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“If she was your father’s daughter, how did he not find her?” Raptor questioned.
“I’m not sure. How did he not find me and my mother? Something tells me that there was someone or something ensuring he didn’t. At least while we were children and vulnerable, anyway.” Voodoo’s icy stare bounced between me and Raptor.
“If you have her home address, why didn’t we simply go there?” I tilted my head in question. It didn’t make sense to waste time going to the business first, especially if we weren’t going to go in.
“Grandmé told me to go to the business first. Less invasive, so she doesn’t feel threatened or defensive that I know where she lives.” Voodoo shrugged.
“None of that answers what you need to protect her from. Nor does it tell us when. Surely your grandmother doesn’t expect us to stay here indefinitely,” I huffed.
“If my grandmother told me time was of the essence, then it’s something soon. I’m going to use the desk as a makeshift altar—see if I can get some answers.” Voodoo stood and pulled a rolled-up red bundle from the bag he packed. As he began to set everything up, I motioned to Raptor. The two of us went into my room and quietly closed the door. Something about this whole situation didn’t sit right. There was a sense of unease in the air.
“What do you think?” I immediately asked Raptor.
“Honestly? No clue. We’re here to watch out for our brother. But I need to go out for a bit. Will you be okay?” he asked as he checked something on his phone.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Venom didn’t want Voodoo coming down alone. Why would it be any different for any of us to go out on our own?” I frowned.
“He didn’t want Voodoo traveling alone because he would be going through a lot of states that belong to clubs that we’re okay with but not bosom buddies either. Also, I’m not going to be going anywhere near Annette or Sloane Fontenot. I’ll be back,” he firmly stated before he exited the room, and I heard his feet go down the stairs before his bike started.
Far be it from me to question my VP any further. He made it perfectly clear he was going whether I liked it or not, and he was going alone.
Needing a smoke, I stepped out front and pulled a cigarette from the pack in my cut. Circling my thumb on my index tip, I brought the smallest flame out to light the end. As I inhaled, I walked closer to the railing in front of the rooms and rested my forearm on the top. Silently, I took in every aspect of our surroundings. It wasn’t a shithole, but it wasn’t four stars. Hell, it likely wasn’t three. It was clean, remodeled, and well-kept but a bit out there with the whole lighting thing. But to each their own.
Checking to be sure my piece was secured in the back of my jeans where it wouldn’t be seen, I pulled out my phone and held my cigarette with my lips. As I smoked with no hands, I did a search for local bars or somewhere I could get a drink. When it popped up that there were several back in the Bishop Arts area, I decided to check them out. After securing my cut in the room’s little safe, I shot off a quick text to Raptor and Voodoo to let them know where I was going, then jogged down the steps.
Venom had called Jameson to verify, and he said we were good to wear our cuts in this area, though there wasn’t a chapter here at the moment. It had been shut down years ago when they had gotten too big for their britches and were in bed with Rancid and his bullshit. He recommended we not wear them if we rode anywhere alone. Deciding to lock up my cut was a precautionary measure.
Taking in my surroundings, I finished my cigarette and stubbed it out on the brick pillar at the bottom of the stairs.
It was a short ride back, and I was able to find a place along the street to park my bike.
The bar appeared to be an old building, with what appeared to be original brick and limestone making up the front. The lettering on the windows was made to look vintage, and the second I stepped inside, it almost seemed I was transported back in time. If it weren’t for the recessed lighting, computer screens the bartenders were using, and the modern dress of the patrons, I would’ve wondered.
A single barstool was open at the bar, and I weaved my way through the crowd.
“Is this seat taken?” I asked the guy next to me, who shook his head. The woman on the other side had her back to it, so I didn’t figure it was with her party. As I settled in the seat, I caught an intoxicating scent. Slowly, I swiveled my head toward the woman and indulged in a quick inhale. It was a sensual kaleidoscope of musk, possibly pachouli, and a sweet lingering hint of something I couldn’t put my finger on. It reminded me of bonfires on the beach blended with the pulse of a bustling downtown at night. Dark corners, soft sighs, and silky skin. It was pure sex, and my dick actually began to stir before I shook it off.
“What can I get you?” one of the bartenders asked as he set a napkin in front of me and braced his hands on the inside edge of the bar.
“Crown and Coke,” I replied, and he nodded with an affirmative tap on the shiny surface.
When he brought my drink back and set it down, he checked on the woman and her friend. “I’ll take one more and put hers on my tab,” the woman next to me said in a husky bedroom voice that seemed to seep into my pores like a drug. Her left hand lifted her empty martini glass, and I noted the ringless fingers.
“You got it,” the bartender said in what was an obviously flirtatious manner. The glint in his eye told me that he thought he had a chance with her. From the expensive scent I had picked up on when I sat down and the classy clothes, I could tell she was above him and definitely too good for me.
The difference between him and me?
I didn’t give a fuck.
“You know he thinks he has a chance with you,” I said before lifting my drink to my lips.
Her back straightened, her head canting slightly before she and her friend whispered to each other. Then she glanced over her shoulder at me. Her brow cocked as her blue gaze locked on mine. In the odd light of the bar, her eyes actually seemed to have a lavender cast to them.
“And it’s your business why?” she queried, still looking over her shoulder.
Leaning toward her, I spoke, knowing my breath fanned her ear and appreciating the fine wave of goose bumps that skated along her cheek and down her arm. “Because you’re leaving with me,” I said in a tone just loud enough to be heard over the conversation around us.
Her friend laughed. The woman next to me spun her stool to face me, flipping the silky black hair over her shoulder as she turned. “Oh really?” she asked with a smirk of her full lips.
