Chapter 12
The porch light cast a warm glow as Sebastian strapped on his helmet. Yeats sat perched on his Harley, a hulking black machine with a glint of chrome in the light. He tossed a jacket toward Sebastian. The familiar weight of the leather grounded him.
“Where did you get this?” Sebastian’s thumbs brushed against the logo of the club Yeats ran with, much like the one Sebastian missed back in Johnstown. The Soldiers of Christ was another chapter of the Christian Motorcycle Association.
“Don’t get your panties in a wad. It’s a loaner.” Yeats lifted his chin. “Heard you tangled with some biker crew down south,” Yeats said with a mischievous grin.
A wry smile tugged at Sebastian’s lips. “South, huh?”
Yeats ran a hand through his hair, the movement revealing the scar behind his ear. “I looked at a map. Was I wrong?”
Sebastian zipped up his worn leather jacket, the familiar coolness a grounding sensation after a long day in the sun.
“Alright, alright,” he said, a playful jab barely masking the deeper memory it stirred.
“Just promise you’re not trying to recruit me again.
Told you, clubs are a closed chapter for me. ”
Yeats gaze lingered on Sebastian for a beat, the lack of his friend’s usual affable grin reaching his eyes. Sebastian knew the haunted look in those eyes all too well.
“Listen,” Yeats said, forward on the seat of his Harley, “where we are headed, that patch might actually be useful. Wear it, don’t wear it, it doesn’t matter. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Sebastian wrestled with the tug of exhaustion battling within him. “Where are we going?” he asked, picturing the comfort of the couch in Yeats’ living room instead of a night out.
“Ghost Rider Tavern,” Yeats announced, a hint of a smirk tugging at his beard. “Guy I know said an old friend returned to town.”
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “And this old friend wouldn’t be me, would it?”
Yeats chuckled. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Seb.”
Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Your intel source is a Ghost Rider and has information related to Caitlyn, doesn’t he?”
“That’s why you should come.” Yeats turned the key, and the Harley rumbled to life.
Apprehension cinched around Sebastian’s gut.
“A biker bar?” he muttered, the image of flashing lights and sirens pulling at the edges of his memory.
The choked cry of a woman echoed in his head—Audra.
He’d been undercover, infiltrated a similar club, and brought down their whole chop shop operation.
But it went sideways, and Audra ended up caught in the crossfire.
Sebastian’s leather boots crunched on the gravel as he walked to his bike. He cautiously swung his leg over the seat.
“Tavern,” Yeats corrected him with a roll of his eyes. “Besides, wings are half-price tonight.”
“It’s not my scene anymore.” Sebastian couldn’t help thinking of the biker woman with the green hair, watching from the sidelines as Caitlyn took the safety course at the range.
Despite the looks she got from some, there was not a single complaint.
A wave of nausea washed over him—the image of Caitlyn waiting patiently, forever loyal, like the woman with green hair.
Like Audra, until Pike tried to harm her and dispose of her newborn in a dumpster where one of Sebastian’s Thunder Valley brothers found the baby alive.
He took a deep breath and started his Rebel while the memory of her pleading for help etched into his soul. But instead of Audra’s face envisioned in his mind, Caitlyn visualized there instead.
For the first time in a week, they wouldn’t have another slice of cardboard-like pizza from the Italian place where Caitlyn and Yeats’ new girlfriend worked.
He’d been living off takeout for the past few weeks, all because Yeats was too lazy to stock the kitchen.
Whenever Sebastian went grocery shopping, Yeats would complain about the “pointless” endeavor.
It was like living with a teenager on summer break as they spent their days playing video games.
Caitlyn’s son had a real knack for it. He constantly kicked Sebastian’s butt in Mad Dash 12.
Being an undercover cop didn’t lend itself to having a family of his own, and seeing how hard Caitlyn was trying to take care of her son and father only reinforced that decision.
She’d made it clear she didn’t want him coming around her house.
The last two weekends, Sebastian stepped off the range to allow Caitlyn to teach when they had fewer students than needed for two coaches.
But he stayed to ensure no one gave her a hard time on the range.
Other than the guy who talked way too much for Sebastian’s liking, the courses ran smoothly.
“I told you I’m done with this kind of life,” Sebastian shouted over the revving of Yeats’ motorcycle.
“Sure, you are,” Yeats scoffed. “The big bad Beast still has his motorcycle and his cut.”
“Don’t call me that!” Sebastian growled, kicking his motorcycle stand up and preparing to ride after Yeats.
The arrogant ex-ranger’s lips quirked into a half-smile, and his eyes betrayed a hint of amusement despite the tension that hung in the air. He gave a nonchalant shrug and called, “So, have you tried Zelda’s parmesan garlic wings? They’re to die for.”
“Are you seriously trying to change the subject?”
“I need your help on this one,” Yeats said. Another deep rumble filled the air from Yeats’ Harley. “You haven’t been off your couch all week playing those video games like a preadolescent kid.”
Ignoring Yeats’ jab, Sebastian fired up his own machine and gave into curiosity about what lay beyond the double doors of the tavern. “It depends on the game,” he countered, gunning the engine louder than Yeats’.
“Come on, I could go for some wings, at least get something from it even if we don’t get any info. And besides, I figured you’d want to meet Cat’s brother Casper.”
“Casper?”
Without another word, Yeats revved up his motorcycle and drove off.
As they arrived at the entrance of the Ghost Riders’ Tavern, Sebastian swore under his breath.
It was a massive two-story building with a wraparound porch and stairs curving up to the second-story balcony overlooking the bar and dance floor.
An ominous headless-horseman figure hung above the door, and the porch, painted in faded blue and white, had Harleys scattered around it.
Thumping music echoed through the night air from within its walls.
They parked off to the side of the building with other lines of motorcycles.
“You said something about Cat’s brother.” Sebastian shoved his motorcycle key in his pocket.
“Antonio, but his road name is Casper. He’s Caitlyn’s brother. She has an older sister who got married after their mother passed.”
Sebastian forced a smile, the information swirling in his mind. Cat’s brother was a Ghost Rider. She never mentioned it. Why wasn’t he surprised by it?
Yeats’ playful jab barely registered. “Good to know,” Sebastian finally said, his voice gruff. His mind raced to piece together the fragments he knew about Caitlyn.
“You can’t tell me you weren’t just a little curious.”
“I thought you warned me not to get involved.” Sebastian glanced around, not sure coming here was a good idea.
“Attached. Rumor has it her old man might be back. That’s why we need to go see the Ghost Riders.”
“Instead of asking Caitlyn?” What if she found out about them making inquiries, and it spooked her more?
The first time he had gone undercover was partly because of the thrill of protecting people and keeping justice alive.
Sharing information without permission might get him in serious trouble with Caitlyn.
If Caitlyn felt like Sebastian and Yeats were prying into her personal business and didn’t respect her boundaries, it could make it difficult for her to trust him in the future.
Not that he deserved her trust, since he couldn’t offer his own.
“Keep your cool and follow my lead, yeah?” Yeats nudged Sebastian through the saloon doors, a low murmur rippling through the bar as they entered.
The air hung thick with the smell of sizzling burgers, stale beer, and a faint undercurrent of something sharp and metallic—a scent bringing unwelcome recognition through Sebastian.
The dim interior was a kaleidoscope of worn leather and chrome.
Patrons, a mix of weathered faces and young bucks, crowded around battered wooden tables, their backs adorned with colors that spoke of loyalty and brotherhood.
The occasional flash of ink peeked from beneath their t-shirts.
It was a scene ripped straight out of his life with the Sharks he tried to keep buried.
A knot of tension tightened in Sebastian’s stomach as he scanned the room.
Every rumble of conversation felt like a scrutinizing gaze, every glance a potential threat.
In the back corner, a lone pool table held court.
A gaggle of men gathered around it, their laughter punctuated by the sharp crack of breaking cues.
But Sebastian’s focus snagged on two figures at the bar.
Yeats squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.
“Easy there, brother. We’re neutral, and they respect that here.
Nobody’s looking for trouble.” He steered Sebastian toward the bar, but Sebastian couldn’t tear his eyes away from the men Yeats approached.
A wave of fury washed over Sebastian. These were the men who harassed Caitlyn on the range that first day he worked with her.
Blue, with a red-and-blue bandana tied around his head.
Grover, his eyes hard and calculating, a constant twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Blue, Grover,” Yeats greeted them, clapping each on the back. “You remember Daniel, Cat’s partner on the range?”