Unknown:Warehouse off route 22. Midnight. Come alone.
“Damn,” I mutter, thumbing over the keys.
No name. No explanation. Just a command wrapped in mystery and the hint of danger. My gut twists into knots, but this could be a story.
“Meet who?” I whisper to myself.
Curiosity claws at me. It could be a trap, a setup, a deadly game with me as the pawn. But it could also be information. Iscan the clubhouse, and no one is paying me much attention. Highway is in a meeting with the MC’s senior members, and the door to their meeting room is shut.
“Lyric, you’re a damned fool,” I chide, shoving the phone into my jacket’s pocket.
“Going somewhere?” asks a voice behind me.
Turning, it’s Justice. “Maybe I am,” I shoot back with a grin.
Justices shakes his head, but his eyes are already on Jet, who has emerged from the infirmary. Seeing he’s distracted, I stride toward the door. This could be information on the break-in or, better yet, a story to sell to the highest bidder.
As I push through the door, the night air hits me like a slap—cold and crisp, filled with the scent of impending rain. I climb into Winchester’s truck, and the metal beast rumbles to life with the turning of the key. According to Google, it shouldn’t take me more than twenty minutes to reach my destination, leaving me at least five minutes before the allotted time.
***
The rusted chain on the warehouse door screeches a protest as I nudge it open, and my boots echo in the cavernous space. The smell of decay hits me hard. I venture farther in and see a dead rat on the concrete floor, while dim lights flicker overhead, casting long, dancing shadows.
“Hello?” My voice seems to bounce off the walls, coming back to me twisted and unfamiliar.
A figure steps out of the darkness, heels clicking sharply, deliberate and slow. She stands there, bathed in the sickly yellow glow from a single hanging bulb, her features obscured.
“Been waiting long?” I ask, my hand inching toward the knife hidden inside my jacket at the back.
“Long enough,” she replies.
Her silhouette moves closer, the light revealing the sharpangles of her face, eyes glinting with something feral.
“Who are you?” I keep my tone even and calm, but inside, my pulse hammers.
“Someone with answers.” Her lips curve, not quite a smile.
“Answers to what?” I shift from foot to foot.
“Questions you haven’t even thought to ask.” She takes a step. I frown at her, and she says, “We’ll get there, Lyric. We’ll get there soon enough.”
The woman leans in, close enough that I can see the color of her eyes and her blown pupils. She’s on something.
“I got dirt on the Diablos,” she whispers through gritted teeth. “It’s the kind that could burn it all down.”
I frown, instinctively taking a half step back. “And you just had to share this with me?” My voice is steady, but inside, my thoughts race.
“Damn straight.” She spits the words out like they burn her tongue. “But it ain’t charity, girl. This is business.”
“Business? So why not take this up with our prez? Why the cloak and dagger with me?”
She smirks, an ugly twist of her lips. “Because, sweetheart, sometimes it’s the one who doesn’t bark who bites the hardest.”
“If you think cozying up to me will get you anywhere—”
“Cozy ain’t in my vocabulary,” she cuts in. “But leverage is. And right now, you’re it.”
The stale air in the warehouse grows thick with tension.
