Chapter Three
~ Rooster ~
I stared at the empty doorway where Liam had disappeared, his escape so quick it was almost supernatural. The kid moved like water—there one moment, gone the next. I hadn't even had time to process what was happening before he'd slipped past me with the agility of the lynx I suspected he might be.
"That went well," I muttered, turning back to face Butch and Bear.
Butch ran a hand through his beard, his expression caught between irritation and admiration. "Fast little shit, isn't he?"
"Told you he was skittish," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "That was definitely the kid I've been feeding. Been leaving food out for him for weeks now."
"And you didn't think to mention that we had a stray shifter camping on our property?" Butch's tone wasn't accusatory so much as tired. We'd been through this conversation before.
I shrugged. "Didn't seem worth bothering you about. Kid was just hungry."
Bear, still filling the doorway like a human mountain, grunted. "Not just hungry. Smart enough to catch that asshole trying to hack our system. Brave enough to take him down, too."
I nodded toward the window. "Speaking of which, what are we doing with our gift-wrapped thief?"
Butch's expression hardened. "Bear, take him to the basement. Get what information you can. I want to know who sent him and what exactly he was after."
Bear's smile wasn't pleasant. "With pleasure, boss." He turned and lumbered back down the hall, his heavy footsteps fading as he descended the stairs.
The basement wasn't a place anyone wanted to visit uninvited. We weren't monsters, but we weren't saints either. The club had enemies, and sometimes gathering intelligence required methods that wouldn't win us any humanitarian awards.
Butch walked around his desk and picked up the broken motorcycle statue that Liam had left there. It was a custom piece that Gearhead had made for him last Christmas—a silver replica of his first bike. The front wheel now lay detached beside it.
"Kid tried to pay for breaking it," I said, pointing to the sad little pile of coins and the half-eaten lollipop still sitting on the desk. "That's everything he had."
Butch's face softened slightly. "Jesus." He set the statue down carefully. "You thinking what I'm thinking about this timing?"
"You mean how someone tries to hack our system right when we're all supposed to be out on a run?" I asked. "Yeah, seems a bit convenient."
"Too convenient." Butch reached for the USB device I'd placed on his desk—the one Liam had taken from the intruder. "Someone's watching us. Knew our schedule. If it weren't for your stray lynx, they might have gotten whatever they were after."
I hadn't considered that angle. "You think someone's targeting us specifically?"
"Feels like it. First the issue Fang and his bastard kid, then that thing with Percy and that fox skulk, then the trouble with the Dough Boys last month, now this.
" He sighed heavily, the weight of leadership evident in the new lines around his eyes.
"I want security doubled. No one goes anywhere alone for the next few days, not even to take a piss. "
"You got it," I agreed. The club came first—always had, always would. We were family, and family protected each other.
Butch picked up the lollipop, turning it thoughtfully between his fingers. "This Liam kid. You said he's been around for months?"
"Since summer, I think. Started noticing food missing from the dumpster, then figured it was easier to just leave stuff out for him.
Less mess that way." I didn't mention how watching the skinny kid devour the food I left had become something of a private ritual for me—how I'd started noticing his preferences, leaving more of what disappeared completely and less of what he seemed to avoid.
"And he just happened to be in the right place at the right time to stop our break-in?"
I considered this. "He seems to watch the place. Probably has for a while."
"Think he's connected to whoever sent our friend outside?"
That hadn't occurred to me. "Doesn't seem likely. Why catch the guy if they're working together?"
Butch nodded, seemingly satisfied with that logic. "See if you can learn more about him. If he's in a situation like Bug's, I'd like to help him."
The mention of Bug reminded me of how far the former street kid had come since Bear had found him. From living in alleys and abandoned buildings to being the Sergeant-at-Arms's mate and a valued member of our strange family.
Maybe Liam could find something similar here.
"Might be tough," I admitted. "Kid doesn't talk much. Wrote his name down, but that's about it. Seems almost mute."
"But he understands everything," Butch noted. "I saw his eyes. Nothing wrong with his intelligence."
"No," I agreed. "Nothing wrong there at all. Just scared, I think. And used to being alone."
Butch returned to his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. "Well, whatever his story, he did us a solid today. Make sure he gets whatever he wants if he comes back around."
"Already planned on it."
"And Rooster?" Butch fixed me with his penetrating stare. "Keep me in the loop this time."
I nodded, properly chastised. "Will do, boss."
I turned to leave, my mind already shifting to dinner preparations. The guys would be hungry after all the excitement, and cooking always helped me think.
"Oh, almost forgot," I said, pausing at the doorway. "Sammy and Joey are coming back tomorrow. Percy wants to make them a welcome cake." The young fox shifters had been staying with a neighboring friendly MC while we dealt with some club business, but they were finally returning home.
"Good." Butch's expression lightened slightly. "Those boys have been through enough. A cake sounds perfect."
I nodded and headed toward my kitchen, the one place in this chaotic world where everything made perfect sense to me. As I walked, I wondered if Liam would return tonight for food, or if our encounter had scared him off for good.
Something deep inside me hoped it was the former. The kid intrigued me in a way I couldn't quite explain—and wasn't ready to examine too closely.
I moved around my kitchen with practiced efficiency, slicing tomatoes, lettuce, and onions for the sandwich platter.
After the excitement with the intruder, I'd opted for something simple—cold cuts, fresh bread, and a batch of my potato salad that the guys always demolished within minutes.
Nothing fancy, just filling comfort food that would satisfy hungry bikers and hopefully coax a skittish lynx shifter back to our doorstep.
The last few hours had been a whirlwind of activity.
Bear had taken our uninvited guest to the basement for questioning.
Butch was holed up in his office making calls about enhanced security.
The rest of the guys were either on patrol around the property or checking our surveillance systems for weaknesses.
Nobody would have time for a complicated meal tonight.
I arranged thick slices of roast beef, ham, and turkey on a platter, surrounded by Swiss, cheddar, and provolone cheese. Next came the condiments—mayo, mustard, horseradish spread that Bear loved despite the way it made his eyes water. A basket of freshly baked bread completed the spread.
The potato salad was my mother's recipe—red potatoes, hard-boiled eggs, celery, onions, and a dressing made with mayo, mustard, and a secret blend of spices I'd never share with anyone. Not even under torture.
As I set everything up on the serving table, I prepared two separate plates. One for myself—a massive sandwich with all the fixings and a generous portion of potato salad. The second plate was smaller, with just half a sandwich and a side of potato salad. For Liam, if he showed up.
I had a feeling he would. The kid had been scared off earlier, but hunger was a powerful motivator. I'd learned that watching him these past few months. He never missed more than one meal before his hunger drove him back to our picnic table.
I rang the dinner bell—an actual brass bell hanging by the kitchen door that I'd insisted on installing after getting tired of shouting for the guys. Within minutes, they started filtering in, grabbing plates and building sandwiches with the focused intensity of men who'd had a long day.
Gunner nodded his thanks as he piled roast beef high on rye bread. "Appreciate it, Rooster. Simple's good tonight."
"Everything quiet outside?" I asked, picking up my two prepared plates.
"So far," he replied, his eyes shifting to the second plate in my hands. "That for our little vigilante?"
"If he decides to come back," I said with a shrug that probably didn't fool anyone. I wasn't sure why I cared so much whether the kid returned, but I did.
I slipped out the back door while the others were still serving themselves.
The evening air had cooled considerably since afternoon, carrying the crisp scent of approaching autumn.
Soon Montana's brutal winter would arrive, and I couldn't imagine how a skinny kid like Liam would survive without proper shelter.
I set both plates on the picnic table and took a seat at one end, making sure to leave plenty of space. Then I waited, pretending to be entirely focused on my food.
Five minutes passed. Ten. I ate slowly, occasionally glancing toward the bushes near Gearhead's workshop where I'd first spotted Liam earlier today. The area remained still, but I had the distinct feeling I was being watched.
I was nearly finished with my sandwich when the bushes rustled slightly—too deliberately to be wind. Slowly, cautiously, a hooded figure emerged, golden eyes reflecting the security lights as they assessed the situation.
I kept eating, not looking directly at him. Like approaching a stray cat—let them come to you.