Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC 17)

Chaser blows out a long breath and doesn’t speak for a minute. “I stepped away from all that years ago to help my dad run the club, so I don’t know all the key players these days.”

While running the Devil Demons MC must take up the majority of Chaser’s attention, I can’t picture him staying completely away from the entertainment industry. Dawson said as much when he let it slip that he’d spoken to Chaser’s “people” about writing some new material together.

“But I know who Dawson is and I know about Glenna,” Chaser continues, confirming my suspicions. In the background, it sounds like he’s clicking a pen or typing on a keyboard. “The press on Glenna isn’t great right now. Rumor is she got caught cheating. Public opinion isn’t really in her favor.”

“That should be good for Shelby, then.”

“Key words—should be. The business is totally fucked, so it could always go the other way. But Shelby’s young, well-liked for the most part. Worked her way up from nothing. People love the underdog. She’s been through something scary and scandalous—a kidnapping. Everyone likes to jack off to some juicy trauma porn,” he adds in a dry way that makes it clear how he feels about people who get their kicks out of others’ misery. “My guess would be sympathy’s gonna land on Shelby’s side. Especially if you play it right. She got a PR person?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Let me find you a name. It might take me a minute to track down the right person but I’ll ask around.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. I’m sorry she’s going through this. Glad she’s got you looking out for her.”

Yeah, because I’m doing such a bang-up job.

“I’d watch out for anyone in the business telling Shelby not to press charges or sweep it under the rug. They might be more worried about Glenna’s interests than Shelby’s.”

“Thought of that too.”

“Or they’re just straight-up spineless.”

That describes a few people I can think of. “Hate to ask for another favor…”

“Ask away, Rooster. I wouldn’t have called if I didn’t want to help.”

Part of me can’t stop wondering what favors Chaser will want in return. Another part of me doesn’t care. “I’m gonna have a few brothers traveling with us for the rest of the tour—”

“You looking for extra protection?”

“Possibly. If not this tour, then the next one.”

“Yeah. Anytime you’re gonna be rolling through our territory, let me know. You still coming to our anniversary party?”

“You send us an invite?”

“I’ll ask Mallory.” He laughs. “But we’ll have brothers from all over in for the party, so I’ll introduce you around. Make sure everyone knows you’re a friend of the club.”

That’s one hell of a generous offer. “Thanks, brother.”

“Anytime. Let Shelby know Mallory and I hope she’s okay.”

“Will do.”

We hang up and I contemplate calling Z to let him know about my conversation with Chaser. Even though it had to do with Shelby, eventually it’ll bleed into club business, so I should give Z a heads-up.

Below me, the scuff-thump of someone hoofing it up the stairs grabs my attention. Sounds like cowboy boots maybe?

I press my back to the wall so I’m facing the staircase and casually cross my arms over my chest.

A few seconds later, Dawson appears on the landing below.

His eyes widen when he notices me waiting by the door to the hallway. Can’t exactly avoid me.

“Logan. What’s up?” He glances back the way he came. “I’m trying to avoid any reporters.”

When I don’t answer, he frowns and jogs up the final few stairs.

I back him into the corner. “We need to chat.”

Misery seems to wash over him and he glances down at his boots. “Shit. Glenna was involved, wasn’t she?”

He sure arrived at that conclusion fast. “You knew?”

“I suspected her involvement. After Shelby was already here. When Glenna called me earlier.” He pauses and stares straight ahead. “Something she said didn’t sit right. Story hadn’t fully broken yet, but she somehow had details even I didn’t have.”

“You motherfucker. Why didn’t you say something?”

“What was I going to say?” He waves his hands in the air. “You were gone. I didn’t want to tell Greg my suspicions. How was that gonna help anyone?”

“You talk to Jackson?”

“That FBI prick? Fuck no.”

“So what were you planning to do? Keep quiet and let your girl get away with it?”

“I didn’t know for sure.” He presses his fist to his stomach. “It was a gut feeling. I wanted to talk it over with you.”

“Right.” My tone conveys how much I believe that story. “Not like you have my number or anything.”

Some of the rugged country boy persona he’s known for seeps into his hard expression. “Didn’t think you’d want to discuss it over the phone with the FBI monitoring your every move. Come on, now. I know you MC boys better than that.”

Even when I was a boy, I never cared for anyone calling me one. “Careful, Dawson. Me and my MC boys don’t give a fuck who you are.”