Observant.
Always watching.
Yet seemingly content with claiming little, if anything, for himself.
His distant demeanor is as deep as it is mysterious.
***
As I hop out of the truck, Dad greets me with a curious glance.
“New car?”
With a giggle, I shake my head. “Nah, borrowed it from one of the MC boys.”
His lips turn down, and he stares at the old red beast. “She’s definitely seen better days.”
Slamming the door closed, I agree. “Maybe, but she runs well.” Dad has begrudgingly approved of Lucy and Reaper, butI’m not sure how he’ll react to me being so close to an encounter with gun play, so I decide not to tell him about the sniper attack on the MC. I notice he has his briefcase in his grip, so instead, I ask, “Heading to work?”
“I have a meeting with one of the best plastic surgeon practices here in Jacksonville. I’m going to see if we’re a good match for each other.” Dad wraps me in a quick hug and plants a kiss on my cheek. “See you when I get back.”
Holding up my camera, I say, “I’m going to develop these and then drop them off at the MC, so I might not be home.”
“Okay, honey. Be safe.” Dad climbs into his sleek silver Mercedes and drives away.
It’s funny, when we lived in Miami, he would interrogate me about where I was going, but ever since we moved here, he’s mellowed. I like to think it’s because he trusts the MC to look after us more than he did his old circle of uptight friends.
Me telling him there was a gunfight wouldn’t do either of us any good. The less Dad knows, the better, although he’ll probably roast me for it later when it hits the news.
Walking into the house, I go downstairs to my workroom. Turning on my computer, I log into my cloud and download all the photographs I’ve taken, scrutinizing each one. The images aren’t clear, but you can definitely make out faces, and maybe one of the MC brothers will recognize someone.
Clicking on all the images, I hit print and wait for the machine to give me hardcopies to take to the clubhouse.
***
I’m in the belly of the dimly lit clubhouse.
Most of the women are missing, and the men either look angry or defeated. The stench of spilled beer and old smoke hangs heavily in the air, a testament to countless nights of revelry, now overshadowed by the current mood. Winchester isleaning across a scarred table, his eyes lock onto mine, and a subtle lift of his chin serves as a greeting and an invitation to join him.
The clubhouse feels too quiet. My footsteps seem to echo as I walk across the room. Some of the men are drinking, but there’s not a lot of conversation. It feels as though all eyes are on me as I sit opposite Winchester.
“Highway left a while ago to bring you here.”
Glancing around the room, I put the A4 manila envelope on the table. “You told me to get these printed and get my ass back here.”
His eyes flick to the envelope, then back to me. “Seems our road captain likes you. He said he told you to wait.”
With a sigh, I say, “He did, butyoutold me to get these printed. Couldn’t you have told him that?” Winchester shrugs. “How’d things go with the cops? Is Creed okay?”
A half-smile plays across Winchester’s face. “They’ve kept a couple of us on outstanding warrants, but they’ll be fine. As for Creed, he’s a tough bastard. Although the way Devil is fussing over him, you’d think the man was on his deathbed.” He gives the tabletop a couple of thoughtful taps. “We need to wait for Reaper before we look at your photos.”
“Where is he?”
“With Highway on their way to get you.”
Closing my eyes, I sigh. “Ahh, shit.”
“Yep, that’s about the size of it.”
