Page 55 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

Shadow mutters quietly, “Fuck.”

Dash says nothing, which somehow feels worse. If Dash isn’t cracking jokes and making light of things, you know it’s serious.

Trigger looks furious, his expression cold and deadly, the kind of rage that makes me understand instantly why people move out of his way. “Where’d you find it?” he asks tightly, striding past me into the house.

“It was in the mailbox.”

“Envelope?” Chief asks, carefully scanning the hallway as he walks into the house.

I blink slightly. “What?”

Chief looks around. “Where’s the envelope?”

I glance at the trash can in the kitchen, wondering if I made a mistake. “In the trash.”

“Don’t touch it again.” His voice is calm but commanding enough that I instinctively nod before I even think about it. He retrieves it from the bin, locates a Ziploc bag, and puts it inside.

“What are you gonna do with that? Do you think the police will check it for fingerprints?” I ask hopefully.

Chief grimaces. “Unlikely at this stage, but we should keep a record of everything, just in case.”

I don’t ask in case of what, I know I won’t like the answer.

Trigger moves deeper into the house, checking windows and locks, peering into the backyard. He moves around as if he lives here.

Dash crouches beside the front window, peering through the blinds. “Have you seen anybody suspicious outside today?”

“No.”

Shadow finally speaks quietly, near the hallway. “Was the car still around?”

The fact that he knows about the car sends another chill through me. I don’t ask how, Shadow notices things. He probably spotted it before I did. I can only assume he didn’t mention it before because he didn’t want to worry me. “I haven’t seen it since earlier.”

Trigger appears again from the kitchen, looking angrier somehow. “Car, what car?” he demands, looking between Shadow and me.

“Just a car, I noticed it a few times.”

“You too?” Trigger says to Shadow, eyes narrowed.

“Once or twice, not enough to raise alarms.”

“Well, it fucking should have, we would never have agreed to leave her alone if we’d known,” he snarls.

“When did you find the note?” Chief asks, moving the subject on to stop Trigger from exploding.

“Maybe an hour ago or so?”

“You should’ve called sooner,” Trigger says.

Immediately, irritation sparks through my fear. “Oh, sorry, next time I’ll schedule my stalking more efficiently.”

Dash snorts despite the tension. Chief shoots Trigger a look. Trigger exhales hard through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair. “Not what I meant.” His eyes stay fixed on me with this intense, furious protectiveness that makes my stomach tighten in confusing ways. Part of me wants to snap at him, while another part—the frightened, exhausted part—feels overwhelmingly relieved that he’s here, that they’re all here.

Owen wanders sleepily down the stairs, his bare feet padding on the carpet. He rubs his eyes.

Every single biker softens instantly.

Dash crouches down beside him. “Hey there, tiny criminal, what are you doing up?”