Page 53 of Property of Quake

“With Keith, yeah,” I assure them. “If it were Tom coming in, that might be a different story. He hurt Melissa.”

“We don’t know that for sure, not yet,” Lyric reminds me.

I glare at him. “The fuck we don’t. He’s the only person it could be.”

“Which we need to confirm.”

Heaving a sigh, I push away from the table. “Fine. I’ll get what we need.”

I stride to the door, but before I can yank it open, Lyric’s words stop me.

“You should call Carrie.”

I whirl around. “Why?”

“Quake, she’s Melissa’s caseworker.”

“And I don’t know that we can trust her,” I snap.

“I get that,” he placates. “But the last thing we need is for her to be working against us which is exactly what will happen if we don’t keep her in the loop. I’m not saying you have to share everything. What if you just tell her that you and Whitney have managed to get Melissa to open up a little and that it’s a volunteer at Sacred Haven? No names, no ties to the club, just the bare minimum.”

“Fine.”

I head outside to call Carrie and wait for Keith. The caseworker doesn’t answer, which doesn’t surprise me, so I send her a text.

Me: Melissa still not talking much but she’s let enough slip that we think it’s a volunteer at SH. No name yet

I shove my phone into my cut, not bothering to watch for a reply. She’s kept us waiting long enough, now it’s her turn.

Keith pulls into the lot twenty minutes later, parks his Harley, and stalks toward the entrance. He doesn’t even notice me.

“Prospect!” I call, and he halts with the door halfway open. “Wait up.”

“Hey, Quake,” he greets. “What’s up? Lyric said there’s a job for me to do.”

“Yep,” I quip. “You’re with me.”

I lead him through the common room. Lyric, Romeo, and Zombie are there, and I know they’re watching. We walk down one of the corridors, and Keith is right there with me, step for step.

“So, how have you been?” he asks, attempting to strike up a conversation. I don’t take the bait. Not yet. “That good, huh?”

We reach the end of the corridor, and I hang a left. “Shit’s been hitting the fan,” I finally say, giving him just a little bit.

“No way, bro. Wha⁠—”

With lightning-quick moves, I have him pinned against the wall, my hand around his throat. “I’m not your fucking bro,” I sneer. “You’re a prospect. The whole bro thing doesn’t apply.”

He wheezes when I let him go. “Right, got it. Sorry.”

“You will be,” I mutter under my breath.

A minute later, we reach our destination.

“Ah, a cleanup job,” he says.

“Why else would we be at the chambers?” I counter, brow arched.

The lock disengages when I press my palm on the scanner, and I step aside, motioning him to enter before me. The lights automatically flicker to life once there’s movement in the space, and I know the second Keith realizes his predicament because his spine stiffens, and he reaches for the knife he likes to carry.