by Siobhan Muir
Coop ambled up with a grin, his hand wrapped around the bottle of Captain Morgan rum. “I knew I’d see you around. Let’s get this party started.”
“Why did you help the scooters?” I nodded my chin in the direction of the wannabe members congratulating the soon-to-be Gopher Pyle.
He followed my gaze then returned it to my face and shrugged. “I figured they belonged to your club. Not too many motorcycle clubs based up here and I wanted the opportunity to see you again. So, I took a chance.” He nodded to me with a wink. “Definitely paid off.”
His cheeky grin made me laugh even though my gut warned me he had other motivations in coming here. Oh, I believed he wanted to see me again, but I suspected it was secondary on his agenda. I didn’t want to admit having him show up here was a welcome surprise for me.
“You could’ve just texted me.” I tilted my head and raised my eyebrows
“Would you have invited me in for the party?”
I shrugged. “Definitely don’t need to, now.”
“Would you invite me to the next one?” His smile turned challenging.
“We’ll have to see how well this one goes.”
He laughed and I couldn’t help but grin at his amusement. “Fair enough. I remember our conversation at the lake. I’ll try to improve at each encounter. Then maybe you won’t give me the suspicious look every time you see me.”
“What suspicious look?”
“The one that says you’re trying to figure out my motivation for wanting to be where you are.”
I blinked as my smile melted off my face. Could he read me so well already? He is my true mate.
“I’ll give you a hint. It has to do with how attracted I am to you and your snarky conversation.” He’d leaned close and I could smell the scent of bubblegum on his breath.
“Do I smell bubblegum?” I raised my eyebrows as he pulled back with a grin.
“Yup.”
“Why do you smell like bubblegum?”
“It’s my toothpaste.” He winked as he offered me his arm. “Shall I escort you to the clubhouse, Karma? I figure it’s more gentlemanly than just cracking open this bottle of rum and chugging it.” His gaze slid around the yard where men and women already had beers in their hands. “Of course, in this crowd I might actually fit in doing that.”
“Not with rum.” I gave him a mock scowl. “Unless you’re a fuckin’ pirate, you do not chug rum. The bartender in me would kick your ass.”
“Not to mention the Enforcer, right?” His eyes sparkled with his amusement.
“That’s right. But I still want to know why you smell like bubblegum.” I needed to know this as if it would explain why I was so attracted to him, and why the Goddess had decided he was my true mate.
He paused long enough to open the doors of the clubhouse and usher me through. But instead of picking up the conversation again, his expression morphed into astonishment as he took in our clubhouse interior.
Loki had bought the place back in the ’80s when it was an abandoned, run-down motel left over from the 1960s. The banks had foreclosed on the property and no one was willing to take over the maintenance and costs of repair. Loki got the whole thirty-five acre plot for a song and moved his motorcycle club there. We’d all pitched in to upgrade and remodel the place, which was why the main members resided in the individual cabins that had been the original motel rooms.
But the clubhouse was our crowning achievement. What used to be an old, dark, dingy motel lobby had become an open, airy space with pool tables, a brass and oak wood bar, and a comfortable sitting area with a 70-inch LED TV. The chairs and couches set out for folks to sit on were plush with bright and neutral colors mixing in a pleasing mosaic.
We’d also upgraded the pool out back and a full 5-star restaurant quality kitchen for Grub, our cook. Our laundry room boasted top-of-the-line laundry machines and members had petitioned Loki for a basketball court to be built beside the barracks.
“Wow.” Coop gaped as I led him over to the bar, my usual haunt. “This place is amazing. And nice.”
“What do you mean, ‘nice?’ Why wouldn’t it be nice?”
He set the bottle of rum on the bar and turned to survey the rest of the clubhouse. “I dunno. I guess I was expecting the place to smell like sweat, cigarette smoke, rancid alcohol, and sex, and have dark faux wood paneling and no light.” He pointed upwards. “The skylights in the ceiling are a nice touch. They really open the place up.”
“That’s what I said when we were renovating.” I pointed at the gaps in the ceiling. “Loki’s from a place where it’s dark and cold all the time and I’m like, oh hell no. We need light. Fortunately, Schnoz agreed with me and helped me cut holes in the ceiling to make it a reality.”
Coop nodded. “I’m gonna have to revise my ideas about motorcycle clubs. This place is classy.” He turned back around to face the bar as I slipped behind it.
I reached under the counter to hand him a whiskey glass. “Want me to pour? Or you gonna do that?”
He shoved the bottle toward me. “I’ll leave it to the professional.”
I gave him a half-smile. “Tell you what. I’ll pour the rum if you tell me what’s up with the bubblegum toothpaste.”
He laughed. “Deal.” He watched me expertly open the rum and pour two fingers into both glasses. “Cheers.” He lifted the glass and clinked it to mine.
We both sipped and I raised an eyebrow. “Now spill.”
He shrugged. “Ever since I was a little kid I’ve hated the taste of mint. My mom couldn’t figure out a way to get me to brush my teeth because all the toothpaste on the market was made with spearmint, peppermint, or straight mint. And it would make me gag. One time she made me brush my teeth after we’d eaten a huge Thanksgiving dinner. You can imagine what happened.”
“Oh glory.” I gaped at him in horror.
“Oh glory is right. There was vomit and dinner remnants all over the bathroom. We both ended up having to take a shower to wash ourselves off. And Dad had to hose down the bathroom before anyone could go in there.” He grimaced and shook his head. “As a result, my mom went to the library and looked up recipes for toothpaste that she could flavor on her own. In the end, we decided that while apple was my favorite flavor, vanilla made my breath more tolerable. When they started coming out with other flavors, I tried a bunch of the kids’ pastes, and settled on bubblegum being the best.”
He grinned, showing off his clean pearly whites and I laughed.
“Note to self: No mint juleps for Coop.”
“Hell no.” He made a disgusted face. “That shit’s awful. No peppermint patties or mint ice cream either.”
I grinned as I sipped the rum. “I’ll remember that.” I tilted my head and narrowed my eyes. “So, now that you’re here, you sure you want to hang out?”
He raised his eyebrows and set down his glass. “Why would you ask that?”
I shrugged. “I know how motorcycle clubs are portrayed, especially in the media and on TV. A lot of people have this skewed view of them and don’t know what it’s like. Hell, even Scott’s old lady was pretty sure we were a cult.”
“Are you?”
I glanced at him, trying to decipher the expression on his face. “No.”
“No? Don’t you all live on a compound and share resources and you have to pass some sort of esoteric test to become a full member?”
When he put it like that, it did sound kinda hinky. “But if you want to leave at any time, you can. And pooling resources for living expenses makes sense. Everyone looks after each other, more or less. It’s economics.”
“True. But don’t you demand absolute loyalty?”
I narrowed my eyes. He wasn’t hostile, but the questions put me on the defensive. I liked my life and I liked the Concrete Angels. And I want him to like us, too. Which was weird, even for my true mate. I’d just met him and I didn’t know him well enough to trust him completely. But I wanted him to think well of my life and my adopted famil
y.
“No, not absolute, just the usual amount.”
He raised his eyebrows. “What does that mean?”
“It means that the members consider the club and its members before they consider money or ‘power’ when making deals with any outside entity.” I leaned against the bar counter. “It means they value the people of the club above any personal benefit. Don’t believe everything you hear about motorcycle clubs not caring who they hurt. We protect our members because no one else will and many law enforcement agencies want to destroy us just because we operate outside their understanding.”
He flinched and glanced away with a grimace. “Yeah, well, they’ve had a lot of experience with the clubs who aren’t on the up-and-up and engage in illegal activity.”
Now it was my turn to twitch. The Concrete Angels tended to be a gray club. We conducted business that was lucrative, but not strictly legal, and we had our limits and codes. But the law enforcement agencies and groups didn’t agree with our methods. I eyed him, wondering if he belonged to such an agency and was only here to get evidence on us.
“Is that why you’re really here, Coop?” No point in pussyfooting around. If he was only trying to bring us down, I wanted him gone, true mate or not. “Are you some undercover agent trying to get dirt on the Concrete Angels?”
Before he could answer, the new member Scott had designated Gopher Pyle stumbled up and wrapped an arm around Coop’s shoulders.
“Hey man, there you are! I gotta thank you. You got me my cut and my road name.” He grinned. “Lemme get you a beer.”
Coop’s face relaxed from surprise to an amused smile and he nodded. “No problem. Hey, you did me a favor. Got me in to see Karma, so we’re square.”
“Well, hell, what’re friends for?” Gopher straightened his shoulders and his grin turned smug as if he’d orchestrated the whole thing. “Come on. The party’s moving out to the pool and Grub’s cooking a mean barbeque.”
“Damn, that does sound good.” Coop peeled himself off the stool and nodded to me. “How about we go outside and enjoy the pool and food? And if, you know, you wanna put on a bikini or something, I won’t say no.”
I raised an eyebrow. How did he know I had a bikini? “You got swim trunks hiding on you somewhere?”
“Yup. In the bag in my car.”
“Don’t you come prepared?”
“Well, I wasn’t a boy scout, but they weren’t the only ones who learned having supplies made life easier.” He winked before Gopher dragged him away toward the pool.
I watched them go, tapping my finger on my glass of rum. It didn’t escape my notice that he hadn’t answered my question about being an undercover agent. I sensed he kept secrets from me, which wasn’t surprising considering we’d known each other all of five days, and most of those we’d spent apart. But I had a feeling his secrets were bigger than just he didn’t like mint or he’d been previously married.
And what about your secrets? Yeah, I wasn’t ready to tell him I wasn’t human, at least not in the way he expected. How would I share that the monsters he feared — drug dealers, human traffickers, corporate executive officers — didn’t hold a candle to the angels, shifters, and minor gods he hung out with here?
Chapter Five
Cooper
Saved by the bell.
Or by a soon-to-be drunk biker who dragged me out to the pool before I had to answer Karma’s question. I didn’t want to answer it. I suspected even my superior lying skills would stand up to her observation. Being undercover had been pretty easy for me in the past, but even the most creepy and observant drug dealers and sex traffickers hadn’t caught on to my deception. Something told me Karma would see through it a lot faster. And that scared me.
I had to find out how the Concrete Angels were connected to the deaths of Agents Hopkins and Eisenburg, and if they killed the men on the orders of the Backlog. Or if they’d simply done it themselves.
But tonight, no one was talking about anything but celebrating. It’d been a long time since I’d celebrated anything, but kicking back beside the pool with a cold beer, sweet barbecued ribs, and the fantastic view of Karma in her bikini did me a world of good. This time the suit consisted of brightly colored flowers and leaves on a black background, but the print highlighted her generous breasts and ass, and my cock loved it.
I’d already changed out of my jeans into my swim trunks to give my cock more range of motion. But even those grew tight in the crotch as Karma’s sexy ass swayed past me on her way to the pool. Somehow we’d managed to find matching swim suits. My trunks weren’t as brightly colored, but they had the same pattern of leaves and flowers in more neutral colors. The Scottish guy with shoulder-length hair and a beard ribbed me about it. I learned his road name was Attila and the women they’d brought in, called honeys, would sigh when his brogue hit their ears.
My choice in suit hadn’t been intentional, but I kinda liked that Karma and I matched.
“Tryin’ to get Karma to be your old lady, are ye?” Attila had sauntered over in an honest-to-glory kilt and nothing else.
I shook my head. “What exactly does that term mean? I admit I’m trying to get a date with her, but that’s about it. Doesn’t old lady mean a long term gig?”
“Aye. It means she’s yours to do with as ye please.” He bit his bottom lip and rocked his hips. “If ye catch my meanin’. It means she’s taken and woe betide any man who tries anything with her without yer permission.”
I snorted as I watched her jump into the pool. “Woe betide anyone who tries anything with her without her permission. She’s the Enforcer, isn’t she? You’d be stupid to take advantage of her. She’d kick your ass six ways from breakfast.”
Attila followed my gaze as Karma swam across the pool with smooth strokes. “Aye, that’s the right of it. Even if she wasn’t the Enforcer, she’s a force to be reckoned with. A few have tried and they werena seen again.” He shrugged as I turned my wide eyes to his. “She’s fiery, that one. And you’d best be ’ware of it. But if you can gain her regard, the shag would be amazing, I’ll wager.”
I couldn’t argue with him there. Hell, I’d just like to kiss her. My cock saluted the idea and I shifted a little to relieve the pressure. Damn, think about something else.
My gaze slid over the assembled crowd and I found the snarly guy Karma had called Scott standing beside a blonde woman wearing glasses and a reserved smile. Something about her seemed familiar, as if I’d seen her face before, but I couldn’t quite place where.
“Hey, Attila, who’s the woman next to Scott? She one of the honeys?”
Attila tore his gaze away from another giggly woman whose boobs seemed as big as her head, and looked in the direction I’d pointed.
“Nah, that’s Scott’s old lady, Numbers.”
“Where’d she get the road name of Numbers?”
“She’s a wiz with ’em. Magic in accounting. Used to be FBI.”
“Holy fuck. Why the hell is she here then?”
“Loki hired her to check our books and her former boss dinna like it so much. Wee wanker.” Attila scowled as he shook his head. “He brought the FBI here trying to pin shite on us and terrorize her. But she was the one who sniffed out who embezzled from us, and we took care o’ that.”
Things started to become clear. “What was the guy’s name who came after her?”
Attila eyed me with surprise and I realized I’d jumped into cop-interrogation mode. “Why do ye want to know?”
I forced myself to shrug. “I’m a PI and puzzles like that intrigue me. Michael mentioned that you hadn’t found all the money and I offered to do some research to see if I could find other avenues where the money went. You just added another piece of the puzzle.”
Attila kept looking at me and I did my best to play it cool. He had a right to be suspicious and I’d overplayed my hand. But if my own suspicions were right, Numbers was the woman who’d accused Agent Hopkins of rape. I just needed Attila or someone in the Concre
te Angels to confirm it.
“I doona remember his name, but I know he was her boss and she was afraid of him.”
I nodded and shrugged again, stuffing my disappointment down. “If he raped her, I can understand her fear.”
“Why? You been raped?” Attila wore disbelief like a hat.
I shook my head. “No, but I understand what it’s like not to trust anyone around you to have your back.”
Oh boy, did I understand. When my agency had been infected with Backlog members, I couldn’t trust anyone except my boss, and I worried he’d get compromised while I was out here investigating. But Marshal Gary Battlebourne had been painfully honest throughout his career and I had to trust someone. I just hoped he stayed that way.
“Aye, it’s a crazy world.”
Attila nodded, his eyes still narrowed in thought. He sat back with his hands behind his head. A tattoo of a wicked skull wearing a beret with a sword through the bones, the blade passing through the left eye socket, flashed on the inside of his arm. I recognized the Special Forces tattoo before I realized his expression had turned mischievous.
Aw hell.
“So what about you, Coop? Are ye here for an investigation or somethin’ else?”
That was too close for comfort and I let a lazy smile curl my lips. “Your boys over there couldn’t bring back the beer without help, so I volunteered to do a civic duty. But since I’ve met Karma before, I took the opportunity to see her again.”
“Have ye? Where at?”
“A local Gas ’N Snacks. I ran into her while filling up my car and we talked.” More or less after I chased her through the winding mountain roads.
“Talked, did ye?” He raised an eyebrow as a smirk curled his lips. “Looks like it was some talk to get ye to walk in here voluntarily. Ye must have it bad for our Enforcer.” He paused. “Ye do know what the Enforcer does, aye?”
I nodded slowly. “She takes care of what needs to be done.”
“Aye, she does.” He lost his smile and a shiver ran down my back. “That means if yer investigatin’ what ye shouldna, she’ll kill ye quick. Hear me?”
