Chapter 13 #2
“Maybe this is for the best. Maybe my sins have finally caught up with me and it’s time to pay. We both know I deserve a lifetime behind bars. If it happens, I’m not fighting it.”
Who was this man? This was not the same man who’d vowed revenge against the Travelers after they’d killed my mother. This was not the man who’d taken his vengeance with horrific violence. This was not the man who refused to quit.
“You’re serious?”
“Dead.” He was done fighting.
I shook my head, waving him off as I walked to my bike. Dad might be giving up, but I wasn’t.
The trip to Clifton Forge was fast. I let the roar of the engine, the wind whipping my face and the tires beating on the pavement soak up some of my frustration with Dad.
When I hit Central Avenue, I didn’t turn to go home or to the garage.
I kept on straight, making my way into the quiet neighborhood where Bryce lived.
She had a way of looking at things with fresh eyes—a different perspective—and I wanted her take on my meeting with the Warriors.
When I pulled up, she was in the kitchen. I spotted her through the large window over the sink. I rang the doorbell, raking a hand through my hair as her footsteps came my way.
There was no surprise on her face as she opened the door. “You again? Is this going to become a regular thing?”
The smell from the kitchen drifted outside and I looked past her. “What are you making?”
“A roast. It’s been in the Crock-Pot all day.”
I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and my stomach rumbled. Loud.
She took pity on me, opening the door wider and stepping out of the way. “Come on in. Beer’s in the fridge.”
I kicked off my boots and followed her into the kitchen. Grabbing a beer, I twisted off the top, then went to stand behind Bryce at the stove, peering over her shoulder. “Mashed potatoes?”
“I hope you like salty gravy.” She was whisking it in a saucepan. “I only make salty gravy.”
“You won’t hear me complain.” I dropped a kiss to her shoulder, enjoying the shiver that rolled down her spine. Last night, we’d had some fun learning each other’s tender spots. That was one of hers.
Bryce turned at the stove, running her hand down my pecs to tweak her thumb over my nipple. I grinned. And that was one of mine.
My stomach growled again, insisting on dinner first. Last night, we’d had enchiladas near midnight. But tonight, even as much as I wanted her naked, I was too hungry to deliver any kind of decent performance.
“Plates are in the cupboard next to the fridge. Silverware is in that drawer.” She pointed to the one beside the sink. “We’ll eat at the island.”
“’Kay.” I set the dishes out as she finished cooking and heaped my plate full. Taking a first bite, I nearly came in my jeans. It wasn’t better than her enchiladas but it was definitely equal. “Damn, that’s good.”
“Glad you approve.”
“Keep feeding me food like this and I’ll never leave.”
“Then consider this your last meal.” She smirked. “What are you doing here?”
“Dad and I met with the Warriors today.”
“You did?” Her fork froze in midair. “What happened?”
“Their president assured us it wasn’t them.
He brought along the five guys who left the Kings for the Warriors.
They gave their word they had nothing to do with it.
I’m inclined to believe them. Still, it could have been someone acting on their own, but unless we catch the guy, no one will admit it. ”
“Interesting.” She twirled her fork in the air as she thought it over. “So what now?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. What do you think?”
“Hmm.” She took another bite, thinking as she chewed.
“If you don’t have a lead into who might be setting Draven up, then I think we should continue looking into Amina.
At least find out why she was here in Clifton Forge.
That might give us a clue as to who would have known she was in town.
It could narrow down the possibilities.”
“Except my hunch is that the guy who killed her was following Dad around. Waiting for an opportunity to set him up.”
“True. But don’t you think that the way she was killed was sort of personal? I mean, she was stabbed seven times. Like he knew her.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it was meant to seem personal since it was supposed to look like Dad did it after they had sex.” Still not something I liked to picture.
“Also true. But if you don’t have any leads on who could be out to get your dad, then we don’t have any other option than to look into the victim.”
“Yeah. Guess it’s worth a shot.” I scooped up a bite of potatoes and gravy—salted just right.
If we didn’t find clues to prove Dad was innocent, digging into Amina’s life might at least get me more information about her relationship with Mom.
Because the superficial answer from Dad was not going to stand. Mom had been the type of person who pulled others into her life. She wouldn’t have let a best friend drift away. Something had to have happened, and whatever it was, Dad wasn’t telling.
“Anything else?” Bryce asked.
This was probably the point in time for me to tell her about that yearbook picture. I should confess I’d stolen it and had her arrested before she’d noticed, but that would mean a fight. Tonight, I didn’t have it in me to battle Bryce. Not when she’d win.
So I shoved another bite into my mouth and hoped like hell she didn’t find out before I told her. “Nope. This is really good.”
“You already said that.” She smiled.
“Worth repeating. I’m not much of a cook. Never learned. Mom loved cooking for us, and after she died, Dad didn’t take her place in the kitchen. We ate out a lot and Nick got sick of it, so he taught himself. He got pretty good. When he graduated and moved out, Dad and I went back to eating out.”
“I learned to cook from my mom. Have you met her?” When I shook my head, she said, “I’m not surprised. You don’t exactly run in the same circles. She’s more Bunko on Friday nights than beers at The Betsy.”
I chuckled, demolishing the rest of my meal. “Thanks for dinner. Again.”
“You’re welcome.”
We both stood at the same time to take our plates, but I stopped her and took hers from her hand. “I got dishes.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Take a load off. I got these.” I went to the sink and turned on the water. “Nick learned to cook. I learned to clean.”
“How did the Kings get started?” Bryce asked behind me.
I smiled at a plate as I rinsed it clean.
She always had a question, this one. In a lifetime, I doubted she’d be able to ask them all.
“My granddad was part of a small club in town. Mostly it was guys who loved to ride. He owned the garage. Built it from the ground up and it was the focal point for the club. Dad always knew he’d take it over but had planned to go to college and get out of Clifton Forge for a while first. But then Granddad died a week after Dad graduated, so he stayed to run the garage. Joined the club too.”
Dad was never bitter about not getting the chance to move away. Because he’d had Mom who was more than happy to stay here, close to her family. She only ever wanted to be where Dad was.
“One of Dad’s friends from high school left for California.
Stone, that guy I told you about, Emmett’s Dad.
Anyway, Stone got hooked up with a big club down there.
Didn’t join, but it gave him ideas. So he came home to Montana and talked to Dad about joining the club here.
Making some changes. The Clifton Forge Motorcycle Club became the Tin Kings. The rest is history.”
“So your grandfather started the Tin Kings?”
“Technically. Though most give credit to Dad and Stone. And really, Stone never wanted to be the leader, so it fell to Dad.”
“He was the president?”
I nodded. “For all but the five years that the position belonged to me. Stone was his vice president, like Emmett was mine.”
Dad had told me once he and Stone hadn’t meant for the Kings to get so big.
Things had spiraled deeper than they’d ever expected.
But the garage hadn’t always made good money.
Stone worked as a mechanic too, and they’d both had families to feed.
Their brothers in the club all needed money too, so he’d made decisions, right and wrong, for the better of all the men.
To my knowledge, Dad hadn’t regretted any of it until Mom had been murdered.
And then, it was too late. He lost himself in rage and revenge.
“Where’d you get the nickname Dash?”
I loaded a plate into the dishwasher. “Mom. She called me Dash as far back as I can remember because I never stopped running. I only got Kingston when I was in big fucking trouble. As a kid, nothing was fast enough. I broke an arm racing my bike around the block when I was seven. Nick built me a soapbox go-cart when I was ten and I disabled the brakes. Shit like that all the time. All she could do about it was make me wear a helmet.”
“I didn’t realize I was sleeping with an adrenaline junkie.” She giggled. “Want another beer?”
“Depends. Am I driving home anytime soon?”
“Before I answer that, I have one more question.”
“Of course, you do.” I loaded the last of the dishes, then faced her. “Fire away.”
“What’s this thing with us?”
“Sex.” I grinned. “Really great sex.”
“Do you think we should set some, uh . . . limits?”
“Limits.” I arched an eyebrow. “Like anal?”
“No. Oh my God. You’re such a man.” She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Not sexual limits, though I do have some. I mean limits on this tryst we’re having. I’m assuming you’re not looking for anything serious.”
“Nope.”
“Okay then. Limits.”
“How about we go at it until we’re sick of each other? Then we’re done.” Though depending on those sexual limits of hers and whether the sex got hotter—if that was even possible—I wouldn’t get sick of Bryce anytime soon. “Agreed?”
“Agreed.” She slid off her stool, slowly coming my way. “You should know, watching you do the dishes is really sexy.”
My cock twitched as she came into my space, running her hands up my chest. “Maybe I’ll stick around tonight. Let you cook me breakfast. Then I’ll do your dishes again.”
“I don’t cook breakfast.”
I dropped a kiss to her mouth and ran my tongue along the seam. “I wasn’t really talking about doing more dishes.”
She smiled against my mouth. “Then I guess you can stay.”