Chapter Two
Bree
Bree Collingswood sat ramrod straight on her barstool, sending out ‘fuck off’ vibes as hard as she could. She wasn’t fit for company. What she needed was a case of tequila to erase the day from her mind. Half the WPS already hated her after her ugly break-up with Eric. Testifying against another officer was going to cement her status as Winnipeg’s most hated badge-bunny. It didn’t matter that she’d only ever been with one cop.
She ordered a beer instead. “Stella.” This wasn’t one of her regular haunts, or one of her old ones. It was anonymous, like she wanted to be. She looked like every other person there: businessmen, and a few women, in dress shirts and suits, all of them mostly dead around the eyes, decompressing after a long day at the office. Belatedly, she realized she had been there once before. The last time she’d been in this particular downtown hotel bar had been for a charity awards banquet. She’d been sporting a clingy, low-cut dress and a push-up bra, trying to get Eric worked up enough to skip out on the speeches and take her upstairs.
Different time, different life.
The Lion and Lamb lounge was decorated ingeneric. If forgettable and soulless had a baby, it would be the chrome and plastic nightmare she was stuck in. Classic rock on the speakers, a hockey game on the television in the corner. A place where nobody knew her name, and nobody cared to. It was the perfect place to hide. And if she were honest with herself, she was hiding.
Despite its numbers, Winnipeg was a small town. It took a lot of energy to avoid an ex. She’d had a good six-month run of not bumping into Eric. Seeing him in the courtroom had thrown her for a loop, especially since he’d had no reason to be there.
Fucking Sergeant Ryan Zane. Looks couldn’t kill, but she’d glared at him as hard as she could when he smirked at her from the defence counsel’s table. Because of him, she’d gone through hell. Knowing her fiancé and her brother were going to work with a dirty cop every day had kept her up nights. The fact that she couldn’t warn them had almost killed her. But by then it hadn’t really mattered.
For the longest time, she thought she’d done something to make Eric push her away. Once Zane had been charged, she Eric must have had some kind of plan. It was a shame he didn’t think she was smart enough to participate in it. Bree could only fight so many battles, and one with a man who was more interested in working against her, rather than with her, was one too many.
The mirror behind the bar, partially obscured by a rainbow of liquor bottles, let her know her unapproachable stance was slipping. Two highly out-of-place men were zeroing in on her.
The first was at least thirty, and a hard one at that. Solid build. Long, blond hair and a goatee, both streaked with grey. His bright blue eyes were hidden behind thick laugh lines. The other was younger and taller. He had a shaved head, sideburns, and a thick black beard that would make a duck hunter jealous. They both wore heavy boots, faded jeans, and dark long-sleeved shirts under leather jackets with Ice Road Warriors patches. “I’m not interested, fellas.”
“Aren’t you going to say hello, Bree?”
“Hi, Marcus. Hi, cutie. Still not interested in company, guys. It’s been a shitty day.”
The bartender set a glass of clear liquid in front of Marcus without him having said a word. Of all the hotels in all the world, she had to walk into one in biker territory. Then again, now that the Nasty Boyz had imploded, most of Winnipeg was Ice Road Warrior territory. Even if it wasn’t a biker bar, the bartender knew enough to recognize a vice-president’s patch when he saw one.
“I need you to send a message to your honey in Homicide,” Marcus said.
Bree did a spit take, a mouthful of Stella Artois spraying across the bar. Then she made the mistake of inhaling and was racked with a coughing fit that doubled her over. Marcus administered a couple firm claps on her back as he helped her regain her stool. “Warn a girl, will you?” she wheezed.
“I wasn’t aware I was making a joke.”
“Where have you been for the last year, Marcus? There isn’t a cop in this city who would piss on me if I was on fire. Or a firefighter for that matter. Thinking anybody in Homicide would care about a message I had is hysterical.”
He’d almost cracked a smile, but his face turned to stone at her comment. “If things were as over as you say, Parker wouldn’t have been watching you testify this afternoon. I need to use that.”
Bree looked him straight in the eye. She didn’t have to bullshit him; even though they’d gone separate ways years ago, she’d known Marcus long before he’d found the Warriors. He had played minor hockey with her older brother John Junior in high school. He’d practically been family at one point, although she’d been glad he wasn’t the big brother he acted like, since she’d had a massive crush on him as a teenager.
Bree forced her mind back to the present. “I was shocked as shit to see Eric in the courtroom. I haven’t spoken to him in months. Or Adam or John Junior for that matter. You were misinformed. Accidentally or on purpose, I can’t begin to guess, but whoever told you I was still friendly with anyone in the WPS was so wrong it’s not funny.”
“I don’t believe it. You were engaged to Parker.”
“Yeah, a year ago.” Fourteen months, but she wasn’t counting. Bree picked up her beer and gulped like she was clearing a bad taste from her mouth. “I can’t believe he’s still screwing me over after all this time,” she muttered into her bottle before she took another drink.
She didn’t falter when Marcus stared back at her. The truth was what it was. When he shook his head and growled, “Shit,” Bree silently exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Acquaintance or not, pissing off a Warrior was not a great plan.
“If anything changes, have Parker call me at the Speakeasy. Have a good night, Bree,” Marcus said. He shot back his drink and left. The silent, bald prospect followed him out.
Bree abandoned her bottle on the bar top. She did not want to become a messenger for the motorcycle club that was getting press for being the fastest growing one in the country. The case she’d been working on had proven Zane had been in league with the Nasty Boyz, a small but powerful motorcycle club, running guns across the border from the United States into Manitoba. When Zane went down, so had the club. The Ice Road Warriors had stepped in and filled the void. The Warriors had been around for years in Ontario, but as opportunities had swelled in Winnipeg, so had their numbers. Now, the unofficial word was anybody looking for weapons went to the Warriors.
Bree had dealt with enough gunrunning to last a lifetime. She needed to get out of town. Away from exes and dirty cops and bad memories. She had one more job to do, and then there’d be nothing left to hold her here. A few more weeks and she’d be gone.
