“Hi, Robert.”
Robert spun around at the sound of a soft, very gentle voice. A man’s voice, but it somehow made its way right inside of him. Penetrating deep. The man was tall. Very good-looking. He wore jeans that rode low on his hips and a thin leather vest that was open over a chest that was all muscle. There were scars, a multitude of them stretching over his abdomen and running down his narrow hips. His hair was messy, his eyes a strange crystal blue.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Robert demanded, suddenly very aware he was absolutely naked and vulnerable. In spite of that soft, gentle tone, this man felt dangerous. Lethal even.
“Name’s Absinthe. My club’s Torpedo Ink.” He half turned and showed his club’s colors, a tree with skulls buried in the roots and ravens in the branches. The top rocker proclaimed Torpedo Ink and the bottom said Sea Haven– Caspar.
Triumph burst through Robert. He didn’t care about the indiscretion of penetrating his security or even how it was done. A club had found Scarlet Foley, and by the looks of this man, it was a very scary outlaw club. The little bitch hopefully got what was coming to her and now she was going to be delivered into his hands. He was going to make certain she suffered a long time before he sold her into human trafficking to live out the rest of her life in the worst places possible.
“I presume you’re here about Scarlet Foley.”
“Solokov.” The voice was very mild.
“I’m sorry?” Holden frowned.
“Scarlet Solokov. Her name is Scarlet Solokov. Not Foley. She’s married.”
“I don’t give a fuck if she’s married or what her name is, the price is still the same. Did you come to collect the fee or not?”
“I have the money,” Absinthe replied gently. “And you should care that she’s married. She’s my wife. I’m really pissed that you put out a contract on her. She was already pissed at you for bailing that worthless asshole rapist son of yours out of every crime he committed over and over, but she would have let it go after killing the little pissant. But then you just had to put that contract out on her. That was a stupid move on your part. Didn’t it occur to you to do just a little research before you went that far?”
Robert’s eyes lifted to the cameras that were trained on his backyard and the pool. His heart had accelerated to the point he feared a heart attack.
Absinthe smiled at him, but it was more the smile of a predator than one of humor. “Those cameras are useless to you. We took them over. If you’re feeling vulnerable out here naked, we could go inside. Doesn’t much matter to me where we talk. You go ahead and choose. Wherever you’re more comfortable.”
Robert indicated the house immediately. He had weapons and phones inside. Absinthe stepped back and waved him toward the house. Robert tried to hide his excitement and forced himself to walk slowly. Behind him, for such a big man, particularly one wearing motorcycle boots, Absinthe seemed to walk very quietly.
Robert took two steps inside, caught the slider and yanked, trying to force it to close as he took several running steps. Immediately he realized two things: the room held several people, and the broken pieces from all the glasses he’d shattered were lying all over the floor and he was barefoot. He yelped and tried hopping, bumping into the coffee table and then the low-slung couch. The couch was occupied by two men who looked exactly alike. They appeared to be eating from the exotic fruits he had laid out in his Irish cut-crystal bowl—part of the set he intended to smash tonight.
One looked up at him and smiled. “Take a seat, Bobby.” He waved him to the chair opposite of him. “Your foot’s bleeding everywhere. Looks like it hurts. Name’s Ice. My brother Storm. That’s Savage. He doesn’t talk much, and you don’t want him to, so don’t piss him off.”
He indicated one of the scariest-looking men Holden Sr. had ever laid eyes on. The man obviously shaved his head, had muscles and tattoos everywhere and the coldest, deadest eyes on him. Those eyes seemed to go right through Holden, as if he wasn’t even a human being to the biker. It didn’t escape his notice that there was a very large plastic tarp laid out in front of the bald man and the other one standing, unmoving, next to him, covered in what looked like Russian prison tattoos. Everyone in the room, and there seemed to be quite a few people, wore thin biker gloves. For the first time in his life, Robert felt both sick and a little faint.
He looked around for his clothes. Seeing none, he dropped into the seat opposite Ice and Storm and then tried to find a pillow to at least put over his lap, but even those were gone. There was a faint stirring and Scarlet was suddenly there, looking at him as if he were a distasteful insect she was about to squash.