The Lost Boys MC Series: Books 1-4

by Savannah Rylan

  That same mesmerizing blue as her sister’s.

  “What?” Freya asked.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “No, really. What is it?”

  “It’s just—”

  Holy fuck, I really needed to talk with Stone.

  “Just what?” Freya asked.

  “I’ve just never known someone to be so beautiful in fluorescent light is all,” I said.

  Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red that matched the swirled straw disappearing between her soft pout. And when her gaze fell back to the picture of her sister sitting on the table, I saw a longing come over her face. Laced with defeat and yearning. Almost as if her future depended on finding that girl.

  On finding Hayley.

  “You know, I don’t recognize her. But I might be able to help you find her anyway,” I said.

  Freya’s head snapped up. “Really?”

  I nodded. “I’d have to talk with some people first. Get their opinion of the situation. I work with a group of guys that delve into this kind of thing all the time. Tracking people down. Keeping them safe.”

  “Like a professional detective or something?”

  “Or something,” I said.

  “I don’t want to be a burden. And I don’t have a lot of money to spare.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll talk to my guys and see what we can get going for you. If you’d like.”

  She smiled. “Thank you. Oh my gosh, thank you so much.”

  “In the meantime, would you mind if I followed you back to where you’re staying?”

  Her face fell and I watched her push back into the worn-down cushion of her booth seat.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Not in a creepy way. It’s late. You’re rattled. I want to make sure you get back to whatever hotel you’re staying at safely. Or at least the block. I don’t have to follow you to the hotel. Just the block. Just so I know you’re safe,” I said.

  She stayed silent for a long time, and I wasn’t sure if she’d take me up on the offer. But then, her head slowly nodded. Like she was still trying to convince herself she was making a good decision.

  “The block will be fine,” Freya said.

  “Then, the block it is,” I said.

  8

  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 anyway 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. Lended 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 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, then 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 wait staff 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 presidentt.”

  “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.

  9

  Bronx

  I was cemented in my tracks. As we stood by her car, all I could do was level my eyes at her. Holy fucking shit. This girl was the daughter of a crew president. What kind of game was she playing? Shit, she looked so damn innocent compared to the other women I knew that had grown up in this lifestyle. She wasn’t smacking gum between her lips or wearing clothes that were too tight for her. For fuck’s sake, she had her hair pulled back with a damn bow! She walked with a grace not taught to women in the lifestyle. She didn’t have anything black on her person. Nor did she have any leather to speak of making her stand out from a crowd.

  Was this somehow a set up?

  “My father’s the president of the Celtic Riders MC. Down in Yuma,” Freya said.

  Had I not been fucking rooted in shock, I would have teetered on my feet. Holy hell, she wasn’t just the daughter of any president. She was the daughter of the president. The Celtic Riders were the holy grail of motorcycle crews. Getting into their club was a rigorous process, and the history alone left men who did get into the crew with connections that helped them and their families prosper for the rest of their lives. If her father really was the president of that club, then he was a man not to be trifled with. Not to be pissed off.

  Which meant I had to give her what she wanted. Otherwise, our entire club would suffer this man’s wrath.

  “Bronx, I might look innocent, but I’m not dumb,” Freya said.

  “You just don’t look the part,” I said.

  She shrugged. “My father did his best to raise me away from it, honestly. But it didn’t take long for me to piece together what was happening. What he did for a living. Especially when he was constantly throwing cookouts in his backyard for all the guys that wore the same leather coat as him.”

  I tried to imagine the president of one of the oldest motorcycle clubs in the country having a fucking barbecue in his backyard.

  But did she know all about how the Celtic Riders rose to fame in the first place?

  “You know, if you say your father’s crew name around here, it could get you into a lot of trouble. More trouble than what you found yourself in tonight,” I said.

  Freya shrugged. “I know they used to ride around here for a while. I’m well aware of what my father’s crew used to get into. But my father also cleaned them up. So, tit for tat.”

  “You know they dealt drugs, then. To the kids in this area for a while.”

  She nodded slowly. “I knew that was their main mode of bringing in money, yes. I also know that when my father was elected president just before I was born, he slowly began cleaning up their act. Transferred all of us down to Yuma. I know they don’t peddle drugs anymore. Though, I’m not sure how they’re still bringing in money. I believe the best in my father. So, I choose to believe him and the crew are at least in the gray, and not head-deep in the darkness any longer.”

  “So, for all you know, they look clean. But they aren’t clean.”

  “I don’t think they’re squeaky clean. No crew is. I’m sure not even yours is, Bronx. But, in that world, there are always levels of clean and dirty. I know my father makes sure his crew has buckets of clean that outweigh the dirty they’re probably still in. The question is, does your crew operate the same way? Or have I gotten myself into more trouble by trusting you?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “You can always trust me. Me and The Lost Boys pride ourselves on the outreach we have toward the community of San Diego.”

  She smiled. “Good.”

  That smile. That alone punched me in the gut. The way it undulated the freckles on her cheeks and illuminated her eyes. Freya had gone from a woman whose number I’d enjoy having to a woman I’d be a fucking idiot to touch. Right now, I was standing on solid ground. If I could keep my head on straight, she’d go back to her father and tell her of some guy named Bronx who rode with The Lost Boys that saved her ass just off Highway One in San Diego. If we were lucky enough, her father would place a call and thank us. Which would put us in the good graces of one of the most powerful crews in the damn nation.

  Keep it together, Bronx.

  “So, I guess we should exchange numbers if you’re going to help me. Yeah?” Freya asked.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Now look who’s lost in their mind,” she said, giggling.

  Shit. That sound. That lighthearted, giddy, effortless sound. It prickled the hairs on the nape of my neck and shot a shiver down my damn spine.

  Was there anything about Freya that was ugly as sin?

  “I suppose we should, since I’m not following you to your hotel,” I said.

  “Yep. Just the block it’s on. A girl’s gotta stay safe, you know,” she said, giggling.

  Again.

&n
bsp; Please stop making that glorious sound, you fallen angel.

  She rummaged around in her purse before pulling out some eyeliner and a receipt. She turned around and leaned against her car, and my eyes couldn’t help but slide over her luscious curves. Most women in this area were tanned to hell. Stick thin. Nothing but walking pipe cleaners with eyes wrapped in some damn rawhide. But, Freya? Not her. She had milky skin that reminded me of fresh cream I’d pour into my coffee. She had excess for days that sat in all the right places with a petite waist that called to my palms. I took a step toward her. My body fucking gravitated to her. And when she turned around with her number written in eyeliner on the back of a receipt, she gasped.

  I gazed down at her, feeling her body heat as her back settled against her car.

  “Here,” she said breathlessly.

  I plucked it from between her fingertips and looked at it. I memorized the numbers, reciting them in my head. It only took me three shots before I had it committed to memory, then it slid it into my back pocket.

  “Got it memorized,” I said, grinning.

  “I know you know something about my sister you aren’t telling me.”

  “Well, considering you were holding a very big ace behind your back, I’d say we could be even.”

  “Except I told you my ace. Why won’t you tell me yours?” I asked.

  “Simply put, because it could get your sister into a lot of trouble.”

  Freya furrowed her brow. “So, you do know her?”

  I stayed silent as her eyes danced between mine.

  “Fine. I get it. We both need to earn each other’s trust. But honestly? I’m not sure how I’m going to do that. I mean, how many times are you going to be tugged into an alleyway at night?” she asked.

  I chuckled. Oh, she had a nice sense of humor, too. I’d have to keep track of her, though. I’d have to call her. Figure out what she was up to. Possibly keep tabs on her phone and its GPS coordinates in order to keep her out of harm’s way.