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Trax pulled up in front of the clubhouse. He usually parked in back with the others, but the police cruiser in the spot out front left no time. He pulled up next to it, immediately turning off the engine, climbed off his bike, and headed inside. It wasn’t unusual for the police to pay them a visit. But he knew exactly which cop car it was, and he was eager to get inside and hear what information he had for them.
Mick’s death had hit the whole club hard, but for Trax, it was different. Mick had been his mentor, his sponsor into the Ghosttown Riders. Losing him was like losing a father, a man he respected and looked up to. The loss ripped him in ways he didn’t know were possible.
When he’d gotten the call yesterday, he’d spent the twenty-minute ride to the clubhouse in denial. It had to be some fucked up joke, or at the very least a mistake. It was neither. Mick was gone, his old lady, Meg, was now a widow, and the club was forever changed.
It wasn’t the first time a member had died or been killed. In his nine years as a brother, he’d been to plenty of funerals, but never an intentional death. The grief and rage the whole club was feeling was a deadly combination.
He made his way down the hall in long strides. The somber mood in the club took a backseat to the anger streaming through each member. This would be handled internally by them, but with it being in the public, they’d have to break one of their biggest rules. They had to speak to the cops.
Trax took in the scene playing out in front of him. There were several brothers at the bar, but no one was partying. Trax made his way into the room slowly, taking it all in. Kase was facing off with the lead detective.
“I want her fucking name.”
Trax rounded the side and stood next to Rourke.
The detective glanced over as Trax folded his arms and stared back. Carter Ross was considered a friend to the club. Officially, for outside purposes, they were enemies, but in truth, he and Kase, along with the club VP, Saint, had known each other for years. Carter helped out when he could, and the club returned the favor. Although it seemed this time, Carter was not lending a hand.
He lifted his chin in greeting and then turned back to Kase. “She didn’t see anything. Trust me, Kase, this girl gave us everything she knew. We got a few leads we’re looking into, but you won’t get much from her anyway. She never saw the driver.”
Kase’s face hardened. “I wanna hear it from her myself. What’s her name?”
Carter shook his head. “Can’t do it.”
Kase’s back went rigid, which put all the men on high alert. They’d be forced to jump in if things went south during this meeting. Having a brawl with the local cops would bring on too much heat for the club. It was bad enough they were on the radar with Mick’s death.
“Do I need to remind you who the fuck you are talking to? Got a lot of shit on you, Carter.”
The detective’s back straightened.
“And I’ve got just as much on you and the club. Do I need to remind you who you’re talking to, Kase?”
Trax had to give him credit. Carter had a set on him to go head to head with Kase. Not many men dared.
“Don’t like being threatened.”
“Neither do I.” He drew in a breath. “Look, I gave you what she gave us.”
Trax stepped forward. “Then what’s the problem us talking with her?”
Carter turned to Trax. “She went over the details of what happened and never once wavered, Trax. You won’t get anything from her that she didn’t already give us. You guys hunting her down isn’t gonna change the information, but it will scare the shit out of her.” He paused, taking in a breath. “She stopped, Trax. Did more than most people would have. Let her be.”
She did. This woman who had witnessed what had happened to Mick pulled over and called the police. While most would have just called it in, she stopped. From Carter’s account, she was holding Mick’s hand when they got there, trying to comfort him. The thought of him being out there hurt and alone ripped him apart. It had also become a compounding heartache for Meg. She was inconsolable. The small detail of how the cops found Mick and the mystery woman was the only saving grace for his widow. At least he didn’t die alone.
Kase took a drag of his cigarette. “You find the package?”
Carter shook his head. “I took everything from the hospital. It wasn’t there.”
The missing envelope had been on everyone’s mind. Where the hell was it? It was a sure-fire link to the club and all its members. It was also a guaranteed prison sentence if it found its way into the wrong hands. The run was a pickup of cash on a past due loan from the club. The borrower had fled a few times in the past until they used their muscle to prove, mainly on those closest to him, no one runs from the Ghosttown Riders. Trax wasn’t proud of the tactics used, but everyone who took money from them knew the risks. Loan runners were treated to another reminder that no one fucked with them. If Trax had to guess, the missing package included a limb, which would be easily traced back to the club. Fuck!
Kase scowled at Trax and then questioned Carter again. “You think she lifted it?”
Carter snorted. “Not this girl. She actually teared up when I told her Mick died. Stay away from her, all right? She stopped, comforted your brother as he died. Pay her back by leaving her alone. The least you can do, man. A girl like her, seeing what she saw, the memory will play over in her head for the rest of her life. Don’t make it worse.”
He had a point. Though they didn’t know who she was, Carter was clear on the type of person she was—civilian, innocent. Hell, she’d been on her way to her mother’s house for dinner when Mick had died. They needed to let it go. It wasn’t his decision, though. It was Kase’s as president.
“I’m going. Just think about what I said.” Carter turned and walked out of the club. Silence invaded the room. They were waiting on Kase to say something. He glanced around at the members, stopping at Trax. Kase wasn’t a man who took orders well. Very rarely did he have to as president.
“You want us to keep looking for her?” Rourke asked.
