Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Hunter
Out of sight, but never out of mind.
“ F or the record, I hate this,” William mutters as he glares at me through my iPad screen. He groans and rolls his eyes. “What happened to face-to-face meetings? Fucking technology has taken the human out of humanity.”
“You’re a dinosaur,” I say around a smirk as he puts his glasses on to stop squinting. “Since the pandemic, it’s the new way of working. We learned we aren’t bound by geographical locations, and business on the whole can be conducted from any corner of the world.” It’s the same argument we’ve been having for months as he struggles to adapt to a rapidly changing world.
He grunts as he grabs a stack of papers. “It perpetuates the ability to grow apart. Weakens connections and relationships.”
“Keeping up with the trends helps us to stay ahead of our competitors, and being stubborn about having face-to-face meetings will leave us woefully behind the curve.”
He lets loose a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t lecture me on my business.”
I hold my hands up. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Prez.”
“If we’d kept things as is, we’d still be doing drug runs for the mafia and taking gun shipments for every Tom, Dick, and Harry with a spare buck.”
That’s true. In the demise of the previous president, who was assassinated by a rival gang, William stepped up and has spent the last decade cleaning out the Desert Reapers. It was tough going for the first few years. We lost some good members, and William’s daughter was almost collateral damage as we untangled ourselves from the seedy criminal underbelly.
Now we have some very lucrative investments, made and run by myself, a hopping mechanics business onsite, and a bakery and cafe headed by William’s old lady, Cheryl. Everyone in our community contributed. We were pushing against the old ways, making sure all members of the club felt valued and satisfied with their roles. That’s how we built a network of loyal members. Times were changing, and those stuck in the past would get left behind. Not to say all antiquated traditions have been eradicated; men were still the only ones with obvious seats of power. Women weren’t allowed at church, but the club listened to their voices, considered their ideas, and took into account their wishes, hopes, and fears. Children attended the best schools in the area and received the best tutors around if they were struggling.
“How’re our investments looking?” he asks.
Pride flows through me, thankful to have William’s trust with the club’s finances. “The low-risk portfolio is slow at the minute, under bank interest rates, but we had a payoff in the high-risk investment. I withdrew at the right time and offset the loss from last month.”
“So, overall?”
I try to keep things simple. He trusts me with the lion’s share of the club’s money. He accepts we have to ride the waves, but overall, I continue to grow our money, and that is the bottom line.
“We are up by seven percent.” That might not seem like a great deal, but seven percent is about five hundred thousand dollars, and that’s only from our investment portfolio. We’re a wealthy organization.
“Excellent,” he says as he scans the documents I sent him earlier. Cheryl must have printed them. “All looking good businesswise.”
Here we go. I raise a brow and fold my arms as I lean back on the comfy lounger. He’s about to move from business to private territory, again . I think I’ll grab something at the Italian joint around the corner. They make mouth-watering lasagna. My stomach rumbles its agreement. Even bikers take holidays. All work and no play makes people cranky. Cranky people make mistakes. And enemies. It’s good business sense to take a break.
His gaze narrows. “Did you think about what we discussed?”
I shake my head in both answer and amusement at his persistence.
“I’m not marrying Rose.” In William’s mind, pairing his wild child of a daughter with his steadfast VP was a match made in heaven. He could tie me to the club forever and have someone he trusts tame his only child. But Rose is like a sister to me, and she’s not my type. Apparently, I’m hung up on mysterious brunettes with the uncanny ability to disappear like their namesake. One brunette, to be precise.
“She needs a little guidance,” he grumbles.
I shake my head as my lips tug up at the sides. “I will be the first to put whomever she chooses through the paces, but I’m not who she wants or needs.”
“That child doesn’t know what she wants.”
True. But she is twenty-three—hardly a child.
“Is there someone on the scene?”
“No.” Unfortunately…
“A man can’t reach his true potential without the support of a good partner.”
“Exactly, but not just any partner.”
He hums, letting me know he’s dropping it for now, but this conversation is far from over. “I suppose I should leave you to your relaxing. When are you due back?”
“Two weeks, but I’ll check in on Tuesday like always. My phone is on. If you need me, give me a shout, and I’ll be there.”
“Don’t forget the camping trip when you get back,” he says. “Too many bloody vacations, if you ask me.”
I snort. Club camping is a quarterly trip taken by core members and their families. It’s an easy way to get everyone to touch base. We’ve moved away from the clubhouse being a pit of old lady wannabes. That was something William was invested in, focusing on the family aspect and getting rid of practices modern women would find distasteful, including Cheryl. I didn’t blame him, and I was happy to follow a man with a moral compass.
The screen goes black. William’s not great at goodbyes, but he’s an exceptional leader. My biological family is scattered to the wind, and I’m partly to blame for not being available in their time of need. A price was paid, and I’ll never forgive myself for it. After leaving the military, I was adrift without structure, roots, or security. When I joined the Desert Reapers, I found my genuine family with them.
I pull on a clean white shirt, fasten the buttons, and fold the sleeves up. It’s too muggy for my leather jacket, and I’m not planning on going far tonight. Some good food, a little chit chat with the locals, and probably a good book. Cliche maybe, but I want the simple things out of my vacation.
I grab my phone and it rings as I’m about to shove it in my back pocket. William probably forgot something. I swipe accept without noting the name.
“Hunter?” an unexpected deep baritone rumbles. My eyebrows rise. Oh, hello.
“Fox, what can I do for you? Need a plane blown up? The wife need saving from one of her crazy rescue missions?”
“I resent that!” Honor shouts in the background.
“You saying you don’t go on crazy rescue missions?” I tease.
“Flip to video.” Her voice rings sharply in the background.
“Put some damn clothes on, woman,” Fox snaps.
“What do you call this?”
“Scraps of fabric imitating a bikini.”
“For goodness’ sake.” I snort at the woman who gives my friend a run for his money. Until her, no one dared to push back against him. There’s shuffling in the background. “There. Happy?”
“Hardly.”
The video icon appears, and I click accept. Honor’s flushed face appears, her red hair wild around her face. “For your information, my crazy rescue plans work ninety percent of the time with no hiccups.”
“Seventy percent,” Fox corrects. “The other thirty, shit goes south, and you need help.”
“Keeping you on your toes,” she says with a saucy smirk, making Fox growl.
“Is there a reason I’m getting a mid-coital call?” I ask.
“Yes. It’s about Ghost.”
The hairs on my nape rise, and my muscles tense. The one that got away. Until now…
“What happened?”
“She’s in trouble,” Honor states.
“We don’t know that,” Fox amends. “She triggered her tracking device. She’s hunting someone from her past. I didn’t pry, but she sounded shaken up.”
Ghost, shook up? The only time I’d seen that was when we almost lost Fox after he was shot. She’d garnered more nicknames in the military with her closed-off manner. Ice queen, bitch, data. According to Fox, guys made passes at her daily, but she shut them down before they’d even finished their sad old chat up lines. People don’t care enough to look beneath the surface. There’s a boiling pot of emotions she keeps locked down, one I want to spill everywhere.
“You are tracking her phone?”
“No. It’s her personal tracker.”
“I’m not following.”
“It’s an implant.”
I blink. People did that? “Inside her? Why?”
“She’s a high value asset, you know that.”
Yes, but she left a few years back. “But she’s out.”
“And she replaced it with her own version. The first I knew of it was tonight. Somehow, she linked it to my phone.”
“When we called to check in, she said to give her two hours,” Honor says as her forehead crumples. “But I have this gut feeling…”
I’m already moving, shoving clothes and items back in my bag. “How long since she called?”
“Twenty minutes,” Honor answers.
“Where is she? Texas?” That would make sense if she gave Fox and Honor her location.
“Miami,” Fox says. “And I wouldn’t ask, but we are hours away, and you are already there.”
Normally, I don’t tell people where I’m going, but the meddling ladies in the book club I frequent via Zoom, led by Fox’s grandmother, Helen, have a knack of ferreting out personal information. I also help Honor provide a haven for domestic violence survivors. She needed to know I wasn’t local, meaning they couldn’t count on me if something happened.
“She’s at a club called Cloud,” Honor says.
“I did a little digging,” Fox adds as I sprint out of the room with my bag over my shoulder.
I drop the key on the hotel desk as I pass. “Checking out early, family emergency. My card is on file. Bill me.” Then I’m out the door and heading to the parking lot.
“What did you find?” I ask as I secure my bag to the bike and shrug my jacket on.
“On the outside, it looks like an exclusive club for the rich and elite.”
My stomach knots. “And the inside?”
“A front for the biggest sex trafficking ring in the country.”
“Fuck. Drop the location to my phone.”
What were you thinking, Ghost? I already know. She’s on a mission, and it’s personal. It must be to risk her life this way. She forgets she has friends who care though, or perhaps she doesn’t realize it. The notification pings, and my gaze narrows as my heart races. “I’m fifteen minutes out.”
“Go get our girl,” Honor says with a slight wobble in her voice. “I have a terrible feeling about this.”
Only a fool ignores a woman’s instincts.
“I’ll call once I have her.” I shove my phone in my pocket, disconnecting the call so I can concentrate on making the twenty-five minute journey in fifteen. My gut twists. Honor is right; something about this feels wrong. Ominous. Ghost stays behind the scenes. She can handle herself, sure, but she excels at tracking and hacking. Something’s forced her deeper into the dark. Fate placed her in my path, weaving our destinies together.
No denying it now, little hacker. I’m coming for you.