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Chase hits play. All of us focus on the suspect’s hands.
“Oh, my God!” I place a hand on my chest, having a hard time choking out the words. “They’re orange.”
“It may as well be a fingerprint.” Punk gives a humorless chuckle. “Few orange jackwagons roaming around this city.”
“Shouldn’t we be filing a police report? Talking to hotel security?” I question, concerned with seeking justice for what happened to Chase’s bike. “The hotel let him slip through.”
Chase crosses his arms over his thick chest. “The hotel will pay for the damages, since I paid extra for vehicle insurance in their garage.”
Makes sense. “And the police report?”
Chase’s face is cold and calculating. “I’d prefer to handle it our own way.”
My eyes widen. “You will do nothing of the sort.”
Before I can say more, Chase’s phone buzzes. He takes a quick glance at his text message. “Eagle says his buddy at Hog Restoration will take good care of my baby. He’s heading over with his flatbed truck.” He turns to Butch. “Can you grab the hotel manager? I want him to see how badly his security fucked up.
“On it.” Butch turns on his heels, heading back inside the hotel.
“Have Eagle’s mechanic friend give you a quote right away,” Punk suggests. “Make sure you squeeze every dollar out of this place for allowing that nutter to get in here.”
“You know I will,” Chase verifies.
Huffing, I place my hands on my hips. “Chase, we need to call the police.”
“Filing a police report is inevitable. The hotel will want to find the person responsible for the damages, otherwise they’re on the hook for the bill. However, we can’t say shit about who we suspect the perp is. We have a case to solve, and unfortunately, we need your ex for the time being.”
“We should hold him accountable,” I argue.
My biker gives me a deadpan stare. “There are other ways to hold him accountable.”
“Do any of those ways involve not beating him to a pulp?”
Chase and Punk share a look, one filled with insider knowledge I have no clue of.
Punk scratches his head. “I mean, we don’t have to rough him up too much. Only enough to get the message to stay the hell away from you and our stuff.”
My eye twitches. “How about no?”
Before I can say more, Butch returns with hotel security. A man in an expensive suit, who I assume is the manager on shift, is among the group. His skin turns an unhealthy shade of green as he takes in the damaged motorcycle. Dealing with bikers is something he’s most likely unaccustomed to, especially one whose bike someone vandalized under his watch.
The man in the suit holds a shaky hand out to Chase. “Mister Brighton, my apologies. I’m the manager in charge. I came as soon as someone alerted me to the situation.”
Grumbling, Chase shakes the man’s hand, diving right into the matter at hand. “Care to explain how someone could bypass your security?” Chase turns his computer around to show him the video of the incident.
The manager’s eyes grow wide as he looks at the video footage. “How did you get access to our security cameras?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Chase clips. “What matters is, my bike needs body restoration because your security slacked on their job.”
“Mister Brighton, let me assure you, we’ll pay for all damages to your property. Have whatever garage you take her to send us the bill. I’ve alerted the police. They’ll be here shortly.”
As if called on cue, the police arrive.
A warm hand engulfs mine. Chase stares intently at me, his eyes beseeching me. “Baby, please.”
I know what he wants without him elaborating on his request. He wants me to keep Trent’s name out of my statement to the police.
As badly as I want Trent held responsible for his violent behavior, I give Chase a curt nod. The odds Trent would post bond and be out of jail within the day are high. Whatever justice Chase has in mind, it’ll be more fitting than Trent paying for the damages accrued. Chase is asking for me to trust him to do what’s best, and I need to give him that reliance.
