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He stumbles down the steps and I giggle, “Fuck, Shorty, don’t tease a man,” he sighs dramatically, and gives me a two finger wave before he gets in the truck, and I watch them drive away.
I open the door and my phone dings with an incoming text, please let me watch?;)
Go win some medals BMX guy, and maybe you’ll get lucky:) I answer and catch myself smiling the whole time I’m making coffee.
During breakfast I can’t shake the feeling I need to find out more about Hunter’s past. I do some research and discover a lot about his father and the Devil’s Sons MC. Some things I find are good—a lot are very bad. But then again, you can’t believe everything you read online. I call Timothy and ask him to take a little trip with me.
I smile, looking at Tim sitting behind the wheel of his car. I get in the passenger seat and he asks, “Ready, honey?” as he puts the car in Drive.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I tell him, looking out the window.
I found out the MC has a clubhouse an hour or so from Chula Vista, somewhere in No Man’s Land, an old military building. It’s built like a fort apparently, four stories high with concrete walls and bars in front of the windows like a prison. There are no other houses in the vicinity. Great. They’ll see us coming from miles away.
Tim stops outside the metal gate. My hands start to sweat. There are about twenty motorcycles parked in front of the building in a neat line. A couple of guys with leather vests are standing around the bikes, probably guarding them or something. I squint and take a closer look at them. The word prospect is stitched in white letters on their leather cuts.
“Shit,” I mutter. I read Hunter Thompson’s book about the Hell’s Angels a long time ago. I wonder if this club is anything like them. Apparently, the Devil’s Sons are one of the biggest clubs in the country.
Tim kills the ignition. “You sure about this?”
“I need to do this for Hunter.” My voice trembles a little.
“I’ll be here if you need me. Sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”
I shake my head. “I’m okay. I’ll send you a text in case something happens.”
“Good luck,” he tells me, hopping out and opening my door for me.
Slowly, I get out of the car and walk to the main door. I pass the gate and stop near the bikes. The four guys turn around and look me over from top to bottom. I’m not wearing anything special—just black skinny jeans, boots and a black leather jacket.
“What do you want?” one of the older guys asks. His tats don’t scare me; they make me think of Hunter, and I smile when his tough demeanor should probably make me want to run for the hills.
“I’m here to meet Oliver Cole,” I say, keeping my voice steady.
“Oliver Cole?” the guy asks, a threat in his voice and a blank look on his face.
I sigh when another guy about my age walks over, eyeing the car and Tim, who is smoking a cigarette beside it, with suspicion.
“Zombie?” I ask, my voice small.
“What do you want to see the Prez for?” he asks, seeming uninterested.
“My business.” I keep my voice composed and matter-of-fact. Shit, I hope they let me in, and I don’t have to give them a secret handshake or tell them some password.
The man nods in the direction of Tim. “Who’s the dude by the car?”
“My Uber,” I state.
“Sure, whatever, girlie.” He walks to the door and slams his fist on it.
It opens and I take a step back when a big, burly guy stomps outside and gets in my face. “What do you want?”
He closes the main door behind him. I look at his vest. It has a Sgt. at Arms patch and above it, the word Animal. Great. His name isn’t giving me much hope for a positive outcome.
“I want to talk to Oliver Cole. I’m his …” Yeah, what am I to him really? “His daughter-in-law,” I reply, straightening my shoulders.
Animal raises his brows, like he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. After a beat, he nods. “I’ll take it from here,” he says, addressing the other guys. “Come with me.”
“Thank you.” My voice sounds strong, and I follow him into the clubhouse.
