Chapter 2 #2
“When I needed a new parts supplier, didn’t expect you to help solve my problem.” Trucker sucked and spat on the sidewalk. “We don’t always see eye to eye.”
“You don’t piss me off, Trucker, then we have no beef. And if you help me, I’ll help you.”
Trucker sniffed. “You say this guy of yours can supply quality parts for the agreed prices?”
“She can.”
“She?” Trucker’s bushy brows winged up.
Yeah, Trucker was old school, believing a woman’s rightful place was flat on her back with her legs spread. Another reason Vander didn’t want Detective Brynn Sullivan anywhere near the Wanderers.
“Yes, she. She’s good, and she can take care of herself.” Vander hoped.
Trucker grinned. “Plus, she has San Francisco’s biggest motherfucker at her back.”
Vander didn’t respond, just maintained eye contact until Trucker’s muddy-brown gaze skittered away.
There was a throaty roar of an engine. Vander turned his head, and he and Trucker watched a sleek, gleaming Triumph zip down the street.
There was a slim, helmeted rider on top of it.
The bike pulled up in the driveway of the garage, right in front of them. Vander’s chest locked.
“Well, fuck me,” Trucker said.
The bike’s rider wore a tiny pair of denim shorts, showing off a lot of sleek leg. Where the hell had she been hiding those long legs?
She pulled the black helmet off and caramel-brown hair fell everywhere.
Brynn shot him a smug grin. Next, she pulled on her well-worn San Jose Sharks hockey cap, and tugged her hair out the hole at the back.
Vander blinked. Her tiny, checked shirt had enough buttons open to show more than a hint of cleavage. She also had tattoos running up her left arm in an explosion of color that hadn’t been there yesterday—it looked like a tangle of rose vines. He knew they were fake, but they looked real.
She swung those long legs over the bike to stand. She was wearing a pair of cowboy boots.
“Howdy, boys.”
Her accent was subtly different. Not as polished and clipped as when he’d first met her.
“Well, hello there,” Trucker drawled.
Vander turned to stare at the man.
When Trucker glanced his way, his smile slipped and he cleared his throat.
“Hey, V.” Brynn winked at him, then she turned to Trucker. “You must be the president of the Iron Wanderers.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Bry Davis.”
“Trucker.” He shook her hand. “What’s Bry short for, beautiful?”
Her smile turned a little mean. “None of your business. Now, how about we talk parts?” She stepped up to the open door of the garage and scanned inside. “Looks like you’ve got a decent setup.” She crossed her arms. “I will warn you, my parts are in demand.”
“I bet.” Trucker eyed her legs.
Vander swiveled. One more fucking comment, and he was dragging her long legs out of there.
Trucker’s mouth firmed. “Right. Let’s talk business.”
The biker led Brynn inside, leaving Vander to follow behind.
He’d been in the clubhouse a few times, and usually found it a mass of empty beer bottles and other detritus, but it looked like the Wanderers took the custom-bike business more seriously.
The garage was well organized, with tools all stacked neatly in place.
It was their legitimate business, while behind-the-scenes, they ran the illegal fight nights and dealt drugs.
“So, we need a steady supply of parts.” Trucker rambled on.
Brynn paused every now and then, and asked some questions. She sure as hell sounded like she knew what she was talking about.
Vander found himself equal parts intrigued and annoyed. If she hadn’t known her stuff, he could’ve walked her out of there and sent her back safely to police headquarters.
Instead, she had Trucker eating out of the palm of her hand. A few times, the biker even laughed.
As she answered questions, Vander saw she was grudgingly gaining the biker’s respect.
As Brynn leaned over to study a half-built bike, Vander’s gaze dropped.
Fuck . Those damn legs were on display and her tiny denim shorts hugged her sweet ass.
She straightened and Vander scowled.
He had zero business noticing Brynn’s—Detective Sullivan’s—assets. She was Hunt’s cousin. And a cop.
Plus she was trouble. Smart, opinionated women were always trouble. He should know—he had one for a sister.
He kept his life uncomplicated and trouble-free. If he felt like a fuck, he fucked, and that was it. He ensured his partner for the night enjoyed herself, and he left.
“You run a tight ship, Trucker,” Brynn said.
“Yeah, darlin’. We like to have a good time, but we take care of business, too.”
Brynn’s smile was wide and sassy. “I’ve heard that about bikers. How many in your club?”
Jeez, she was flirting and pumping Trucker for information.
Okay, Vander was more than a little turned on, and it really annoyed the hell out of him.
“I can get your parts.” As Brynn turned, her brown ponytail bobbed. She rested her hands on her hips, and that made the ink on her left arm stick out. It looked so real. “For the right price.”
Vander listened to them haggle. Unsurprisingly, she was good at it.
“So, do we have a deal?” she asked Trucker.
“We do, darlin’.” Trucker held out a beefy hand.
The pair shook.
“Thanks for hooking me up, V.” She shot Vander a smile.
He grunted.
“He’s always so chatty,” she said to Trucker.
The biker made a choked sound, then cleared his throat. “Look, we’re having a little party tonight at the clubhouse. It’s Friday night and we’ve got a few new members, so it’s a bit of a welcome party. There’ll be drinks and food, and some fights in our ring.”
Vander stiffened, but Brynn smiled.
“Sounds fun,” she said.
“Come, and I’ll introduce you around.”
“Thanks, Trucker.”
The biker’s grin dimmed. “You’re welcome, too, Norcross.”
Vander lifted his chin. He’d been invited before, but he’d never come.
“I’ll walk you out,” Trucker said.
Vander took Brynn’s elbow. “I’ve got it from here.”
She smiled at the biker. “See you tonight.”
As they stepped outside, and out of view of Trucker, she tried to pull her elbow free, but Vander held tight. Time for a little conversation.