Chapter 8 Freya
EIGHT
FREYA
He knew more than he was letting on. I knew it.
For the first few seconds he looked at the picture, I saw him work to set his face right.
Which meant his reaction wasn’t as sincere as it should have been.
And this group he was part of? I knew better than that.
The leather jacket. The motorcycle. The illegal firearms he called in before planting them on Rhett.
This guy was part of a local biker gang in San Diego.
Was my half-sister somehow part of them too?
I didn’t know why he wasn’t telling me anything.
I didn’t know why he was playing dumb. But sticking around with him for as long as I could would lead me to her.
I was sure of it. He slid her picture back to me, and I picked it up, placing it back into my purse.
The two of us went back to eating, but the air between us had changed.
It was no longer friendly, and he was no longer protective.
The tension was awkward, which did nothing but fuel the theory that he knew this girl somehow.
My half-sister.
If he knew something—anything—I had to keep him talking.
Maybe if I asked the right questions, he would drop some information I could use.
Or maybe, I could use this night to somehow convince him to tell me at least who my sister was.
Hell, I’d settle for nothing other than her name.
I didn’t need someone to show me where she lived.
Where she hung out. Who she was with or married to or anything like that.
My mind spiraled down a deep hole as I continued eating.
Did my sister have a family? Kids? Did I have half-nieces and nephews running around somewhere? What kind of ice cream did she like? Was she self-conscious about her size like me? Or was she confident in the body she had, like my mother?
I bet she’s like my mother.
Excuse me. Our mother.
“I’m sorry I can’t help you more,” Bronx said.
I shrugged. “I mean, you’ve helped enough. You said you’d talk to your friends or whatever. That’s more than I got from Rhett tonight.”
“Rhett?”
I snickered. “The guy from the pavement.”
“Ah, the douchenozzle.”
I giggled. “Yes. The douchnozzle. And if there’s any way for you to convince them to help, I’d be forever in your debt.”
“They’re a bunch of agreeable people. Usually. I’m sure there’s something we can all do to help. Just gotta speak with them first.”
My eyes danced around his leather jacket.
Bronx bent down to take a bite of his burger, and I saw the top stitching of what looked to be a cut on the back.
A logo of some sort. Only more proof of my theory.
I buried my grin as I grabbed my milkshake, slowly nursing it.
I watched the tatted man eat as grease and ketchup dripped down his chin.
His eyes kept changing colors in the light above our heads, and I was mesmerized by them.
Was that how people felt when they looked into my eyes? Because people always complimented me on my eye color.
You could tell her about your father. Maybe that would get him to talk.
It was an apt suggestion. My father was the president of the Celtic Riders back home in Yuma, Arizona.
And they were well-known throughout the nation.
They were one of the oldest crews to ever form, and their charity work spanned multiple states on the West Coast. To be honest, I think that’s how they got the police to look the other way with shadier things I was almost certain my father was wrapped up in.
Because they always donated a great deal of money to the police departments around them as well as the women’s shelters, animal shelters, and homeless shelters.
“Did you hear me?”
Bronx’s voice ripped me from my trance.
“What was that?” I asked.
He chuckled. “The milkshake that good?”
Sure. Why not?
“It’s incredible, yes. Sorry,” I said, giggling.
He grinned. “Trust me, I get it. No need to apologize. I’m just glad to see you smiling instead of shaking like you were.”
“I’m glad for it, too. Probably more than you are.”
He smiled. “I bet.”
Oh, his smile was gorgeous. It lent a boyish quality to his rougher features. Like the tattoos I knew he was covered in underneath all those clothes.
The police came and went. Rhett was dragged away and the block we were on fell silent.
Bronx and I didn’t talk much. I honestly didn’t know what to say.
The logical part of me knew I needed to keep him talking.
But the emotional part of me was too invested in what I could simply see on his person.
Like the small scar ripping through his left eyebrow or the way his left eye didn’t open quite as much as his right.
I finished my food before Bronx, though I left a few fries on the plate.
And when he pointed to them, I slid the plate toward him so he could finish off the rest of the food.
“I can never let their food to go waste,” he said, his mouth full.
Bronx was endearing in an odd sort of way.
And it had nothing to do with the fact that he had saved my ass from a very different fate a couple hours ago.
I finished off my milkshake and used a spoon to dig out the cherries at the bottom.
My eyes fell out the window of the diner, looking right out toward the horizon.
I couldn’t see the ocean from where we sat, but I could smell it.
Hear it, if I closed my eyes and focused.
I’d love to live near the ocean at some point in time.
“Ready to head back to your car?” Bronx asked.
My eyes whipped open and I nodded. He leaned up and pulled his wallet out and tossed some bills onto the table.
All of them twenties. All of them folded up nice and proper.
I furrowed my brow as he inched his wallet back into his pocket.
He slid out of the booth and came around to me, holding out his hand.
I looked up at him and found a cheeky-as-hell grin on his face.
One that lended a mischievous sight to his eyes.
I should have been nervous. But I wasn’t.
I slipped my hand into his and he led me out of the diner.
The waitstaff playfully cat-called him as he walked out, and he blew kisses to the girls that giggled.
I shook my head as a smile crossed my face.
A ladies’ man, I should have known. Hard to get around with that auburn hair of his and those color-changing eyes.
For all I knew, we were related. Since I, too, had auburn hair and color-changing eyes.
Holy shit, could we actually be related?
His hand gripped mine tightly as we jogged back across the deserted road.
No need to jog, really. But with his long legs already jogging, I had to practically run on my stout stumps to keep up with him.
We touched down onto the sidewalk on the other side of the road and slowly strode to my car with the stars overhead, the darkness thick around us, and the sounds of the ocean softly ebbing against my ears.
I should have spent the extra money to find a hotel room with an ocean view.
“Do you always wear a leather jacket in the summertime?” I asked.
Bronx chuckled. “Part of my style, I guess.”
I nodded. “Is that a logo on the back?”
“It is.”
“Can I see what it says?”
We got to my car, and he released my hand.
He turned around and showcased his leather cut proudly.
Which made me smile. “The Lost Boys.” I committed that to memory.
I could do some research of my own once I got back to my hotel room.
I might have been naive and possibly stupid, but I wasn’t an idiot.
I’d read his reaction right. He knew who my sister was, and he was part of a crew that could help me find her.
If they didn’t already know her in the first damn place.
“That’s a nice leather cut,” I said.
I saw his shoulders tense as he slowly turned around.
“Leather cut?” Bronx asked.
I nodded softly. “Mhm. The stitching looks new. Did you have it repaired? Or are you new to the club?”
His eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
My eyebrows rose. “There’s no need to go on the defense. I’m just familiar with them is all.”
“How?”
“I’ve been around biker gangs for a while. Practically my whole life.”
“Shit,” he hissed.
“What?” I asked.
“Don’t tell me you belong to someone already. The last thing I need is to piss off someone from another damn crew.”
I didn’t know what that meant, but I was on a track I didn’t want to get off.
“Wait, what? No! No, I don’t have a boyfriend,” I said, laughing.
“Then how the hell are you familiar with them?” Bronx asked.
I sighed. “Because my father is the president of one.”
“The president.”
“Yes.”
“Of a crew,” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
He snickered. “And what crew would your father be the president of?”
I grinned. “If I tell you, will you tell me what you actually know about my sister?”
There was a long, silent pause on his end before Bronx cleared his throat.
“What crew is your father part of?” he asked.