Chapter 9
Ryker
Eli works extremely well and within three days, we know almost everything about the Black Thorns.
Bullshit.
We know as much as we can find, but we’re aware that it’s just the top layer of shit that’s hiding more underneath.
Except I don’t really care. I care about getting to Shadow. I want—I need to know who she is. And I need to find her.
On the one hand, it excites me that she keeps slipping through my fingers; on the flip side, my impatient fingers want her within reach already. Inside me, the hunter’s instinct clashes with the restless demon who wants to play.
Obsessive thoughts fill my head in every free moment. Before bed, after sleep, during work, even in the shower. She’s in them constantly. And when my dick finds itself in my fist, she’s nearly real.
Someday, she’ll pay for every single time I have to pleasure myself.
Focus, you asshole.
Theo parks his car in a shady neighborhood of Los Angeles. It’s the perfect spot for a club like this; I couldn’t have chosen a better one myself.
The Escalade stands out among the other parked cars like a diamond among a bunch of plastic beads. Rusty, dented, and in terrible condition.
A row of motorcycles stands in front of the club’s pub. Black and silver parts glisten in the sun, also standing out. This isn’t unusual, as almost every biker cares for their machine like a baby.
Homeless people and residents walk past them, lowering their gaze, and this alone shows the fear or respect instilled by the members of this organization.
Above the pub hangs a sign with the club’s name painted in black. Black thorns like a spiked fence mark the path left behind by the motorcycles. Nothing special. And yet, it says a lot.
When we get out, my gaze wanders around. Not seeing anything suspicious, I head for the pub.
Inside, it’s exactly as you would expect. It reeks of cheap beer and cigarettes. There’s also a faint sweet smell of weed. A song by Five Finger Death Punch is playing in the background.
At first, no one pays any attention to us, even though we fit in here like worn-out sneakers on a fashion runway. After a while, one of the sturdy bulls pats another on the shoulder, pointing at us with his head. Another gets up from the table, and the next one whistles.
There are about thirty people in the pub, not counting the girls who are playing the slot machines. Glancing around, I’m glad we came here armed to the teeth. If anything happens, a bloody slaughter is always welcome.
Deep inside, adrenaline rises, my fingers itch, and my veins throb faster.
The lust for blood fuels my longing.
My brothers are by my side, as always. As one, we move toward the bartender working behind the counter.
“What can I get you, ladies?” he booms, and someone in the background cackles.
“Alexander Connelly. I have business with him,” I say, sizing him up.
“Alexander Connelly,” he sneers. “Everyone has business of his own. You think you can just walk in off the street and have a chat?”
“Either point him out or tell him that Ryker Elliot would like to talk.”
At my name, the bartender scratches his bald head, eyeing me up and down, and snorts with displeasure. “Wait here.”
I’m not going anywhere until we talk, but that’s beside the point.
“For you, Ross,” adds the bartender, placing a glass of beer in front of the guy and leaving the counter. He disappears into the crowd.
The conversations that died down a moment ago resume, but I can still feel the regulars’ eyes on me. We’re on their territory, and we’re strangers. They have no intention of welcoming us, but at least they aren’t attacking us. Yet.
After a few minutes, a group of six guys dressed in black T-shirts and black jeans comes up to us.
My brothers and I turn toward them, assessing the situation. Nothing special, but it looks like we’re in for some fun.
They stop a few steps away. A dark-haired guy with an impressive physique steps forward. Looking down at us, he says, “I’m Alexander. You found me. What’s up?”
Mockery.
I look at Theo, then at Eli. My own thoughts are reflected in their eyes.
I turn my gaze back to the brown-haired guy. “No, you’re not. Don’t waste our time. We’re here to talk in peace, but don’t treat us like morons. We just want to talk.”
“About what?”
“Sorry, buddy, but don’t get involved in big boys’ business,” I provoke him. I hope his restlessness will be satisfied with fists.
The guy rushes toward me. He’s probably already imagining my bloody face under his boot.
Not so fast, sweetheart.
The energy flows through my fingers, begging me to grab the knife. I want to do it but force myself to stay calm. He should make the first move.
This guy stands almost nose to nose with me, too close for my taste.
From the corner of my eye, I see some guys getting up from their chairs, hoping for either a good show or active participation.
The atmosphere thickens, and you can feel the testosterone in the air.
My patience melts. Let’s forget about the first move. I’m about to punch him in the face when someone shouts, “Enough!”
The brown-haired guy takes a step back and lowers his head in respect.
Bingo!
I turn toward the voice and finally spot the one we came here for.
Alexander is about my height. His blond hair is cropped short, with a few longer strands falling over his forehead. He doesn’t have an impressive build, but I’m sure he can throw a punch.
Dressed in dark jeans and a plain white T-shirt, he stands out in the crowd.
“You’re Alexander Connelly,” I state.
“I am,” he confirms with a nod. “And you?”
“Ryker Elliot.”
“What does the famous son of the Pact president want from me?”
It always amazes me when word of the Pact precedes me. It’s true that the Pact hasn’t been a well-kept secret for very long, but some people still treat it like a silly legend or, at best, a secret society.
“I didn’t come here for the applause of my family connections. I want to talk.” My tone is harsher than I intended. What can I do? Just a brief mention of my father is enough to make my blood boil.
“You want to talk. So why should I waste my time on you?”
I scan the room. This is a touchy subject. I don’t need prying ears or random people eavesdropping. “Let’s talk in private.”
Alexander sighs but gives in to my will.
He’ll live longer that way.
“Follow me,” he says, turning on his heel.
We follow him into the back of the pub, but not to the office as I’d expected. He chooses the most secluded private booth. As we pass, he simply glances at the guys sitting in the nearest booths, and they simply goes away, giving us our privacy.
Alexander sits down at one end, and I sit across from him. Eli and Theo stand nearby, leaving us alone.
“I’d offer you a beer, but they only serve piss here. It won’t suit you, knowing your background,” he mocks, not taking his eyes off me. He’s judging me, and I’m not even shocked.
“That’s the second time you’ve insinuated that my background makes me superior.
Let’s get one thing straight, Alexander.
You know shit about me, and that’s not likely to change in the future, but contrary to your belief, I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and my life is a long way from a fucking fairy tale, so maybe we should just skip the sweet talk. ”
“It’s Alex, not Alexander. And fair enough. Why did you come here, Ryker?”
His phone vibrates on the table. He grabs it so quickly that I don’t have time to see who’s calling, turns it off and puts it screen down back on the table.
Interesting.
“Shadow.” I throw out her nickname and watch for the slightest reaction. Much to my dissatisfaction, he remains unmoved.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t insult my intelligence, Alex. I’m not a dog; I don’t work for the FBI. But I know you’re the one who gives Shadow her assignments. I want to know who she is.”
Alex laughs so hard he throws his head back. Once he calms down, his eyes narrow. “Everyone would like to know who he is. What makes you think I know?”
“It doesn’t really matter right now. Shadow is a woman, not a man. I know you give her jobs, and I need to find her.”
“Let’s say, hypothetically, that I know who Shadow is. Shadow is gold. Why would I tell anyone who that gold is?”
I don’t know exactly what Connelly might want. If I’d known, I would have come here prepared to give it to him. Meanwhile, I’m at his mercy and playing blind. “What do you want, Alex? Do you want a new motorcycle? Pick a color and it’s yours.”
“Now don’t insult me, Ryker.” He presses his lips together with annoyance. “If I wanted a new motorcycle, I’d make one phone call.”
“Name your price. Money?”
“Why would I need more money? I have money.”
“But if you had more money, just hypothetically speaking, of course, you could expand. It’s not impossible to expand the Black Thorns’ business and increase their fame not only as the most important club on the West Coast but also in other parts of the country.
But that’s very, very expensive,” I add smugly.
Alex shakes his head. He thinks for a moment, staring at the table separating us.
Literally drifts off for a moment, then speaks quietly, only to grimace afterward, as if he had no intention of saying it out loud.
“You rich people and your narrow perspective. There are some things money can’t buy. Ever.”
The phone vibrates again. This time, he doesn’t even look at it but immediately rejects the call.
“What do you want from Shadow? Do you want her to work for you?”
“I want to know who she is and where I can find her.”
“We don’t know each other, Ryker, and you think I’m going to hand her over to you?” He laughs out loud again. “There’s no way I’d do that.”
“I’m asking nicely for now, but know that I’ll do whatever it takes to talk to her face to face.”
He frowns, and the muscle in his jaw twitches. He’s losing patience. “And who the fuck are you to say things like that to me?”