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Doesn’t know anything my ass.
“What did you just say?”
He shakes his head, lips clamped between his teeth.
“She works at a truck stop diner on the highway.”
He swallows, but still doesn’t say a word.
“Are you telling me she works at The Kitten’s Cream?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not telling you anything.”
“You just said—”
“Are you asking about Kendall Stewart? I thought you meant Kendall… umm… Steward. My mistake.”
“Wren,” I growl. “Tell me.”
My heart pounds in my chest, a mix of jealousy and desire swirling together inside of me.
The Kitten’s Cream is a super nice gentleman’s club in the ritziest part of town. I’ve never been there, but I’ve driven past the windowless building more times than I can count. It’s not one of the places that even has a sign outside. You have to be in the know to realize it’s even there. Brooks has bragged more than once about the quality of girls that work there.
If I let myself think hard enough, I can picture Kendall being one of those girls.
But I can’t think of her dancing there because I’d lose my fucking mind.
If she thought coming into the office with a fake bomb was bad, she doesn’t want to know what I’d do at her work if I walked in and saw her on stage shaking that fine ass for other men.
That thought stops me cold.
Jealousy is new for me in that I haven’t felt jealous over a female since I saw Dillon Waite kissing Emmie Grison in fourth grade behind the dunking booth at the fall carnival.
The emotions running ragged through me aren’t thoughts of spraying water on his pants to make it look like he pissed himself so Emmie would pick me. My thoughts aren’t childish and juvenile at all. They’re leaning toward violence, chaos, and mayhem. Death and destruction.
And that’s not where my head should be, considering I haven’t even kissed the damn woman.
“Can I say that racing into her work and threatening everyone in there would reflect badly on Blackbridge?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “How long have you known?”
“Do you really think I’m going to let a woman waltz in here with a bomb—”
“A fake bomb,” I interrupt.
“Any type of threatening device—and not research her?”
“And finding out where she works is part of that?”
“That’s standard. You should know that. I needed to see who her known associates were to determine whether they were a threat to us.”
“She’s a single mother with three kids.”
“Who works at The Kitten’s Cream.”
My jaw clenches. “How long?”
“She’s been there about a year. Before that, she worked at a law office. If she’s reporting her tips accurately, she made twice as much in the last six months as she did the entire year at the law firm.”
My uniform is at work. I need lots of tips.
She’d said those things to me before leaving Friday night.
Wren turns around, firing up his computer as I try to think of a lie she told me.
I work in the service industry.
That’s what she told me about her job. I prodded, but she never gave me more. I asked about her being a waitress and she dodged the question. So she didn’t want to lie to me, but she also wasn’t exactly forthcoming about her job either.
I work at a truck stop diner out on the highway.
There’s the lie. I remember now. I pushed her until she lied. So does that make it my fault, or still hers for not telling the truth?
We didn’t know each other well then, but it turns out, we really don’t know each other now. The longer I sit here, the more I realize I don’t know her at all, other than her being a mother to three kids and sister to a total asshole who deserted her when she needed him the most.
“Is there more?” I hate to even ask, but I’d prefer to get the rest of being blindsided out of the way in one fell swoop if possible.
“Besides her asshole ex screwing over the Keres MC before taking off? No.”
“Fuck. Seriously?” The Keres MC was no damn joke. If it’s illegal, they’re involved in it, and those bastards are a brutal sort. I know there have been several multi-agency task forces created over the years to bring them down, and none have been successful. Adrian Larrick, president of the Keres MC isn’t someone to fuck with. “Are you saying she’s in trouble?”
“Ty Penman, her ex, hasn’t been seen for years. For all the MC knows, the man is dead. She’s fine.”
His assurance doesn’t ease my worry completely, but I know Wren. He dug deep if only to protect Blackbridge when he fleshed out her connection to the club.
“I need a favor.”
“I can’t get more intel on Keres. Believe me, I wish I could, but the FBI contacted me months ago, and I couldn’t help them either. Those guys are like fucking ghosts. Everyone knows they exist and are up to no damn good, but they’re impossible to catch.”
