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I tried to talk, but I couldn’t get a coherent word out. “I, uh,… My…”
Throttle grabbed the phone out of my hand and put the speakerphone on. “Who is this?” he thundered.
“Who the hell is this?” Dad countered. “Put my daughter back on the phone.”
“I’m the one asking questions here, and your daughter didn’t go anywhere. You’re on speaker. What the hell is going on?”
“Dove,” Dad called.
I ran my fingers through my hair. “Uh, talk to Throttle, Dad. I don’t know what to do with what you are telling me.” I thought I dealt well with pressure, but I guess the threat of danger was too much for my brain to comprehend.
“I don’t know who I can trust, Dove,” Dad confessed. “Everyone I thought I could trust, I no longer can.”
“I trust him,” I blurted. And I did. I trusted everyone in the Iron Fiends, including Throttle. “Just tell him everything, Dad. Everything. I promise you can trust Throttle.”
“Not over the phone,” Dad grunted. “When are you going to be back in Mt. Pleasant?” he asked. “I can be at the motorcycle club by six.”
“We’ll be back by then,” Throttle grunted. “Though you’re gonna have to give me more about what the hell is going on.”
“Dove can tell you the basic details, that way, when I walk through the door, we won’t be wasting time. I’ll see you at six.” He ended the call, and I blinked rapidly.
“Throttle,” I whispered.
He held up his finger and silenced me.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “You will not speak one fucking word, Dove, until I tell you to. I knew something was up with you, and I was fucking right.” He swiped a few times on his phone and shoved it back into his pocket. “You may be hot as fuck, but you are up to some sneaky bullshit, and you are going to tell me everything.” He stepped toward me, and I backed into the wall. “Just who are you, Dove, and what the hell does your dad want to tell us?”
I took a deep breath, and my eyes connected with Throttle’s. “I’m just Dove, but my dad is Russ Finley, Texas state attorney general.”
*
Chapter Eleven
Throttle
“They’re all covered?”
Pirate nodded. “All twenty-three of them. No one is going to be able to see anything.”
Dove’s dad was due to show up any minute, and we had been frantic making sure all of the cameras were covered. This visit was not one we wanted to broadcast.
“I’m sorry,” Dove whispered next to me.
Was she?
From everything she had told us, she was here to find out dirt on us and report back to her good ol’ dad. That was a hell of a lot to be sorry for.
We were all gathered around the large table in church, waiting for Dove’s dad to show up.
She had given us the rundown of what he had asked her to do and kept swearing up and down that she knew she wasn’t going to find any dirt on us but had to try so she could get her trust fund.
Hmph, as if any of us cared about her trust fund. The club was more important than any amount of money.
Obviously, not for Dove.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Sloane called.
“Tell me again why we need to have these two in here?” Stretch asked.
