STRIKE: Storm Runners Motorcycle Club 2 (SRMC)

by Devane, Lauren

  Detroit was her city though, now, more than the quiet pines and sleepy villages of northern California ever had been, even if she did miss her family.

  So she took another sip of her ginger ale and went to talk to the man who’d made her spark.

  CHAPTER 4

  He scented her before he looked up from the messages on his phone to see her. The scent of jasmine cut through the heaviness of the club and made him close his eyes for a split second, letting it wrap around him like silk. When he felt a soft touch on his shoulder, he opened his eyes and looked up at her.

  Incredible body wrapped in a tight red dress. Tom’s imagination went haywire. Definitely not a natural blonde. Her eyes and skin told him she had some kind of eastern heritage, and that the hair on her head was either painfully bleached or a wig. He wouldn’t mind finding out for himself, he decided.

  Funny that he hadn’t noticed her body when she was stripping, but now he could barely look away from the slender lines and curves that made his skin feel too tight. Her body, her scent and those damn golden eyes forced his body to attention and he shifted, then gestured to the empty seat next to him.

  “I’m a little surprised you came back out,” he said.

  “Don’t be.” She tossed her hair back and met his eyes. “I’m not going to let someone like that make me go into hiding. Besides, I wanted to thank you for stepping in for me. The bouncer was sending some drunk out of the club and that jackass might have managed to get me off stage if you hadn’t come over.” She ran her hands up and down her bare arms and Tom resisted the urge to offer his body heat. Anything to get his hands on her.

  “Anyone would stop in to stop that shit,” he said.

  “Not true.” She took another sip of the pale liquid in her glass. “No one else did. I’m…Dakota.”

  “Tom,” he said, recognizing that he’d been offered a fake name in the hesitation between her words. Didn’t matter. “Nice to meet you, Dakota.”

  “You too. I’d like to buy you a drink.”

  “I’m at my limit for the night,” he said.

  “Places like this don’t exactly cater to those with limits.” It was true. Ladies Night was a haven for drunks so bad they didn’t stop until they saw the bottom of the bottle. Cheap booze, stale air and half-naked women were a recipe for disaster, but that was why the bar boasted two meaty bouncers with hard looking faces.

  “Rode here,” Tom explained. “I want to ride out when I leave.”

  “I can respect that. Want a soda?”

  “Night ends soon enough. I’d be glad to buy you something if you wanted to go somewhere else together.”

  She sighed, disappointed that he’d made the move so many other patrons did. “Somewhere else?”

  “A diner? I doubt anything else is open at this hour and, hell, it’s close enough to dawn that we could call it breakfast.”

  Grace was so taken aback that she just stared at him for a moment. Men had offered her $20 for a quick blow job in the back of a cheap car and $1000 for a night back at their house—as if she was stupid enough to accept that. Customers saw her as entertainment that didn’t have to end when the lights went down. But never had a man offered to take her for breakfast.

  Yes was on her lips, but she shook her head and swallowed the word. “I want to say yes, but I can’t. I have plans with a friend. For food.” The disappointment that bloomed in his eyes surprised her, so she qualified, stumbling over her words. “I mean another dancer here. We get breakfast on Sunday mornings together every week.”

  “Maybe another time,” he said, his gaze dropping to where she twined her fingers together in her lap, twisting them restlessly. His big, warm hand came down on hers and stopped them from moving with the softest touch. “I don’t want to make you nervous.”

  He was surprised by how true the words were. Tom couldn’t remember the last time he’d cared what a woman thought of him. The house mice and sweet butts that hung around the club were nice enough, but every one of his brothers passed them around like a blunt at a party and he was getting too old to share women.

  Especially this one. Something about the combination of nerves and raw sexuality had him on edge. Forcing himself to take his hand off her delicate fingers, he sat back in the chair. “I’m going to hang out until they close down, but you don’t have to stay sitting here with me. I didn’t step in and hit that asshole to get some kind of reward.”

  She tilted her head, meeting his eyes for a minute, then stood, and he couldn’t stop himself from running his eyes over her curves, silently cursing when he felt something more than just heat stir inside him.

  “Tom,” she said, leaning down so that her mouth was near his ear and her quiet words blocked out the loud sounds of the club around them, “I never thought you wanted a reward. I just liked sitting with you.”

  Then she placed a soft kiss on his cheek and walked away without looking back. He rubbed a hand over his chest, uncomfortable with the way her leaving made it tight. When the crowd swallowed her up, he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He could still smell her perfume.

  CHAPTER 5

  “So you thought maybe you’d turn him down instead of going on your first date in six months?” Mandi’s bright pink lips separated as she rolled her eyes and she looked like a Barbie turning into a zombie. Grace laughed. “You’re competing with Mother Teresa for sainthood here, Gracie.”

  “I just don’t know if it’s smart to mix work and pleasure.”

  “That’s how I met, Mike,” Mandi said.

  “Maybe you got the only good one.” Mike had been an awkward groomsman at a bachelor party who blushed whenever Mandi talked to him.

  They laughed as the waitress set down stacks of waffles covered in whipped cream and strawberries on the table in front of them. For moments, the only sounds were forks tearing through the crisp waffles and the occasional murmur about how delicious the food was. Not many places stayed open all night in Detroit, because proprietors knew how easy it is to get held up. Manny’s, which served the best waffles in town, was one of the rare exceptions.

  “Anyway,” Mandi said, setting down her fork and reaching for the steaming cocoa in front of her, “enough about men. What days are you off this week?”

  “Tomorrow and Thursday,” Grace said.

  “Can we meet up tomorrow sometime to get a pedicure? It’s early for it, but I desperately need one before I go back to work.” Mandi slid her foot into the booth so that her knee was bent and she could study her toes. “Mine is cracking just a little and I want to get something cute. Maybe something a little more dark for fall?”

  “I can’t tomorrow,” Grace said. “I have plans.” Sometimes living a double life made her less available for the fun things. It wasn’t forever, she reminded herself. Just a few more months.

  “What about Thursday?”

  “I’m definitely in for that. We could also go before work on Tuesday, if you want something a little sooner.”

  “No,” Mandi studied her foot again, considered it. “No one is going to notice. Let’s wait until we have enough time to get the whole pampering package.”

  “Sounds good.” Grace took a sip of her cocoa and sat back against the soft shell of the booth. “What do you have going on this week?”

  _____

  An hour later, they were both in Grace’s car, driving toward Mike’s apartment.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be able to get in?”

  “Yes, mom,” Mandi said rolling her eyes. “I swear, Dakota, you worry more than any woman in the world should.” She softened the slight reprimand with a smile. “The entire world isn’t lurking outside of an upscale apartment to take me away. What happened was terrifying, but lightening doesn’t strike the same place twice.”

  “I care about you.” Grace’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “You know it wasn’t just the woman you worked with. Other women have gone missing too. What if he forgot to have you added to the list and you’r
e stuck here at night?”

  “There’s nothing to worry about. Mike is a good guy.”

  Still, Grace stayed outside the building for ten extra minutes after she dropped Mandi off and made sure her ringer was on. She didn’t want any friend of hers—especially a young, beautiful woman—walking alone after dark. Not now.

  _____

  Tom walked through the front door of the Storm Runners clubhouse, thankful for once that it was quiet. Someone was passed out on the pool table—one of the prospects—and he slapped the guy across the back with a pool cue as he passed, a loud crack echoing through the room.

  “What?” The guy sat up and snapped the word out, his face bleary until he saw who he was speaking to. Then he paled. “Sorry Tom.”

  “Respect the green, man.” Tom said, gesturing to the table and waiting for the prospect to get off the table. “That was my dad’s. They bought it when they bought the building and we’ve kept it because we don’t let drunk assholes sleep on it.”

  “Sorry,” the guy said again. “I’ll go crash upstairs.”

  “Do it.” Tom watched the man walk up the stairs and through the door that blocked the private rooms, like bedrooms, from the main area where parties raged. Once he was alone, he collapsed on to the couch and leaned back against the arm. His eyes felt dry, grainy.

  It was the first time since he’d found out about Butch’s betrayal that he didn’t think of his one-time uncle when he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. Instead he thought about Dakota. The soft swell of her breasts and the way her lips had tilted up when she’d spotted him in the crowd after he’d helped her out.

  God, I’m such a dick. He knew better than to hit on a stripper. The last thing any of those ladies wanted was one of the men who showed up at the club to try to take them home. She was just so desirable. His dick twitched in his jeans at the thought of her—but that wasn’t the only part of him that was interested. She moved something in him, though he didn’t know why.

  Going back to the club wasn’t the way to get her on the back of his bike and hopefully in his bed, he mused. He’d have to give some thought to a way to see her again without coming across as a seedy customer.

  “You’re home.” Tom looked up to see Ace walking down the stairs, leading a woman with long brown hair who giggled when she saw Tom. Then she simpered at him and he rolled his eyes. She rose to her toes to whisper something in Ace’s ear and then pouted when he shook his head.

  “Your cab should be here,” he said to her. “Later.”

  She opened her mouth, but Ace had already turned to Tom. Scowling, she stalked out of the clubhouse and to the cab that had just pulled up in the drive.

  “You’re home,” he said again. “I didn’t think you’d come back here tonight when you didn’t show up for the party. Or for your shift at the bar.” Tom owned Thunder, a bar and club that his father had willed to him—with the unspoken understanding that it also partially belonged to the club.

  “I had errands.”

  “We talked about this.” Ace kicked Tom’s feet off the couch and sat down. “No one here doesn’t want to put Butch in the ground for what he did to Max—but you can’t ignore the rest of your responsibilities here. You’re not just a member, Tom. You’re the Vice President and you’re the son of our founder.”

  “Who decided that you were going to be our next president,” Tom said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He didn’t dispute the decision—but damn it stung that his father hadn’t told him and he’d found out when he read Max’s will. Silently he acknowledged that it hadn’t bothered him at all until Butch’s betrayal had come to light.

  “That’s right.” Ace didn’t look away, met Tom’s eyes and nodded. “But you’re his son and I know you hate us all a little more every day we don’t find Butch.”

  “You aren’t doing enough.”

  “I have people out every day looking for him. He has more funds than we ever anticipated and he’s locked down hard. Don’t know where he’s getting all the information about our movements, but I’m fucking getting sick of it.”

  “Do you think we have a mole?”

  “No,” Ace said. “The only people I wasn’t sure about, I put someone on. None of them are doing anything out of the ordinary and I got Jackson to track their phones. Nothing there either.”

  “So where are they getting their information.”

  “I don’t know.” Ace stood up and walked to the bar, poured himself a drink. “You want?”

  “No, I’m done for the night.”

  “Fair enough.” He sipped the murky liquor and tapped his fingers against the dark wooden bar. “What do you want us to do about Butch that we aren’t already doing?”

  “Find him.”

  “Not as easy as all that, Strike. Why don’t you go crash upstairs?”

  “No guest rooms are open.” He had his own room, but the thought of going into it right now was beyond repugnant. To see all the pictures of the people he failed would lead him down to the bottom of another bottle of whiskey.

  “Your sister’s room never gets touched. Take the key and sleep in Tori’s bed.”

  “Nah,” Tom said, his eyes moving to the stairs. “She might come back one day and she’ll beat my ass for staying in her room.”

  “Fair enough,” Ace said again. “But you need to find somewhere horizontal and quiet that won’t be overrun by assholes playing Xbox in a few hours. Get a solid eight. You’ll feel better for it.”

  “I’ll feel better once Butch is dead.”

  “Go the fuck to sleep,” Ace said, his lips thinning. Tom sat back on the couch and felt weighed down by exhaustion, like his clothes were sodden and he’d been treading water for days.

  “There’s nowhere to sleep.” Each word ground out between clenched teeth.

  “Take my bed. I fucked Tanya in the game room, so it shouldn’t fuck with your pussy sensibilities.”

  Tom unclenched and nodded. “I’ll go upstairs. Where are you going?” Ace had shrugged on his leather jacket and picked up his keys.

  “I have errands. I’ll see you for the meeting tomorrow.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  In Ace’s room, Tom sank down on the bed and felt the weight of the night and of his hatred for Butch press him into the mattress. It had been his sleeping companion since the night in Butch’s apartment when he’d found out the truth. But when he closed his eyes, he again saw something other than the bloody vengeance that would bring him back to life. He pictured the girl from the strip club and the way her lips had softened as she thanked him for helping her. The way her fine-boned hands had felt under his. Her breasts. Her hips. The way she made all the noise of the club back off for just a moment with just a few words.

  He had to see her again.

  CHAPTER 6

  The next day, Grace went down to the police station to check in with her boss. Chief Anderson was a worn man with dark hair that faded to gray at the temples and when she spotted him, he was arguing with one of the detectives. She leaned against the cool, slick wall outside his office and waited for him to be free.

  “Take care of it,” he snapped at the detective. “Don’t bring this to me again until the matter is resolved.”

  “But…”

  “Or maybe you’d like a week off to think about it.”

  She didn’t hear the muttered response clearly, but a second later the detective walked out of the office, slammed the door and walked down the long hallway back toward the bullpen. Of course someone would get Anderson worked up before she had to give a report that boiled down to no progress. She took a deep breath of the air that was coffee with a hint of urine, winced and then walked into the office.

  “Hello Chief Anderson.” She stood at parade rest and wished for the security of her uniform. But it wouldn’t do any good to have her walking around the city looking like the cop she was.

  “Sit down, Grace,” he said, heaving his bulk into the worn leather chair. She
nodded and sank into one of the creaky guest chairs across from him. The cracks in the seat dug into the skin of her hands when she fisted them against it, looking up to meet her boss’s eyes. She wished again for the security of her uniform, but the short skirt and long sleeved scoop neck top were a better look for her undercover assignment when she was walking around the streets.

  More than once, she’d run into clients who recognized her, even without the long, blonde wig. Sometimes she wondered how that would play when she finally returned to her job.

  “How was this week?” His tone would have been appropriate if he’d been asking about a visit with her family. Calm, collected. No one walking by would think he was inquiring about the hours she put in every week at a gentleman’s club.

  “Long,” she said, fighting the urge to spill out how much she hated the place, how on edge she was every night when her coworkers left. Wondering whether that would be the time she wouldn’t be there when they were scooped up and taken like so many women had been over the past year. That it wasn’t always possible to find a good reason to walk down the long hallway and out to the parking lot, let alone to the bus stop where many of them waited on public transportation for rides home, short skirts exchanged for gym clothes and ball caps.

  But she knew that wasn’t what Anderson wanted to hear. He wanted to hear she’d found something out, identified at least one person in the chain of men they’d discovered when a house full of women who were hours from being sold was found almost a year ago, thanks to an anonymous tip. Neither of the two dead men in the house were identified and none of the women had any useful information.

  It wasn’t the first clue that something was seriously wrong or that trafficked women were being taken, held and moved through Detroit, but it was the biggest save they’d scored since finding out that there was a problem. Now they had a multi-thread undercover investigation and she’d been roped into dancing. On most cases, there’d have been an officer in the crowd to offer backup, but this wasn’t most cases.