A deep chuckle follows, “You thought I'd let you have all the fun.”
My shoulders relax slightly at the familiar cadence of banter between men who clearly know each other. I inch toward the doorway, peering around the corner to see Thor blocking the entrance, his broad back to me as he faces another man in a matching vest.
“Raze sent me,” the newcomer says. “Said you might need backup for the airport run, and I might have convinced him that unless he wanted his sister up his ass about the long hours I’ve been working…it might be better for me to be closer to the action.”
“I got it handled,” Thor growls, but he steps aside to let the man in.
The stranger is nearly as tall as Thor but leaner, with dark hair cut high and tight against his scalp, and a neatly trimmed beard framing a sharp jawline. A slow smile spreads across his face.
“So, this is the damsel.” He gives me a once-over that isn't exactly leering but isn't entirely respectful either. “I can see why you rode in on that white horse of yours.”
“Charlotte,” Thor corrects him firmly.
“Voodoo, but you can call me V,” the man introduces himself with a slight nod in my direction.
“You're the tech guy who’s been helping us.”
“I prefer to call myself a master of the electronic arts, but tech guy works, too.”
The sharp crack of the back door flying open sends me scrambling behind Thor's massive frame, my heart leaping into my throat. The kitchen door bangs against the wall with enough force to rattle the cheap dishes in the cabinets.
V bursts into laughter at my reaction. “Look at her hiding behind you like you're a human shield. Smart girl—I'd use Thor as a bulletproof vest too. All that muscle's gotta be good for something.”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Thor growls, but his body relaxes as a mountain of a man stomps into the kitchen.
The newcomer is even bigger than Thor, with forearms covered in tattoos and a face that looks like it's been broken more than once. His cut bears the same Heaven's Rejects patch as Thor's, but with an additional rocker that readsEnforcer. He tosses a heavy duffle bag onto the floor with enough force that it makes the floorboards groan.
“If I have to listen to one more fucking word about bandwidth and encryption and about what fucking nerdy shit you are obsessed with right now, I swear to Christ I will throw your ass in a ditch.”
“This is Ratchet,” Thor says, moving to the side to expose my hiding spot. “Raze send you to babysit me?”
“More like V's babysitter,” Ratchet growls, rolling his shoulders like he's trying to work out hours of tension. “Fourfucking hours in a van with this chatty asshole.” He jerks his thumb at V, who's still grinning like he finds the whole situation amusing, “Raze figured you could use the extra muscle, and I need to get away from the clubhouse before I strangle someone.”
“Aw, you love me,” V says, batting his eyelashes at Ratchet. “Don't let the grumpy exterior fool you, Charlotte. He's a teddy bear underneath all that brooding.”
Ratchet's glare could melt steel. “Keep talking, V. See what happens.”
The testosterone-fueled banter would be almost comical if my nerves weren't shot to hell. I clear my throat, drawing their attention back to me.
“I don't mean to interrupt your little reunion, but would someone mind explaining what the hell is going on?”
Before anyone can answer, Minny steps out of the hallway, dragging her suitcase behind her. She freezes as she takes in the three leather-clad bikers filling our small kitchen. Her gaze darts from Thor to the newcomers, then to me, panic rising in her expression.
“Charlie…You didn't mention we'd have...company.”
“I didn't know,” I say quickly, moving to her side. “Minny, it's okay. They're with Thor.”
V's eyebrows shoot up as he gives Minny an appreciative once-over. “Well, hello there.”
“You’re fucking married to Raze’s sister, jackass,” Thor growls, and V raises his hands in mock surrender. “Knock it off.”
Ratchet pulls out his cell phone, aiming the camera at V, “Better yet. Keep it up. Maybe this is how we get rid of you.”
The three of them get lost in their own conversation, lobbing barbs at each other.
“They’re friends of his, I think,” I tell her. Not that you could assume that with the way they are slinging insults.
Minny doesn't look convinced, clutching her suitcase handle like a lifeline. “Friends who threaten to throw each other in ditches?”
