by Devney Perry
“Yeah. Let’s talk in the chapel. Bryce looks like she needs to sit.”
My attention immediately shifted. Her face had lost all its color, and I rushed to her side. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She waved me off, her face souring. “It smells funny down here.”
“Come on.” I gripped her elbow, leading her upstairs. It didn’t smell great in the party room either, but once we reached the chapel, the rotten beer smell was gone.
The chapel was the heart of the clubhouse, located directly in the center. You got in through two double doors off the party room. It was one long, open room with a table running its length. The table had been built to accommodate about twenty members, but there had been years when it was standing room only. The officers and senior members would sit. I’d spent plenty of years against the wall, listening as decisions were made.
The black high-backed chairs were all pushed into the table. The room had been left in pristine condition except for the dust. The walls were lined with pictures, mostly of members standing together in front of a row of bikes. The Gypsy patch had been made into a flag that hung on the wall behind the head chair at the table.
The president’s chair.
Dad had given up his seat, passing it to me. He went for it, but then realized his mistake. Had it not been for Bryce, I would have sat there to put him in his place. He didn’t deserve that seat.
But instead, I pulled out one of the middle chairs for Bryce, sitting at her side.
“What’s the raccoon incident?” Bryce leaned over to ask.
“This winter, Emmett and I got an alert from the motion sensors. They went off at three in the morning on the coldest night we’d had in months. We hurried down, nearly froze our dicks off, and found three raccoons in the kitchen. They’d crawled in through this old vent hood.”
“They were making a goddamn mess, shitting everywhere,” Emmett grumbled. “It was cold as hell so it took us forever to get them out. I don’t know why they’d leave their dens in the first place. Maybe to find something warmer.”
“After that, we closed off the vent hood and decided to leave the sensors off,” I told her. “The place was empty. There wasn’t anything in here to steal.”
“Or so you thought,” she murmured.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “So we thought.”
Dad pulled out the chair next to Emmett. He wasn’t in the president’s seat but a shift came over the room as he sat down. Like a meeting coming to order. When he sat, no one else dared to talk until he gave them permission.
Even though I’d sat in the head chair for years, I’d never had that kind of commanding presence. I’d worried about it for a while, wondered if I’d be revered like Dad. Maybe it would have come, in time. But we’d already begun to shut things down when I’d been voted in as president. My job hadn’t been to lead the Gypsies into the future. I was the president who’d made sure we’d covered all our asses so we could live a normal life.
“What are we going to do about the Warriors?” I asked, leaning my elbows on the table. “Tucker lied to us.”
“Or he didn’t know,” Dad countered. “Yeah, there’s a chance he ordered this. Or he’s as clueless as we are and it’s someone’s personal vendetta. Someone who’s been following me around, saw me with a woman for the first time in decades and used it as their opening to strike.”
“For what?” Bryce asked.
Dad scoffed. “Hell. A million things.”
“A million and a half,” I muttered.
We’d burned down their clubhouse once. It had likely cost them a fortune to rebuild. The two Warriors who’d tried to kidnap Emmeline had been Dad’s guests in the basement, their last breaths taken inside those concrete walls.
“What do we do?” Emmett sighed. “Go after them? Start up another war?”
“We’ll lose,” I said. “There’s no chance at winning.”
“I don’t want a war. Not this time.” Dad shook his head. “First, I’ll go to Tucker, show him the photo and see what he does. Maybe he’ll give us a name and it can end. But if it comes down to it, if he covers for his men—which I suspect he will—then I’ll take the fall for Amina.”
“They’ll put you away for life.” Yesterday, I was okay with it—when I was furious and in a rage. Today, now that I’d calmed down, the idea of him in prison didn’t sit as well.
“I’ll go if that’s what it takes to keep you and Nick free of this.”
“Except they could be after any of us,” Emmett said. “This might have started with you, but I bet it goes deeper. I’m not looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. I know we’re up against bad odds, but we have to fight back.”
“Why not do it legally?” Bryce suggested. “Let’s get the evidence to prove there’s reasonable doubt. We can use the paper to print it, create a circus around town. Get rumors started that Draven is innocent. The chief won’t have any choice but to dig deeper.”
“You’re talking about following the rules.” Dad barked a laugh. “We’re not great at working with the cops.”
“You’re also not great at keeping the people in your life alive by breaking the rules, so maybe it’s time to try a different approach.”
Damn, woman. She wasn’t pulling any punches. I flinched at her words. Emmett did too. Because no one talked to Dad like that, especially in this room.
But she was fearless. The fire in her eyes, that blaze, made my chest swell. Was it with pride? Or love? Both?
I think I’d fallen for her the night she’d kicked me off her front porch. Or maybe it was the day she’d shown up at the garage, bursting with attitude and determination.
“She’s right,” I told Dad. “Not just because it’s legal, but because the Warriors will never expect it. Let’s use the cops to our favor for once.”
Emmett nodded. “If Tucker did know about this, then he’s waiting and watching for us to retaliate. The cops showing up at his door might be a surprise.”
“We need to find evidence, solid evidence, and fast,” I said. “The state’s attorney will set a trial date soon, and once that starts, it’s going to be even harder to get people to consider another suspect. We need them to delay.”
“What do we do?” Dad asked.
I looked to Bryce. “You need to write a story. Marcus is a good cop, but he’s not going to believe me if I walk in there with new evidence. Not when his mind’s made up that Dad is guilty. We need to plant the seed that Dad’s knife was stolen. Show the picture of someone breaking into the clubhouse. Marcus won’t be able to ignore it if you print it.”
“I’ll start on it today. We can feature it on Sunday. But . . .” She locked eyes with Dad across the table. “It would mean more if I could print the reason you and Amina were in the motel. It makes you more human if people know you were there to discuss your daughter.”
Dad blew out a deep breath but shook his head. “Not until I meet her. I owe her that much. She shouldn’t learn I’m her father from a newspaper. Like you said, she thinks I killed her mother.”
“I might be able to help with that.” Bryce raised her hand, like she was volunteering to go into battle. “We’re going to get lucky on timing. When I went to visit Genevieve last weekend, she said she was coming up Sunday to see Amina’s grave. I’ll call her and double-check she’s coming. And I guess . . . tell her when she gets here. Hope she doesn’t pick up a newspaper that morning. I don’t know. But maybe I can smooth it over.”
“Do it,” I said. “We need the story to shed more light on the relationship between Dad and Amina. To give it some context and show Dad wouldn’t kill her. I think my sister would be a good way to do that.”
“I feel like I’m about to blindside her, Dash.” Bryce’s worried eyes met mine. “I feel terrible already.”
“Be gentle,” Dad murmured. “Please.”
“I will,” she promised.
“And we’ll keep searching for more.” Emmett knocked his knuckles on
the table. “Draven, you call Tucker.”
He nodded. “I’ll go meet with him. Alone.”
“Keep us posted.” I pushed away from the chair, helping pull Bryce’s away so she could stand. Then we all walked out of the clubhouse, the plan in place. I escorted Bryce to her car. Her eagerness to get to the newspaper was palpable, but before she left, I wanted to make sure she was all right. “Feeling better?”
“Not really, but I’ll be fine. It’s just a stomach ache. That smell in the clubhouse was”—she gagged—“potent. I’m going to get to work. Call me later?”
I nodded. “I need to get caught up on some jobs here. We’ve been leaning pretty heavy on Isaiah and Presley to run the garage while we’ve had this extra shit happening. Time for me to get my hands dirty and finish some cars.”
“Be sure to wash those hands before dinner.” She winked, standing on her toes for a kiss. It was a short goodbye. Nothing out of the ordinary for most couples. But we weren’t a couple.
We hadn’t made a commitment. We hadn’t made promises. Except as I stood and watched her leave, I realized that no other woman would kiss me again.
Bryce was it for me. The one.
Dad’s shadow crossed mine. “You love her.”
I didn’t respond. Bryce would be the first to hear the words. I took a step toward the garage. “Need to get to work.”
“Dash.” Dad’s hand flew out, stopping me. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want you to go to prison, not when you didn’t kill Amina. But you and me? We’re done.”
His shoulders fell. “I understand.”
“I need some time without you here at the garage. Some space to think. You’re not the man I thought you were.”
“I’ve never been a hero, son.”
I met his brown gaze. “But you were to me.”
The blow hit Dad hard. His face tightened like he’d been sucker punched and was fighting to breathe.
Leaving him alone on the asphalt, I walked toward the garage, then paused and looked back while Dad was still in earshot. “Nick deserves to know. Either you tell him, or I will.”
He simply nodded.
And two hours later, as I was flat on my back underneath the Mustang, the engine of Dad’s motorcycle revved as he left the garage. My phone rang thirty seconds later.
Pushing out from the car, I dug my phone from my pocket. Nick’s name flashed on the screen. “Hey.”
“Guess you expected this call.”
“Was hoping for it. I take it Dad called you?”
“Yep. Sounds like we have a sister.” The calm tone in Nick’s voice surprised me. I figured, given his past relationship with Dad, he’d be furious.
“You don’t sound upset.”
“I’m surprised. It wasn’t easy to hear and maybe I haven’t wrapped my head around it all. But mostly, I’m disappointed. Sad for Mom. Glad she never knew. But no, I’m not angry. Far as I’m concerned, Dad got knocked off his pedestal a long time ago. He’s a flawed man, Dash. Always has been.”
“I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Nothing to do. Move on.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I walked over to the open garage door, looking outside. There was a car lined up in front of each bay. Emmett, Isaiah and Leo were all working fast to get them through the queue.
It was a good business, this garage. Provided us with decent livings. Just like the garage Nick ran in Prescott.
Move on. That didn’t seem all that bad now that I had Bryce. We each had decent jobs, nice homes, and there were a lot of people who didn’t even have that.
“I met someone.”
There was so much to talk about—things to say about Dad and the murder. But none of it mattered. Right now, I just wanted to tell my brother about Bryce. To share her with my family.
“Is it serious?” he asked.
“She’s my Emmy.” It was the best way to describe my feelings for Bryce. Nick loved Emmeline with every molecule in his body. “But it hasn’t been long.”
He chuckled. “I fell for Emmy the first night I met her. Time doesn’t matter.”
Nick and Emmeline had married the first night they’d met. Things had been rocky for them, but they’d found their way back together.
“I’m happy for you. Want a piece of free advice from your older, wiser and more handsome brother?”
I grinned. “Sure.”
“Now that you’ve found her, don’t let her go.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bryce
I clicked save on my story and uploaded the final version to the drive where Dad would pull it into the layout for tomorrow’s paper. He’d already staged the photos and formatted the headline. Now all he’d have to do was input the text.
I’d waited to finalize the details until the very last minute, hoping Dash or Emmett would find more to include. But in the past five days, nothing new had come to light about the man who’d broken into the Tin Gypsy clubhouse and stolen Draven’s knife. The man who was likely responsible for Amina Daylee’s death.
Draven had found his original knife—the one with the cherry handle. It had been in his home, as he’d expected, tucked away safely in a bag of hunting gear.
The picture Emmett had printed from the surveillance cameras would be on Sunday’s front page, along with speculation about the murder weapon’s theft. Our newspaper was all about printing the facts, so my personal conjecture had been pushed to the wayside. But there were hints between those facts, enough to plant seeds of doubt. Add to that my exclusive interview with Draven Slater and his confession of a secret daughter, this plan might just work.
Now all I had to do was pray that when Genevieve came to Clifton Forge tomorrow, she didn’t read my article before I could tell her about Draven. I could call her and ask her not to pick up a local paper—I doubted she would anyway. But if she was anything like me, that call would only make her curious. I was hedging my bet that she didn’t care about the latest Clifton Forge Tribune.
“It’s all yours.” I spun in my chair to face Dad, who was seated at his desk.
“Thanks.” He smiled. “I’ll put it in after lunch. Did you give Marcus a heads-up?”
“No. He can read it with everyone else.”
“Oh.” His eyebrows came together. “Uh, okay.”
“What? Do you think it’s a mistake?”
“I think a lot has changed in the last month. You were on Chief Wagner’s team not long ago, wanting to be in his good graces. And now”—he pointed to the computer—“the story you drafted is not the one I expected.”
“No, it’s not.” It wasn’t the one I’d expected to write either. “But this is the right story to tell. Draven didn’t kill Amina Daylee. The real killer is out there, and if that means lighting a fire under the chief’s ass to get him to dig deeper, then that’s what I need to do.”
“Still might be worth giving him a heads-up. Tip your hat. You don’t want to ruin that relationship, Bryce.”
I sighed. “I don’t think he’ll like me much after this anyway.”
No amount of licorice would make him trust me once this story came out.
“One phone call will smooth things over,” Dad suggested. “Just make him feel like you haven’t completely switched teams.”
“Why don’t you call him? It might be better coming from you.” Because the truth was, I had switched teams. My loyalty wasn’t to Marcus Wagner anymore. June had come and gone. The July weather had engulfed Clifton Forge in sunshine and heat. And as the calendar had ticked by, my priorities had changed.
I’d fallen in love with the man I’d once hoped to expose as a criminal.
Technically, he was a criminal—or a former criminal. Mostly, he was mine. Flawed and mine.
“Do you need anything else from me?” I yawned. “If not, I’m going to head home.”
“Still tired?”
“Yeah.” I gave Dad a weak smile. “It’s been a long week. I’m out of energy.
”
“You need a nap. Get some rest. Would you like to come over for dinner tonight? I’m sure your mom would love to cook for you.”
It had been weeks since I’d gone over to Mom and Dad’s house. Mom had been begging me constantly for a visit and had apparently enlisted Dad to help too. “No plans. I’d love to. I’ll call Mom and ask what I can bring.”
The door into the bullpen pushed open. “Hey, you two.”
“Speak of the devil.” Dad stood from his chair, meeting Mom in the middle of the room for a kiss.
“Hi, Mom.” I waved but didn’t get up from my chair. “You look pretty today.”
“Thanks.” Her hair was the same rich brown as mine but carried a few gray streaks. Mom refused to get them covered up anymore because on one of their trips to Seattle, a waiter had accused us of being sisters. Where most women would have been flattered, doubling the young man’s tip, she’d taken offense. She’d corrected him gently, informing him of our relationship. She’d told him that being my mother was the greatest source of pride in her life.
Like Dad always said, it was easy to love Tessa Ryan.
Mom came over and bent low to give me a hug while I stayed in my chair, then she sat on the edge of my desk. “Want to come over for dinner tonight?”
I laughed. “Dad just asked me the same question. And yes. I’d love to. What would you like me to bring?”
“Oh, nothing. I’ll take care of it. In fact, I have extra if you want to bring the boyfriend along.”
The boyfriend. Was Dash my boyfriend? He’d probably cringe at the term. Much too juvenile for someone like him. It wasn’t edgy enough. What was the MC terminology? Was he my man? Or old man? If—and that was a big if, considering his commitment phobia—we got married one day, would that make me his old lady?
I cringed. If he ever called me his old lady, I’d deny him sex for a month.
“I’ve been missing you guys,” I said. “Ryans only tonight. I’ll invite Dash next time.”
“Fine.” Mom pouted. “But I expect to meet him sooner than later.”
“You will.” Assuming we were at the point where we introduced each other to our families. We were, right?
