Thumper (Cerberus MC)

I hold out hope that Miguel was lying. He’s not known for being the most honest person. Maybe he was trying to make himself sound vengeful enough that Ernesto allowed him to live.

As I’m thrown into a cell built of nothing but concrete blocks and a heavy wooden door, I realize, I’ll never really know the truth.

Not once did either man or Miguel even hint at the possibility of me being involved with a federal agency. They have no idea who I work for. Ernesto’s concern is only about his brother’s body, which with what they do day in and day out seems a little out of place. Surely, they see death or cause death nearly every day. There has to be another reason other than grief that makes him so anxious to find his brother.

Chapter 21

Cara

“We’ve been driving for hours, and you haven’t said a word,” I complain, shifting my weight on the leather seat of the SUV rental Lola got in El Paso.

“And I explained when we first headed out that you may insist on coming with me, but that doesn’t mean I owe you any form of explanation.”

I clench my jaw, turning my head to look out the passenger window.

“I just don’t understand why you’re being so secretive.”

She sighs, a sign that she’s incredibly irritated, but we’ve both been through so much that I’m not really worried about her feelings. I have my own shit to deal with.

“I’m not being secretive. I’ll explain everything, but I’m not going to do it twice. You’ll have to wait.”

I nod, accepting that eventually I’ll know what the hell I ended tangled up in.

Two more hours go by until we pull up outside of a metal building. I’d think it was some sort of shop if it weren’t for the huge shop to the left and all the really nice houses at the back of it. There are similarly nice houses directly across the street. The parking lot is filled with official looking SUVs and more motorcycles than I can count.

“What are we doing here?” I whisper as if speaking at full volume will draw the deviants that ride those bikes out of the buildings.

“Farmington, New Mexico,” she says as she pushes the button to turn the SUV off.

“I fucking know that,” I hiss, agitated that she’s implying I’m an idiot. “I saw the damn city limits sign. Is this a biker hangout? Why would we come here?”

“We’re here to ask for help,” she says before climbing out.

I follow, wanting answers, but debate whether going inside this building is worth it.

The area isn’t cluttered with debris or random parts of cars, and the flower beds surrounding the massive porch leading into the building is a big surprise, but the entrance to Knight Salvation is equally inviting. I know that bad things can happen in pretty places. Just ask every eighteen-year-old that was coerced into marrying Charles McKnight.

“Bikers are helpful?” I hiss, coming up beside her because despite my anger at not knowing everything, I do know she’s armed, and that’s my best bet at this point to stay safe.

“I hear these guys are.”

“You hear? So, you don’t know if—”

The front door to the huge metal building opens and a handsome man in a leather cut steps outside.

“Can I help you, darlin’?”

The patch on the upper left side of his chest says Apollo. Aren’t bikers supposed to have names like Bear and rooster? Not named after mythical gods.

“I need to speak with Kincaid.”

He gives her a big smile, his face clean shaven, and that’s just another stereotype this guy doesn’t fit. He seems clean, and he doesn’t have a beard that rests on a beer belly. If I had to guess just from looking at him, I bet he’s very fit under his clothes.

“Is he expecting you?”

Lola narrows her eyes, not impressed at all that she isn’t just being welcomed inside. She blinks twice before a slow smile spreads across her face.

“I’ve got some information on Thumper.”

He stiffens, and I have no damn clue who or what a Thumper is, but it seems like the magical password as far as this guy is concerned.

“Follow me,” he says, waiting until we’re walking up the front steps before turning around and heading back inside.

Although I can see a wide array of alcohol on a bar in the far corner, the air is as fresh in here as it is outside. There isn’t the stench of smoke inside at all. I really need to stop getting all of my information from television shows. Clearly, they’re not even close.

Several men sitting on couches turn their gaze in our direction. Jesus, do you have to be a GQ cover model to wear a leather cut around here?

“Nice,” Lola mutters as she looks around the room, taking in the sight of the men.