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That was a damn promise.
I made my way to the back where I knew Shyne was.
I could hear the low, steady bump of music coming from the back office, the door partially opened. I placed my hand on the smooth, cold wood and pushed it inward. Shyne sat behind the desk, the laptop open in front of him, his phone sitting beside him, the music coming out of it. He had his baseball cap on backward, scruff covering his jaw, his unearthly blue eyes focused on the screen.
I leaned my shoulder against the doorframe and crossed my arms over my chest, just watching him, seeing him in his element. He was the clubhouse tech genius, our resident hacker.
With a little bit a time and patience, Shyne could get into any system or database on the net. He was a fucking genius.
“I found some shit on your girl,” he finally said, leaning back in his chair and looking up at me.
I wasn’t surprised he’d known I was here, sensed me. All the members of the club had this sixth fucking sense. It was what made us dangerous.
Well, one of the reasons.
He adjusted the baseball cap on his head, taking it off for a minute and running his hand over his scalp, his short dark hair becoming messy before he put the cap back on.
“Yeah? Whatchu got?”
He cleared his throat and leaned forward, the leather chair creaking from the movement.
“Well, she gave Richie a fake name and Social Security number.” He glanced up at me, but I gave no outward reaction.
“I figured as much. But you found out who she is, I assume?”
The look Shyne gave me was akin to “who do you think you’re fucking talking to?”
I smirked, because there wasn’t anything he couldn’t find.
He started tapping away on the keyboard, the light from the computer washing over his face, lighting it up. And then he turned the laptop around so I could see it.
“I compiled everything I found—where she’s from, how old she is, right down to if she has a fucking library card.”
I walked up to the desk and sat down in the chair in front of it, pulling the computer toward me and scanning the files he’d pulled up on her.
Barely even legal.
Last name and Social made up.
And when I saw she originally came from a shittylittle trailer park several hundred miles over, I wondered who she was running from.
As if Shyne read my mind, he pulled the laptop back and started typing, presumably to pull up more information on her. He pushed the computer back toward me a few seconds later, and I looked at it, seeing the image of a man… his mug shot.
Henry Baldwin.
Forty-five years old.
Convicted of arson, armed robbery, abduction, and sexual assault.
I felt my nails digging into my palms, my anger rushing through me. “Who is this fucker?” He was obviously connected to Poppy, or Shyne wouldn’t have brought the information up.
“From what I gathered on him, a real lowlife, piece-of-shit motherfucker who has ties to some petty drug rings and local gangs in his area.”
I looked up from the computer to stare at Shyne. “Anything we’d need backup for dealing with?”
Shyne grinned slowly. “Fuck no, Butcher. Henry Boy and his connections aren’t anything you should be worried about.”
I grunted and nodded once. “What’s his connection with her?” That motherfucker better pray one of those sexual convictions didn’t concern my girl.
