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The first light of dawn was long gone when I found myself awake, entwined with Riptide, in the suffocating embrace of his motel room. Despite the danger, our night together had been a stolen moment of abandon in the bedlam that was our lives. But as the sunlight pierced through the grimy window, reality came crashing back. We had a killer to find, clubs on the brink of war, and a forbidden romance that could be our undoing.
Riptide stirred, his muscular frame tense as he sat up. Daylight dashed cold water on his rugged features. “We need to get moving,” he said, voice gruff, a reminder of the world we belonged to, a world where such tenderness had no place.
I nodded, feeling the shift in the air, the return to our roles in our respective clubs. The Seville Slayers and the Hell on Heelz had always been at odds, but now, more than ever, our alliance was a delicate balance of trust and necessity.
After combining our leads, we decided our destination was the warehouse we’d found before. Cowgirl could be there lying low. I pulled on my leather jacket, the emblem of the Hell on Heelz MC emblazoned across the back, I caught Riptide watching me, his eyes ablaze.
“What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious.
With a shake of his head, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Just thinking about how this,” he gestured between us, “is the last thing I expected to find while searching for my brother’s killer.”
“Yeah, life has got a sick sense of humor,” I replied, the weight of my own colors heavy on my shoulders, both literally and figuratively. Rage and the rest of my sisters were counting on me to get to the bottom of Viper’s murder. And part of me worried about what they’d think of my growing connection to Riptide. Hell, I knew what they’d suppose. They’d believe it was a betrayal.
Riptide replied, “Yeah, I find the girl of my dreams, and she’s my enemy.”
“Your dreams?” I asked, going to him and straddling him. I ran my hand through his hair.
His eyes were full of what could only be described as love. “You don’t know how many sleepless nights I thought of you. The girl I could never have.”
“Oh, you could’ve had me. All of me,” I said, feeling so vulnerable in this embrace.
“High school was complicated,” he said, as if that explained everything.
“Things are more complicated now,” I mused under my breath, getting up and off of him.
My words were a six-hundred-pound elephant in the room. We couldn’t ignore it, but there was fuck all we could do about it. We headed out, the roar of our bikes breaking the silence of the early morning.
The warehouse loomed ahead, a dilapidated structure that reeked of decay and secrets. We shared a glance, a wordless understanding, before dismounting our hogs and approaching with caution. Inside, the darkness hid more than just the remnants of illegal dealings and all those weapons we found before.
Our search was methodical. Riptide and I crept through the halls of the abandoned warehouse, full of forgotten relics and secrets. The risk was a living thing between us as we moved in silent sync, every sense attuned to the potential danger lurking within.
Our search led us to the heart of the warehouse, where we found Cowgirl, my sister, whose loyalty had been under question. She stood defiantly among crates of weapons, her figure illuminated by the intermittent flicker of overhead lights.
“Cowgirl,” I called out. “What the hell is this?”
Swigging her blonde head, she turned, her face a mask of resignation and something darker, more desperate. “Brat,” she acknowledged with a bitter twist of her too plump lips. “Looks like you’ve caught me.”
Riptide stepped beside me, his presence a silent threat, his hand resting on the butt of his gun. “Who are you working with?” he demanded, his tone brokering no argument.
Cowgirl laughed, a sound devoid of humor. “You think I’m the mastermind?” She shook her head, her eyes darting between us. “I’m just a pawn, Brat. There’s someone else, someone who wants you dead and gone.”
That was a real shocker. Felt like a punch to the gut. Someone wanted me dead? What did I have to do with any of this? “Who are you talking about?” I pressed, needing to understand, to make sense of the treachery within my own ranks.
Cowgirl hesitated, then, as if deciding we deserved at least some truth, she whispered, “He’s been watching you for a long time, waiting for the right moment. He’s the one pulling the strings, aiming to take down both clubs.”
The standoff continued, each second stretching taut as a wire, until the decision was made for us. We couldn’t leave her there, armed and dangerous, with a greater unknown threat looming over us.
As we escorted Cowgirl out of the warehouse, her cryptic warning reiterated in the empty spaces, “He will be victorious. You can’t stop what’s already in motion.”
Stepping out into the light, Riptide and I looked to our two motorcycles and back to each other, and to my sister struggling between us to break free. I knew what I had to do. Raising my fist, I punched her lights out. The ride back to the clubhouse was a silent procession of grim determination. Cowgirl sat in front of Riptide, her limp body hunched over the handlebars, and I followed behind.
We went straight to the Roost. Took her straight to Rage, my president, and recounted the events, watching the play of emotions across Rage’s face.
Cowgirl’s words, delivered with a chilling certainty, sent a wave of cold dread through me. “The man behind this, he’s going to tear everything apart. Your clubs, your lives… he’s coming for it all.”
Her prophecy leaving a mark, I stood beside Riptide, waiting for the rest. The man behind the curtain had made his move, setting in motion a chain of events that threatened to destroy not just me but everything and everyone I cared about.
But as much as Cowgirl wanted to crow about what would happen, she wouldn’t give up the goods and tell us who pulled the strings.
