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But sometimes a person would drown before they figured that out. Skye knew those flags. Maryshka’s information had raised them.
She’d saved some news clips after the attack had happened, and now she pulled them up on her phone to give herself a refresher.
The murder victim, Nicole McAlister, is the wife of Colt McAlister, president of the Fallen Angels, a local outlaw motorcycle gang. The garage owner, “Tiger” Roseland, is his brother. While the attack could be gang-related, a domestic dispute has not been ruled out. Nicole McAlister reportedly visited her brother-in-law frequently, and Roseland refused contact for comment. Fortunately, no innocent bystanders were killed in the incident.
Skye’s lip curled at the innuendo about Nicole and Tiger. Anyone who knew Tiger knew that was bullshit. They also hadn’t done their research enough to realize Tiger was his given name, not a biker nickname.
She pulled up the news blog piece that had come out a few days later, authored by reporter Celeste Keller, who took more time to investigate sources.Investigators have credible evidence the incident was an answer to resistance by the Fallen Angels to relinquish more of the local illegal drug trade to rival gang, the Cuidado Kings. The Kings have Mexican cartel ties and are becoming more active players in Louisiana.
In recent years, the Fallen Angels have stepped up their drug activity, a legacy of the former president, ‘Big Mac’ McAlister, continued by his son, Colt McAlister.
When a sub needed something from her in session, if Skye was tapped into him the way she should be, she’d detect that need, figure out how to get him to communicate it more clearly. Sometimes he couldn’t see it himself—they’d both just feel it, and she’d find her way through the maze to get them to the center of it.
In this case, the need she was detecting might mean taking her role as a Mistress outside these walls, across boundaries where she hadn’t been invited.
Bringing Tiger her classic Mustang convertible for servicing was as far as their outside relationship had gone.
So send him a fucking fruit basket and a cheerful note.“Good luck with the whole deaf thing.”Leave it at that.
She grimaced and slid back into the larger booth. As she settled next to Cyn, elbowing her to move over, she fended off her friend’s hair tug with a mock ninja move.
“Wow, I need to get you back to the MMA gym with me,” Cyn critiqued the gesture. “That move wouldn’t have stopped a three-year-old.”
Lawrence had moved to sit on the top of the booth between Ros and Vera. Ros leaned against his leg, her hand gliding along it as she and Vera spoke. Cyn’s gaze kept flicking over to a blond sub wearing leathers. He was playing checkers with another man. It was a mellow night. Progeny could be as much social venue as a BDSM play space. Cyn was studying the sub’s broad shoulders, and getting some wary but intrigued glances her way. That checkers game might wrap up soon.
However, when Skye requested everyone’s attention, Cyn’s eyes came back to her instantly. The women were better than competent in translating and using basic signing, but since Lawrence wasn’t, she used her voice software to bring them up to speed.
Concern wreathed every face when she was done, which helped reinforce where her mind was going on it. But it was Ros who cinched it. Her boss had been watching Skye’s expressions. Rather than tossing out ideas and encouraging the others to do the same, the leader of their group had one question for her.
“What do you want to do?”
Skye met her gaze. “I’m going to go see him,” she signed. “Maryshka’s right. He’s in trouble.”
CHAPTER THREE
Skye pulled up to the garage and let her Mustang idle. Though Maryshka had described the destruction, seeing the burned-out bays, the broken asphalt and taped-up windows gave her a hollow feeling in her chest. Having the debris cleared away only made it seem more desolate.
A woman had been killed on this broken pavement. Tiger and Maryshka, or any of his crew, could easily have been additional casualties. She’d thought of it, certainly she had, but thinking it and seeing it…it was different.
She also expected the insurance company was finished with their appraisal. It was well past time to have contractors working on repairs or renovation. Instead, the abandoned feel of the place was uncomfortably like the gas station across the street, the one that had boarded up after Katrina.
Whenever she’d brought her car here for servicing, there’d been a welcoming energy. As it bumped over the curb into the lot, her Mustang would give an extra little purr, as if it was in for a spa day.
Some of that energy came from Tiger, his pride of ownership. King of his domain. She never had to wait long before he emerged to greet her personally. Sometimes wiping his handson a rag, his brow cocked and firm mouth in a half smile. His frank personality possessed that confidence which assured his customers their vehicle would get what it needed for optimum performance.
While he kept things friendly and professional with Skye, the vibration between them since they’d connected as Mistress and sub was a permanent baseline. There was inevitably a moment when their hands would brush, or a glance would be exchanged, triggering that level of awareness between them. Intimacy. His eyes would linger on her, with potential. So much pleasurable potential she could bank and carry it until their next session.
He wasn’t coming out of the building now, though. The whole place had wrongness gripping it, like a spell designed to steal something from a man when he wasn’t paying attention, and then it was too late.
She cut the engine and got out, laying her hand briefly on the side mirror, as if touching her car’s hand.I know, baby, she thought.Let’s see what’s going on with our favorite mechanic.
As she moved around the building, following Maryshka’s direction, she saw the debris pile, and was surprised he hadn’t arranged to have it picked up. She found his service truck, confirmation that he was here, since Maryshka said he used it to go to and from work.
The vehicle was normally parked out front. The striking purple, silver and teal tiger logo on the door, encircled by the Roseland Garage name in white lettering on a black field, served as a business advertisement. He also kept it clean. Today, multiple bug collisions were evident in the grill and on the windshield. She drew a line through a thick layer of road dust on the truck’s black side panel.
The employee entrance was propped open with a cinder block. Except for the day he’d locked them out, Maryshka had said she could expect that, because he liked air flow. He wassparing with the A/C because of how much of it escaped through the open bay doors on a workday. He was used to working in hot and humid conditions.
The metal door creaked as she opened the door wide enough to step past the cinder block into a narrow hallway. To the left, a few feet away, a door proclaimed in stern red letters,Employees Only, Danger. That would be the garage access. She went the opposite direction, toward the back office that prior to this would have given him the necessary quiet to make client phone calls and deal with paperwork.
