Dash and Rider had come out of the bar a couple of minutes after us and were standing by their hogs talking. “Yo!” I called out. They both looked my way, and I tossed Ireland’s keys to Rider. “Get her truck home, would ya?” I pointed at it. “I’ll text you the address.”
Rider nodded and pocketed the keys before turning to see which vehicle I’d indicated. When his eyes came back to me, his brow was raised, silently asking if I was gonna let my woman drive it again. “Hell no,” I replied. Then I mounted my bike and started the engine.
“What was the heck no about?” Ireland asked over my shoulder. She instinctively scooted up to press herself against my back and put her arms around my waist.
“I’ll tell you another time, baby. What’s your address?” As she rattled it off, I sent the information to Rider, then glanced over the directions so I knew where I was going. “Hold on tight,” I instructed before putting up my kickstand and heading out of the parking lot.
We pulled up to an apartment complex that was old and could definitely use some TLC, but it wasn’t in an unsafe area of town. That didn’t make me feel a whole lot better about her living there, though. I parked and dismounted, then helped her off the bike. Then I traded the helmet for her purse and gestured for her to lead the way.
Ireland’s apartment was on the second floor with four others. Everything looked plain and stark but clean. When she opened her door and I stepped into her space, I chuckled. The outside might have been boring and sterile, but everything about her little studio screamed with this rocker’s personality. At least a third of it was taken up by a baby grand piano. The rest of the place was bright and crazy but still tastefully done. There was color everywhere, beads and twinkle lights hanging on the walls, as well as framed posters of rock bands. Which might have seemed juvenile if it were most other people, but somehow just fit Ireland. Of course, I understood her décor much more when I got a closer look at one and realized the band signed the poster.
“Holy fuck,” I breathed in awe at one point. “This is signed by Van Halen?”
She grinned as she hung her purse on a hook in her tiny kitchen, then sat in a chair to remove her boots. “Yup. I talked my way backstage and didn’t get caught until I’d been chatting with the band for over half an hour. We’d been talking about music, and when security showed up, Eddie laughed his ass off. The band all signed the poster for me and told me to drop by backstage anytime. Look at the back.” I gently pulled the frame down and turned it over. Tucked into the back was a backstage pass in a plastic holder, and “Ireland’s lifetime pass” was scrawled across it in black marker.
I laughed and rehung the poster. “Cute and badass,” I repeated my compliment from earlier.
When I pivoted to face the room, Ireland had plopped down on a futon with a bottle of water. She took another from the little table next to her and held it out to me. I joined her on the couch and accepted the drink with a nod of thanks.
“Okay,” she said after drinking half the bottle. “You know a few things about me. Your turn.”
“Fair point,” I agreed with a smile. “I’m a B&E specialist. Meaning I break into people’s houses or businesses for a living, then tell them where the holes in their security are. Hack and I started the company together a few years ago.”
Ireland quirked an eyebrow. “I sense there’s a story behind your career choice.”
I laughed before draining the rest of my water and tossing the bottle into a trashcan in the kitchen.
“Impressive,” Ireland giggled.
“Baby, if that impresses you, I can’t imagine how you’re going to react once I get you naked.”
Ireland’s breath stalled, and twin spots of heat bloomed on her cheeks. My eyes dropped to her chest, and I had to close them when I saw her hard nipples poking through her top. Fuck. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and tried to get my mind out of the gutter. So, I focused on answering her question. “I got into trouble a lot as a kid. Mostly because I was bored and wanted the thrill of a challenge. Ended up in juvie twice, the second time I was released at eighteen. Then I spent a couple of years dicking around and doing stupid shit. I was good enough not to be caught but too stupid not to run my mouth off about it. I got myself into a bad situation, and by the biggest stroke of luck in my life—before meeting you—the Silver Saints President, Mac, stepped in and made it go away. He recruited me, and I became a prospect at twenty, worked my ass off, and patched at twenty-two.”