Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
V ander finished eating his very excellent grilled sole with capers, and set his knife and fork down.
His gaze swung to the Bay Bridge and beyond to Oakland. Was Brynn back at the Wanderers clubhouse? His gut cramped in a way that it hadn’t since his first Ghost Ops mission.
“I can’t thank you enough, Vander. Ace’s work with my system security team was top-notch.”
Oliver was a trim, sixty-two-year-old businessman. His mostly gray hair topped a broad, handsome face. He wore a Rolex on his wrist, and a pressed shirt tucked into his tailored pants.
He looked exactly like what he was—a wealthy, successful businessman who built his company, Binary Tech, from the ground up.
“It’s always a pleasure to help you, Oliver.” Vander gave the man a faint smile. “Norcross Security is always happy to work with you.”
“And send me a big bill,” Oliver said good-naturedly.
“That, too.” Vander looked out the window again. Was Brynn okay?
Oliver laughed, then his face turned serious. “And I appreciate your personal help with the other matter, as well.”
That more delicate matter was a claim by a twenty-five-year-old man that he was Oliver’s abandoned love child, and therefore entitled to his millions.
Vander had done some digging. The young man was born and raised in Iowa to farmer parents.
It turned out he’d been hired by Oliver’s bitter ex-wife to cause him grief.
Oliver was now—happily—married to wife number three.
Wife one had been a childhood sweetheart, and the mother of his adult children.
She’d died of cancer a decade ago. Wife number two had been what Oliver liked to call his ill-advised midlife crisis.
At the time, she’d been a gorgeous, twenty-eight-year-old supermodel.
After their short marriage and divorce, she’d blown through her generous settlement, and still plagued him.
“Would you gentlemen like a drink?” Oliver’s current wife, Alicia, entered the room. She slid an arm across her husband’s shoulders and sat on the arm of his chair. “Coffee, whiskey? Vander, I know you enjoy a good bourbon.”
Vander shook his head. “Not for me, Alicia. Thank you.”
The woman was a beautiful, well-groomed blonde in her forties. She owned a successful therapy practice.
She cocked her head. “You seem…off today, Vander.”
He controlled the urge to shift in his chair. “I have a lot on my mind.”
“You need to relax.” Alicia smiled. “I have a lovely lady who works for me. Attractive, sweet. Maybe I could give you her number?”
“No, thanks.” His voice was a little more forceful than he’d intended.
Oliver smiled, tightening his arm around his wife. “Something tells me Vander already has his eye on someone. I recognize the look.”
Vander sipped his water and stayed silent.
Alicia tilted her head and studied Vander’s face. “But she isn’t making it easy.”
“Good,” Oliver said. “You made me work for it.” The couple smiled at each other. “It was the best thing I ever did.”
“Aw.” She kissed him.
“I’m not the relationship type,” Vander told them.
“Bullshit,” Oliver disagreed. “We all are. The love of a good woman makes a man.”
Alicia nodded. “It doesn’t matter where we’ve been, or what we’ve been through, Vander, we all deserve love.”
Jeez, everyone was giving romance lectures lately.
“Not me.” He rose, setting his napkin on the table. “Like I said, always a pleasure.”
Oliver nodded. He and Alicia stood as well, and the businessman shook Vander’s hand. “I’ll see you next time.”
Vander headed down in the elevator and then into the lobby. As he strode out, a tall blonde with killer cleavage in a fitted skirt and blouse caught his gaze. She spotted him, her steps slowing.
He ignored the invitation in her eyes and strode past her.
All he could see were crystal-blue eyes and a sprinkle of maddening freckles.
Outside the building, he checked his phone. She’d said she’d call if she needed help.
Would she? Brynn Sullivan would probably be under fire in a sinking boat being circled by sharks before she’d concede that she needed help.
He blew out a breath. She’d needed help after the shooting. She’d needed him then.
She’d leaned on him, slept in his arms.
Fuck .
He headed down the street to where he’d parked his bike. He’d check in with Ace. See if anything was going down at the Wanderers clubhouse. Hell, he’d even call Hunt and find out exactly where Brynn was.
“Hello, there.”
The feminine purr made him whirl. It was the blonde from the lobby. She was toying with her necklace, no doubt to draw attention to her cleavage.
“Hi.” He started to turn away, but she grabbed his arm.
“I saw you back there.” She smiled, and artfully nibbled on her bottom lip. “I’m intrigued. You totally rock a suit.”
“Look, I—”
She stepped closer, pressing her breasts against him. “I have an apartment in the building. I’d really like to ride your cock.”
His eyebrows winged up. He’d had his share of aggressive sexual offers since he’d hit his teens, but this was topping the list.
Her hand pressed to his abs and slid south.
“Maybe you’d let me suck you first? I’m good with my mouth. And I have some silk ropes if you want to tie me up.”
Alarm bells rang in his head. Something was off. Way off.
He grabbed her wrist and twisted her hand away from him. She gasped.
“Who put you up to this?” he demanded.
Fear filled her eyes, confirming his suspicions.
“No one, I—”
Vander leaned in and lowered his voice. “Who. Hired. You?”
The come-hither look faded. “Some biker. He told me where you’d be, and to stall you. To keep you busy for a few hours.” Her gaze raked him. “If I knew what you looked like, I would’ve given him a discount.”
“Name?” Vander clipped.
Her chin lifted. “We didn’t trade names.”
Vander shoved her away from him. Fuck . This meant trouble.
Brynn was in trouble.
Before he reached his bike, his phone rang. “Norcross.”
There was a pause. “Ah, Norcross, this is Badger.”
One of his informants. Badger worked the streets, had no real allegiance to anyone. He was quiet and unassuming, and got close enough to see things because no one paid him much attention.
“Badger, I’m —”
“It’s your woman.”
“My woman?” Tension crept into Vander’s muscles.
“Yeah. The pretty brunette with all the colors in her hair. Working with the Wanderers.”
Brynn . “What about her?”
There was an audible swallow. “Something’s going down. The Wanderers think she’s a snitch. She’s in danger, man.”
Fuck .
“Thanks, Badger.”
Vander ended the call and ran for his bike.
* * *
Brynn stacked parts in the Wanderers garage, and every now and then, she glanced over at the clubhouse.
There’d been people coming and going the last few hours. She’d witnessed one heated argument between Nomad and Grill.
She pretended to tinker with a half-pulled-apart bike. She really wanted to get into the clubhouse, but there was no way they’d let her in.
She’d seen her informant, Tonya, and some of the other old ladies earlier, but the woman had hurried off with a nervous look.
Brynn blew out a breath. She could feel the undertone of violence. Something was brewing, and it wasn’t going to be long before it all spilled over.
Hunt and a group of cops were waiting to swoop in…once she knew the identity of the dealer. But at this point, she still had nothing.
An older member, Baz, sauntered out of the clubhouse. He wore a leather vest over his denim shirt, and had a thin, scraggly beard. He was shaking his head. He spotted her and angled her way.
“Hey, Baz.” He was one of the decent members of the club.
“Girl, I suggest you get gone. Things are heating up in there.” He shook his head again. “If Trucker was here, he’d be pissed as hell.”
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s in a coma or something.” Baz stroked his beard. He looked troubled. “Someone said you were there.”
Crap . She’d hoped that she’d flown completely under the radar. “I was shooting some pool. Then the real shooting started. I crawled under a table.”
“You don’t look like life has worn you down yet. This life has its good moments, but I’m not sure this is a place for you.”
“What’s going on in there?” She tipped her head toward the clubhouse.
Baz let out a noisy breath. “They’re all squabbling for control. Trucker isn’t even in a grave yet. Ain’t right.”
“Isn’t Grill next in line?”
“That boy’s crazy. He’s not fit to run the club.”
“The new guys?”
Baz scowled. “Haven’t proven themselves yet. Some are a bit too fucking full of themselves.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I—” He broke off and shook his head. “It’s club business. You should get out of here, Bry. Until the dust settles.”
“I’m nearly finished with these parts, then I’ll head off. Thanks, Baz.”
He gave her a chin lift, then ambled over to his Harley.
The engine growled to life and he pulled out.
Brynn decided to hang around until someone else came out, and then she’d see if she could get a feel for what was happening.
She wiped her hands on a rag. She was in jeans again today, with a cute, mechanic-style shirt with a patch on it that had a logo for a brand of oil. Carrin had bought it for her.
Suddenly, the door of the clubhouse opened. A group of members sauntered out. None looked happy.
They didn’t even look her way before jumping on their bikes and roaring off.
Damn . Her gut told her she wasn’t going to find out anything useful today. She might as well head to the hospital to check on Jankowski. She’d take him a box of the Krispy Kremes she was always giving him hell for loving.
The clubhouse door opened again and Grill stalked out, practically vibrating with fury. Brynn shrank back into the shadows. He leaped on his bike, shot a steaming glare at the clubhouse, then rode off.
It looked like whatever had happened, Grill hadn’t gotten what he wanted.
She made herself busy stacking parts. She’d see who came out next, then she’d leave.
Finally, the door opened, and Nomad walked out, flanked by two enforcers she didn’t know.
A prickle skittered across the back of her neck.
Gone was the wide, flirtatious smile. His lean face looked harder, and even across the courtyard, she sensed a sharpness to his gaze.
Brynn had a gut deep instinct she knew who the new dealer was.
And he’d been playing them the entire time.
He lifted his gaze and it locked on hers.
He stared at her for a second, then started her way, the two bikers following.
Her pulse kicked up a notch, and she made sure it didn’t show. Her fingers tightened on the wrench in her hand.
“Bry,” Nomad drawled.
That storm she’d sensed brewing had arrived.
“Nomad, how are things? How’s Trucker?”
“You would know, wouldn’t you?”
She raised her brows. “Baz said he’s in a coma.”
“Oh, but I’m sure you’ve had regular updates from your friends in blue.”
Brynn made herself blink. “My friends in blue?”
“Yes. Heard you’re tight with the cops. All cozy with them at the Back Corner after the shooting.”
“I talked with them—”
“Yes. I think you talk with them a lot.”
Shit . It didn’t sound like he knew she was a cop, but it was clear he suspected something.
“You think I’m a snitch?” She gave him a belligerent look. “You just got to San Francisco, what would you know?”
“I’m new to town, but I’m not new to snitches.” He nodded, and the two bikers stepped forward, their faces stony.
Neither of them looked like they’d mind roughing up a woman. Crap. Crap. Crap.
“So, what? You’re taking over, and what you say goes?” She slid her hand into her back pocket and found her phone. She’d programmed Vander’s number for a quick dial and she pressed the button.
“Yes,” Nomad said.
So, Nomad was the dealer.
He spread out his hands. “We’re expanding the Iron Wanderers operations.”
“Trucker won’t be happy,” she said.
“Trucker won’t be breathing. And you won’t talk. Especially if your jaw is wired shut.”
Fuck this asshole. “I’m trembling.”
“Teach her a lesson, boys.”
The first biker came at her, lazy and relaxed, like she was a fly that needed swatting.
Brynn braced, then released a slow, controlled breath.
Then she leaped up and swung her wrench with all her strength.
It collided with the man’s jaw, making a sickening crunch.
She didn’t stop. She whirled again, and just managed to duck a punch from the second biker.
“Thee broke my thaw,” the guy on the ground cried.
She stayed focused on her second attacker. He swung at her again and she ducked and weaved. She was well-trained, but he was bigger and stronger, with hands like bricks.
She got a kick in to his gut, and heard him grunt.
“Bitch!” With a snarl, he came at her.
His next hit caught her in the ribs, driving her into a bench. Pain sparked like a flare. She reached out and grabbed a hammer off the bench. She swung wide and caught him in the face. He staggered and fell.
Brynn leaped on top of him, driving him to the dirty, concrete floor. She grabbed his head, and rammed it into the ground.
His eyes rolled back in his head, and his body sagged. He was out.
The blow to her face caught her by surprise.
Pain exploded and she felt Nomad’s knuckles grind against her lips. She slipped, flew sideways, and hit the floor.
“I’m going to teach you a lesson, pretty little snitch.” He landed a vicious kick to her side, right where her ribs were already sore. She groaned through the pain.
Get up . If she didn’t move, she was dead.
Brynn scrambled away and slid her hand into her boot.
She yanked her knife from where she kept it hidden. She’d paid a fortune for the sleek, little sheath.
Nomad kept coming at her.
She slashed at him and heard him curse. Blood ran down his forearm.
Then, while he was distracted, she lunged at him again and swung the knife a second time.
He swiveled at the last minute, but the blade still sank into his shoulder.
He bellowed. “You’ll pay for that, you bitch.”
Then he reached back and pulled a handgun from the waistband of his jeans.
Oh. Shit .
Time moved in slow motion, her brain assessing the situation in small flashes.
She noted the gun. That she had no time to run. That Vander was too far away to help. Thoughts of her mom, and her siblings hit her.
And Vander.
The man she hadn’t had a chance with.
A chance she’d really wanted.
Suddenly, the roar of a bike engine brought the world back into real time.
Vander’s black BMW roared right into the garage.
He leaped off it.
The bike skidded and crashed into Nomad, knocking him down.
Then Vander leaped on Brynn, taking her to the floor.