Repo (The Henchmen MC 4)

But it was the plan.

It was K's plan

And I trusted him. I trusted him, quite literally, with my life. If this was what he thought I needed to do to get safe and stay safe, then I had to believe him. And I owed it to him to work my ass off to make sure he didn't have to come up with some backup plan because I failed.

Navesink Bank was, well, an enormous town. It was chopped up into sections from the sprawling, lavish mansions to the 'burbs, the industrial area, then, well, the slums. Growing up in the city where most areas looked like most of the other areas then Vermont where everything was desolate and green in the summer then, well, desolate and white in the winter, it was a bit of a culture-shock to be able to, in twenty minutes, drive through such a drastically diverse landscape.

I drove through the 'burbs and into the industrial part of town full of more than a few abandoned buildings along with some that were still operating: namely tattoo shops, bars, mechanics, bail bonds, convenience stores, and the occasional still-afloat despite the shitty economy, mom and pop stores.

I sucked in a greedy breath as I pulled up to the gates in front of The Henchmen compound, shutting off the engine and forcing myself to pull off my helmet and get off my bike, despite my better sense telling me to run screaming.

There were two probates at the gates wearing leathers with no patches. They were brothers by the looks of them.

"You lost, baby?" one asked, giving me a slow once-over that made me feel practically naked despite the obnoxious, hot, disgusting leathers I was wearing.

"No," I said, lifting my chin a little. "I need to talk to Reign."

"Don't know what you heard of the prez, babe, but he's got himself a woman. He don't need another," the other said, shaking his head at me like I was annoying him.

"That's wonderful for him, but I still need to speak to him."

"About what?"

"About it's none of your fucking business," I countered, making his brother laugh and shove him in the shoulder.

"Listen bitch..."

"No, you listen, bitch," I snapped, my voice low and vicious and nothing like it normally sounded, "I'm here to talk to the president, not some probate on a power trip so get your head out of your ass and..." I trailed off when I saw someone else out of the corner of my eye.

Turning, I saw someone in his mid-to-late twenties, tall, muscular but in a not-too-bulky way, with dark hair and handsome in an almost classic way with a strong jaw, severe brow ridge, and well-proportioned features. His dark blue eyes looked like they were dancing and, judging by the smirk he had on his face, he was amused. Literally the only thing marring his perfection was a scar that ran fully down his cheek, cutting off at the strong jut of his jaw.

He was gorgeous.

Like advertising companies should have used him to sell cologne. Or shaving cream. Hell, the man could make khakis look sexy if that was what they needed.

"Go on," he invited when I looked at him. "He can get his head out of his ass and..." he prompted, smirk getting a little more sinister.

"Get Reign," I decided, pretty sure that was not what I was going to say, but struck just the tiniest bit dumb by how good looking he was.

"That's not a bad idea," he said with a shrug. "Moose, Fox, go find the prez and see if he has a minute."

"You can't..." Moose, the one with his head in his ass, started.

"The fuck I can't," the new guy snapped, his face losing its smirk and looking a little dark, a little scary. "Do what you're told, probie," he said, his tone brooking absolutely no argument. Moose, smartly, shut his mouth, but the tightness in his jaw said he wanted to go a round about it but knew he was the lowest man on the totem pole and that it would get him nowhere but on his ass.

Moose and Fox shared a look and moved to go back into the compound. The compound itself was at one time a mechanic shop, low and windowless. It even had the one garage door left. But out toward the back, there was a new (also windowless) addition that I knew from my research was the sleeping quarters for the patched-in members. If all went to plan, I'd be getting one of those rooms myself.

"Probate on a power trip, huh?" the guy asked, moving over to the gates and pulling them open, but standing in the opening so it was clear I wasn't welcome. At least not yet.

There was something interesting about him. I couldn't quite put my finger on it and that would drive K up a wall when I checked in on Tuesday. He had hammered it into my brain how important it was to be able to size someone up, to get their number within minutes or even seconds of meeting them. For Moose and Fox, that was easy. Moose was a bully and mistakingly thought he was leader-material. Fox was a bit of a follower and a creep.