My heart hammers in my chest as I walk into the dimly lit clubhouse, the heavy door slamming shut behind me. The others are already here—Winchester, Justice, Creed, and Reaper—all fierce eyes and clenched jaws.
“What was in the crates that the Crimson Wheelers took?” I ask.
Creed grins. “Powdered sugar, mostly.” His arm is in a sling, and he winces as he shifts in his seat. “You’ve got pictures?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” His gaze lands on Winchester. “Anything else?”
“We’ve got a rat.”
Creed cocks his head to the side, his features a mask of anger. “One of us?”
Winchester shakes his head. “I don’t think so, but someone we trust.”
“For fuck’s sake, Winchester, who do you think?” demands Creed.
“It has to be someone who goes unnoticed, but we feel comfortable talking in front of them.”
All eyes come to me.
I hold up my hands. “Not me. I would never betray the club.”
“Not you, but a female?” Creed’s gaze sharpens as he redirects his attention back to Winchester.
“Yeah, it’s what I’m thinking or a prospect, but that’s unlikely.” Winchester screws up his face in a scowl. “Or a brother’s family member who overheard them talk about the rally and the delivery.”
The men go quiet, each lost in their thoughts.
Highway points at me. “You could find out.”
“Me? How?”
“You’re new, and if Winchester is right, you’d be in a betterposition to find out who helped them. Make friends with the women, find out their secrets.” Highway looks at Creed, who nods. “I can feel out the prospects, and maybe Reaper and Winchester might see if there’s anyone linked to our members who’s disgruntled.”
Creed chuckles and looks at me. “You keep sticking your nose in where it’s not wanted. We could let the club know you’re housebound until we decide what to do with you. This could make the rat befriend you.”
“Creed, how many women are around the club?” I ask.
“A lot. We don’t talk business in front of them, but…” he points at Reaper before he says, “… if someone is having his dick sucked, he might let something slip.”
Reaper stands. “The only person sucking my dick is Lucy, and she wouldn’t tell anyone anything.” Spittle flies from his lips, and his eyes blaze with anger.
“Calm down, Reap.”
“You’re making accusations aboutmywoman. How would you feel if I implied it was Devil?”
Creed’s lips turn down, and he tilts his head. “You have a point.”
Winchester interjects, “It’s not going to be an Ol’ Lady.”
“How do you know?” Creed asks.
“I don’t for sure, but unless someone…” he smirks at Reaper, “… is letting someone other than their Ol’ Lady suck their dick, they’re loyal. Gotta be a club whore or a hanger-on. It’s where Gwen should start.”
Reaper smiles. “Can’t call her Gwen. She needs a name.” He quirks an eyebrow at Highway. “Lyric?”
“What? No. What’s wrong with Gwen?” I ask.
