Ride Wild (Raven Riders 3)

“Jagger’s hearing was today, and he was sentenced to four months. He’s been credited with time served, but that still means he has almost six weeks to go.” Dare’s expression was a storm cloud of discontent, and his voice was tight with righteous anger.

The room erupted with echoes of that same anger.

Dare held up a hand. “Phoenix has agreed to keep running things at the track until Jagger’s home again, so that’s one problem solved.”

“He’s been doing a damn fine job, too,” Maverick said. “Attendance is up since the carnival we held back in June, and it’s thanks to Phoenix’s efforts.”

Even as the men nodded in agreement, Phoenix shook off the praise. “It’s what we do here. We step up for our brothers and for the club. I need no special thanks for that.” Of course, the comment had Slider feeling shitty for the attitude he’d given the man before the meeting started. Because he was right. Being a Raven meant stepping up when the chips were down, and Slider hadn’t done nearly enough of that these past two years.

But that was changing. Or, at least, it would right now.

Slider cleared his throat. “It doesn’t need to be said that I haven’t been around.” He forced himself to look around the table and meet his brothers’ eyes, even though it was about as comfortable as eating crushed glass. “But if there’s anything I can do—either at the track or in general—consider me available. And interested.”

Another round of approving murmurs circled the room.

Phoenix nailed him with a surprised stare. “Actually, the grader, water truck, and roller could all really use some maintenance. With doing double duty, I haven’t been able to give the track equipment the TLC it deserves. Any chance you could come by before Friday’s race to take care of it? Jagger’s gonna kick my ass if he gets out and sees I haven’t taken care of his babies.”

Slider didn’t even have to think about it. Because it was a brother asking. Because maintaining the equipment they used to prepare the dirt surface of the track that was the club’s financial lifeblood was right in his wheelhouse. And because it felt damn good to be useful. “Consider it done.”

Dare nodded, approval and appreciation clear in his dark eyes. “Okay, next. Grant Slater’s death has made tracking down the people responsible for the dumping hard as fuck. All signs point to him having hired a crew to do it, and the PI we hired finally thinks he’s got a lead. Get this, he got it by tailing Curt Davis.”

The name of the sheriff who they all knew had been on Slater’s payroll elicited groans from everyone there.

Maverick sat forward. “Davis was the one who responded to the so-called anonymous tip about the dumping.” Coincidentally, Slider had been present the day of Jagger’s arrest because he’d been dropping the boys off at the clubhouse for Cora to watch. It still boiled his blood to think about that asshole Davis being the one to arrest Jagger—and Dare, too, though he’d been released. Some of his brothers had a higher tolerance for club business that crossed any lines, but Jagger was one of the most law-abiding of all of them because he wanted to keep his nose clean for the track. “So Davis was in on this from the beginning. Looks like he might still be getting some kind of a cut from the estate, too, because he’s been in and out of the company headquarters these past weeks.”

“Which is what led our guy to start tailing him. The PI was in Slater Enterprises posing as a photocopier repairman when he overheard Davis and some suit arguing about covering Slater’s tracks.”

“Well, that sounds ominous as hell,” Slider said.

“Fucking A it does,” Mav said. “Who the hell knows all the dirty pots he had his hands in.”

“Is someone following the suit, too?” Caine asked, his ice-blue gaze slicing across the table. Their sergeant-at-arms was the club’s enforcer and someone Slider had never managed to get to know, because the younger man said little and socialized even less.

“Our man’s doing what he can, but this investigation has tentacles for days precisely because Slater was so dirty. He’s stretched thin,” Dare said.

With jet-black hair and gauges in his ears, Caine put off an intimidating air on a good day. But then his eyes narrowed, and his look was downright lethal. “I’m on it.”

Dare nodded and surveyed the room. “We all need to expect some shit when we get to the bottom of this. This is your heads-up.”

Slider’s gut tightened. He was one of the few men here who had kids, and so he’d always kept some distance from club business that might turn violent because he never wanted to abandon the boys—by choice or by circumstance. But when an enemy came at you with the clear intent to do you harm, you had to assume he wasn’t going to stop until one of you was in the ground. That was just the hard reality. And, clearly, if Slater hired the dumping out to some associates, he wasn’t their only enemy.