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I stick my head in the door and Cash looks up.
“Rock,” he says, giving me a chin lift.
His VP, Ryder, is sitting to his left.
I give him a chin lift and say, “Everythin’ good?”
I mean, it wasn’t good until six months ago. It was far from good. But now I’m thirty years old, I’ve realized it’s time to grow a set. I know the Rebels aren’t the devil. For one they’re not a one percent club so they don’t do illegal shit.
The only thing shady is the hacking and surveillance, which me and my brother take care of. Other than that, the club is clean.
“Remember how we discussed you not havin’ to prospect all those months?” he says as he notions for me to sit at the table.
Uh oh. I already don’t like where this is going.
“Distinctly,” I reply, taking the chair to his right.
“And that we may need a favor?” Ryder puts in helpfully.
I try hard not to roll my eyes, a boyish habit I’ve never been able to break.
Cash Hudson demands respect, and as an MC Prez, he gets it. Even from me.
I can see how far my brother has come in the thirteen years he’s been with the club, and Cash has been like a father to him. The father we should’ve had.
I missed out on so much and that was to my own detriment.
“Glad I’m sittin’ down,” I mutter.
Cash slides a file over to me. “Aspyn Ashley,” he says.
I frown. “What’s one of those?”
Ryder snickers as I open the file and say, “Oh, need me to fuck a nice piece of ass. Don’t have to ask me twice, Prez.”
He doesn’t laugh. “Very funny. This is one piece of ass you’ll keep your hands off,” he warns. “Her father is Tommy Huntley, one of the biggest realtors and financiers in LA This is his kid.”
“I’m sensing the point bein’ made sometime soon,” I mutter.
“He always like this?” Cash asks Ryder.
“In my defense,” I start. “It’s early, Prez. Had no pussy for a few weeks and I’m all outta coffee this mornin’. Got a new chick startin’ at the office this week and Luna is already stretched between the two places, cussin’ at me as if I’m the one who’s makin’ her leave…”
“You done?” Cash shakes his head.
“Sound like a little bitch,” Ryder agrees, smiling across the table at me. “I think this is the perfect job for him.”
Cash snickers too. Clearly, the two of them are in on this horrible task.
I ignore them, grinding my teeth and looking down at the file.
The picture, a mugshot, no less, shows the prettiest girl with pale skin, a small smattering of freckles across her cheeks and long, ice-blonde hair hanging over to one side. But it isn’t even that which captures me, it’s the eyes. They’re so blue that I’m sure they can’t be real. She looks like trouble with a capital T.
She has a stubborn look on her face, which I guess is a given when you’re posing for a mugshot. Her eyeliner is smudged, giving her that ‘I don’t give a fuck how I look because I know I look hot anyway’ attitude. She permeates the kind of rage that I used to see in myself, and I wonder immediately what happened to her.
“She’s a reality TV star… Or was,” Cash explains. “Ever heard of Tail Spin?”
I look up at them. “Nope.”
