it rumbled to life beneath us, I held on to the outlaw and his beast, hoping I wasn’t making a mistake.
