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I hesitated, hearing the roar of motorcycles in the distance. “I don’t know what happened, man. I just know that I did everything the same as I have the last couple of times, and now I’m gonna have to reach out to Charlie and see what went wrong.”
“He’s hard to get ahold of.”
“I know,” I grimaced, thinking of the President of the Deadhead MC. They were adangerousbunch of guys with ties to men who made us look like fucking saints. Charlie and I had a good understanding, and we agreed to do business on the condition that it would benefit him—but notbotherhim.
“You gonna go to the main house to meet up with him?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.” Just the thought of showing up at Charlie’s mansion made my stomach sick. I had heard the stories of what had happened there, and you weren’t allowed in with any sort of protection for yourself.
“If you go, find a pretty girl to take along with you,” Frankie advised, running his fingers along his jaw. “And no backup. You’re better off to go in innocent than you are to go in accusatory. You need to approach him like you need his help—not thatheripped you off. They aren’t like us—high class only.”
“Yeah,” I said with a nod, already thinking of a woman who could pull off the perfect Hollywood look for his place. “I think I’ll give him a call and set something up.”
“Good luck, kid,” Frankie slapped my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “We both know that you might be the VP, but you’ve got the balls of a president.”
“Don’t tell Tip that, it might hurt his feelings.”
“Meh, he could stand to be knocked down a couple of notches,” Frankie joked, shooting me a grin before heading toward the bar. “Probably ought to go keepshitheadfrom getting his ass whooped, though.”
I nodded, forcing a laugh that I didn’t feel in the moment. Charlie Hughes was the last guy I wanted to see, but he would be the key to figuring out if the Silent Kings actually were ripping us off...
Or if Charlie was playing games.
Spinning on my boot, I headed back to my bike, parked on the far side of the lot next to Tip’s Road Glide. I didn’t pay much attention as I headed toward it, digging my keys out of my pocket. The rest of the club were showing up, parking alongside. I gave Bear, Gunner, Will, and Axle a wave as they dismounted.
“Tippy’s inside,” I gestured to the bar. “I’m heading out to go check on the reporter that’s doing the story.”
“You mean the one who you let sleep over?” Axle burst into laughter, his eyes full of amusement as he shot me a grin.
“Shut up,” I snapped, walking around their bikes to get to my own. As soon as I made it to my taillight, however, I froze.
What the hell?
My tires were flat.
And not like low on air. They wereoutof air. I leaned closer, the guys all going quiet as I studied my tires, instantly recognizing the damage...
The damage only aknifecould do.
“Who the fuck did this?” I erupted, leaning over to check Tip’s bike. His tires were also slashed, the bike setting on the rims.
“Whoa,” Axle commented, walking around to get a better view. “Who’s been in there with you?”
“No one,” I answered him, the guys all inspecting the damaged motorcycles. “There’s only a couple of old guys—they’re not affiliated with anyone.”
“Gotta be the Silent Kings, man,” Gunner chimed in. “There’s no one else who’d do something stupid like this. This is petty shit.”
Petty shit that’s keeping me from Hannah.
Chapter 7
Hannah
“Can I sit here?” I gestured to an empty seat across from a young, blonde-headed woman, no older than me.
She gave me a weird look. “Uh... I guess?”
“Thanks. I’m Hannah Mullins.” I wasn’t put off by her hesitation, being used to inviting myself into a conversation as an investigative journalist. “I work at Pacific Press; I don’t know if you’ve heard of them?”
