Chapter Thirteen
Theo
June didn’t forget last week’s agreement that she wouldn’t have to come on today’s ride.
She insists on staying at the house, even though I know she enjoys riding.
It’s pride keeping her from admitting it.
Or maybe whatever version of her tornado I keep seeing is acting as a barrier between herself and the possible joy she could be experiencing.
Thankfully, she’s followed through with other aspects of our deal. She pitches in around the clubhouse without fighting, she helped Benny cook before church last night, and she’s been making friends with the others, particularly Benny and Luna.
Meanwhile, she’s digging her heels in at home, refusing to let her guard down for even a second. It’s like our night watching Die Hard never happened.
Her bad mood is starting to irritate me. What she really needs is to be tied down, blindfolded, and gagged while I have my way with her. That would put her back in her place.
James thinks the entire situation is hilarious.
“Sorry, T,” he says, barely concealing his amusement at my most recent failed attempt to talk to June. We’re sitting on the back patio at the clubhouse, and June just stormed inside when I told her she couldn’t go home without me. “I’ve never seen you pine.”
“I’m not pining,” I say.
“You’re always staring at her. You complain about her all the time. You’ve had me search her house and office four times. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but it looks a hell of a lot like pining to me.”
“I watch her because she’s a threat. I complain about her because she’s maddening. And I’ve had you search her things because we need more information on her and her extracurricular activities. You’re the one who always preaches about knowing your enemies and gathering information before a job.”
“I also say not to take unnecessary risks, and keeping her around is the definition of an unnecessary risk.” He takes a breath and lowers his voice, adding, “But I get it, I really do.”
“Whatever,” I mumble, pushing up from the chair. Ignoring James’s knowing grin, I march inside and scan the crowd of bikers for June. Instead, Kip finds me, demanding my attention before I can locate the little reaper.
“Boss, can I talk to you for a bit?”
“Go ahead.”
Kip glances over his shoulder. “Outside?”
I frown, not sure what he would need to talk to me about in private.
Our last job went off without a problem, and we don’t have another one planned.
It could be about June and the supposed debt she has to me, but Kip has so far refrained from mentioning that.
Still, I nod and turn around, heading back outside.
“Rejected again?” James asks when he sees me emerge. His eyes widen for a fraction when he sees someone else following me, then relax at the sight of Kip.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Careful,” James says. “Both your James-vein and your chick-vein are making an appearance. Two at once is always dangerous.”
“Then stop trying to piss me off.”
“Boss,” Kip interrupts before James can retort. “I just got a call about a possible job. The solo kind.”
“Okay?” I say, prompting him for more information.
“It’s Lorry. He wants our assistance in furthering an investigation,” Kip continues, referring to his detective brother-in-law, who inadvertently helped us start this very lucrative little side business.
I remember his visit to the Iron Cage four years ago, during which he asked around about a local drug dealer.
I could tell several Saints wanted to beat him up just for stepping foot in our space, but luckily for him, I knew the drug dealer he was after and wanted him gone.
The guy targeted kids in the system who had no one and nothing, got them hooked on the tamer stuff, then tricked them into the hard-core and dangerous narcotics.
I told Lorry to get the guy off the streets before I did it myself.
Lorry then explained all the bullshit bureaucratic red tape he was restrained by and hinted that he needed a reason to get a search warrant and to find plenty of the drugs to put the guy away for life.
Most of our clients are law-abiding citizens with good intentions, but once Lorry got a taste of how our help makes his job easier—and gives him an impressive closing rate—he became a regular, no matter the case or crime.
He has a love-hate relationship with the law.
Meaning he loves enforcing it but hates obeying it.
Our business may not exist without him, but I still don’t like the guy. These days, I’m rarely sure the suspects he wants us to frame are always guilty.
Still, he pays good money, and it’s extremely convenient having a cop in our pocket.
“Who is it this time?” James asks, a sneer pulling at his lips. He despises Lorry more than I do. “Some mom he’s convinced is lying about her kid’s volunteer work on college resumes?”
Kip chews on his bottom lip, eyes jumping between us. “A murderer.”
“When did he get promoted to homicide?” James asks.
“He hasn’t,” Kip answers. “He’s investigating on his own time.”
“Why?” I ask. The blood seems to run faster through my veins, and I’m not sure why.
“Because the department doesn’t think there’s a case, but he thinks it's a serial killer.” Kip’s words are steadily getting shakier, and his eyes have dropped from mine.
“Three years ago, his cousin disappeared, and though everyone, the guy’s wife included, is positive he ran because of his insane gambling debts, Lorry is convinced he was murdered. ”
“Three years ago, and he’s just now hiring us?” James asks.
My heart pumps louder than normal. Like the sound of a distant storm crawling closer.
“He just found the killer. At least, he thinks he found them.”
“Good for him. Why does he need us?” James asks.
He knows. So do I. But Kip seems to need a nudge to say it out loud.
“There’s no physical evidence linking the killer to the disappearances.
Honestly, there’s hardly any circumstantial evidence.
I’m not sure why he’s so confident about this theory.
It seems thin. He brought it to me yesterday, and he doesn't know… I don’t think he realizes… I told him it was ridiculous, but he—”
“Kip!” I interrupt. The tips of my fingers are going numb, and my pulse has reached an alarming rate. “Get to the point.”
He sucks in a shaky breath and finally meets my eyes. The fear roiling in their depths makes my legs weak.
“He thinks the killer is June. He wants us to frame June Graves for murder.”