“Take my seat, and I’ll grab you a drink.”
“Oh, no, I don’t want to steal your seat.”
“Brooke?”
The way he said her name, in a commanding but also respectful tone, had her knees weakening. “Yes?”
“Take my seat.”
“Okay.” But only because she didn’t want to make a scene in front of the rest of the people.
As she approached the table, a blond guy kicked the chair out so she could sit. She bit off a laugh. Must be some form of tough-guy chivalry.
Another man grunted. “Classy, Jinx. No wonder you don’t have a woman.” He held out his hand. “I’m Tyler.” He thumbed over his shoulder to Curly, who was pulling a beer from the fridge. “His cousin. Beautiful dog you got there.”
“Thank you. I’m Brooke,” she answered. “And this is Ray. Lie down, buddy.” He plopped down next to her chair, resting his head on his front paws.
The other four guys introduced themselves as well. By then, Curly had deposited a chilled bottle of beer in front of her. “Thank you,” she said as he propped his ass against the cream-colored wall next to her. Heat wafted off his body, practically searing her with its intensity. “I’m sorry I’m crashing the party.”
“Nah, no party,” Tyler said. He seemed to be around Curly’s age, which she guessed was a few years older than she was. Maybe mid-forties. “Just working on getting the new MC up and running.”
“Oh, wow.” A new MC? She cut a glance Curly’s way to find him studying her with dark eyes. Bending some rules to get his help with the dog fighting ring was one thing but partnering up with a man who had a hand in everything she knew him to have been involved in changed her comfort level.
Sliding her chair back an inch, she glanced down at Ray, who still seemed chill as could be. Maybe it was time to go.
“We can bug out so you and your woman can have some time,” the one called Gabe interrupted her escape. He seemed the most serious of the men even though he told her to call him Pulse, which she wasn’t sure she could pull off.
“Oh, no, I’m not his—” she said at the same time Curly said, “Stick around a few more minutes.”
She waved at him to speak again as she reached for Ray’s leash. “Sorry, go ahead.”
He winked then said, “Don’t run away just yet. I want to run your situation by the guys if that’s okay?”
What was she gonna say? No? She was on his turf, surrounded by six large bikers all staring at her. “Sure, of course, it’s okay.” She dropped the leash and forced herself to relax in the chair.
“Brooke is a dog trainer, and she runs a small rescue operation from her property.”
Tracker snapped his fingers then straightened in his seat. “You know, I knew you looked familiar. I do SAR for Find Me, Inc. and I think you’ve worked with some of our pups.”
Well, small world. “Yes!” she said with a smile. “I’ve trained quite a few dogs for you guys. It’s a fantastic organization.” She loved training working dogs and their search handlers. It was such a satisfying experience.
“Yeah, we’ve done some good in the world.”
Some good? That organization alone was responsible for finding over one hundred missing people in Florida just last year. What on earth was he doing hanging around with drug dealers and weapons traffickers?
Tracker looked up at Curly. “Sorry to interrupt, prez.”
“All good.” He reached down and stroked his big hand over Ray’s head. Her dog let out a sigh of pleasure. “Anyway, several injured dogs have been found abandoned close to her house recently. All seem to be breeds typically used for fighting.”
“Motherfuckers,” Tracker said while the others wore expressions of equal disgust. Gang members who sold drugs, moved guns, and sold women but had a soft spot for abused dogs. Something didn’t quite add up. She couldn’t decide whether to run for the hills or stick around and see how they could lend a hand in ending the dog fights.
“You go to the cops?” Pulse asked her.
She nodded with a frustrated mm-hmm. “Yes, a friend filed a report after each one. Either the police don’t care or have too many ‘real crimes’ to deal with. So far, no one’s followed up with me about any of them.” Countless dogs, alone and powerless, suffering at the hands of money-hungry abusers.
She shifted. She’d been one. A two-legged victim of a greedy social climber. No one to listen, no one to help her but herself. She refused to let those animals live in lonely misery as she did for so many years.
“Sounds about right,” Jinx said, shaking his head.
“I have a good idea of where the fights are held,” she said. “There’s a farm that abuts the back of my property. It’s sat abandoned for years, but it seems someone purchased it recently. I didn’t even realize anyone was living there because my land runs along the back field, which is acres away from the house and barn.”