Leo shrugged, appearing a bit sour. “Biker business, Skye. You know what they’re like. He’s one ofthemnow, and they come first.”
“I don’t believe that,” I replied softly. “We’ve always come first, Leo.”
Leo searched my eyes, looking sad. “I can take you there if you want. You can ask for him yourself.”
I nodded, feeling hopeful. “I’d like that.”
He nodded back. “Okay, we’ll go to him first thing.”
*
The Warlords clubhouse was in the centre of town, merged with that fucking pub that still gave me nightmares. It looked completely average except for the parking lot filled with motorcycles. You wouldn’t think some years ago such devastation took place there—I didn’t want to think about it.
Anyone was allowed in, and from what I heard it was usually quite busy. The pub took up one half of the bottom level, and the other half was called “The Lounge” and it was a store that sold Harley Davidson merchandise and bike parts. I knew upon entering that it was all part of the plan: fit into town, welcome family and friends in, while at the same time operating as a clubhouse. But that clubhouse was on the second floor behind locked doors. Whatever the club did to really make their income, I didn’t know. No one liked to talk about it, either. Kurt always said the bikers had eyes and ears everywhere.
The place was polished, the hardwood floors gleaming and new. There was a lounge area filled with black leather couches, and the walls had shelves selling biker paraphernalia. As I entered, I glanced at the lounge and saw several men in leather cuts sitting and talking, some watching a giant television screen situated in the top corner of the room. A lot of them were nursing mugs of beer, obviously from the pub feet from where they sat.
A bell jingled overhead, signalling my arrival. Several heads turned to look at me. I quickly averted my gaze, not wanting to meet their eye. I suddenly wished Leo was by my side, but he encouraged me to go in on my own while he locked the car up. I knew he was stalling because he was not welcome here.
On the other side of the room was a glass counter, more biker merchandise but locked away in glass cabinets. Before the counter was a man donning that cut with the Warlord insignia on the back. He turned away from the television, and something about his gaze felt heavy as it settled on me. It was a knowing look. This man—a complete stranger—was staring at me like he knew me.
And then I realized—well, he sort of did.
This was the biker that had gone searching for Hunter when his house burned down.
“Hi there,” he said cheerfully. “What can I help you with, love?”
I didn’t come up behind the counter completely. I stopped several feet away and shoved my hands into my pockets. I cracked a smile, asking, “Is Hunter around?”
The man paused for a moment before he nodded once. “Hunter? Yeah, he’s here.”
Okay, well… “Can I see him?”
His nod came again, but slowly. He pulled out his phone and dialled a number, asking me casually, “You here alone, love?”
“I am,” I lied.
He pressed the phone to his ear. “Wanna bring Hunt down? His little dove’s down here, waiting on him.”
Dove?I tried not to react by that as I waited.
He put the phone down. “He’s coming.”
I nodded, my smiling feeling more real. “Thank you.”
He studied me as the silent moments stretched, and his eyes gentled. “You’re Skye.”
“You’ve heard of me?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said with a hearty chuckle. “I think I know you better than you know yourself.”
My face warmed. “I hope you’ve heard good things, mister.”
His smile broadened. “Only the best. My name’s Roy, by the way.”
Roy. I knew that name too—had heard it once before the night Hunter crawled into my room covered in blood. He was the man looking for him. The pieces were sliding into place. I gave him an awkward wave because he didn’t extend his hand out for a shake. “Nice to meet you.”
“We sort of met already.”