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“Alright, I won’t push it,” she promises me with a grimace.
“So, tell me about Wild Riders. Carson mentioned it’s upscale. That’s kind of hard to imagine.”
“Well, it’s run by Sam Knight, their uncle. You’ll like him,” she says with a sideways glance. “He’s a retired cop who is still active behind the scenes with the Jacksonville Sheriff’s office.”
“How does that work out with him owning a biker bar?” I question her.
“Exactly! He insists on anonymity for everyone who goes there, mostly for himself, I’m sure. So, everyone uses their biker nicknames.” She shrugs.
“Really? Do all bikers name their motorcycles?”
“Wild Riders do,” she says with a sly grin. “Since you don’t have a bike, we’ll call you and Connor by your names. But it’s considered rude not to use everyone’s nickname.”
“Interesting. So, what are the names?”
“Chase goes by Chaser. No imagination.” She rolls her eyes, “But most of the names have deeper meanings. Like mine, my dad used to call me Bella. Carter’s name is Freedom, which is important to him. And Kat doesn’t ride… yet. But you never know,” she adds with a laugh.
The crunch of gravel announces our arrival at the parking lot. “Here we are.”
I turn to get my first glimpse of Wild Riders. It looks like a converted warehouse. Wild Riders is written in bold letters across a large chrome sign. The front of the bar is adorned with flaming skulls and other types of biker paraphernalia.
As Val slams the car door, a handful of rough-looking men standing by their motorcycles turn to offer nods and smiles.
“Hi, guys!” She turns toward me, “This is Anna. She’s with us.”
Their gazes soften in respect as they each give me a nod. I return a tentative smile.
The guys pull in beside Val’s SUV, and Connor hops off the back of the Spyder with a look of pure excitement. “That was awesome!” he exclaims.
We wait for them to secure their helmets before Carson pulls open the heavy oak doors.
The interior is surprisingly upscale. The wooden floors gleam with polish. There are spotlights strategically placed, and large flat-screen TVs adorn the walls, displaying a mix of silent motorcycle races.
Just before finding a seat, Connor asks, “Dad, where’s the bathroom?”
“I’ll show you,” Carson says, turning to me. “We’ll be right back.”
I nod as we slide into a corner booth. A tall, broad-shouldered man approaches. He has silver hair, and he’s sporting a goatee. In a booming voice, he says, “And who might you be, pretty lady?”
Chase states, “This is Anna.” As the man turns to me, I state, “I’m here with Carson. We’re old friends.”
“Old friends, eh?” He says with a considering look, “From college?”
I blink at the abrupt question. “No. Not college,” I stammer, caught off guard by the sudden shift in the conversation. “We met on a cruise. At a party. A masquerade party, actually.”
At my words, the entire table falls eerily silent, and all eyes turn toward me. I try to hide my sudden nerves as the older man gives me an intense look, his gaze sharp under his bushy white eyebrows. Just as the silence starts to feel suffocating, a wave of relief washes over me as I see Carson appear behind the man, his hand resting on Connor’s shoulder.
A hint of amusement dances in the older man’s eyes, but I can’t tell if it’s directed at me or the situation. His voice cuts through the tension-filled air as he states, “Ah, here’s Masquerade now.”
Fifteen
Carson
I notice the tense silence as everyone turns to look at me. I notice Anna’s eyes are wide and filled with surprise and something else I can’t identify as she looks up at me.
“It looks like the cat’s already out of the bag. Connor, this is Shadow. Shadow, this is my son, Connor.”
“What did you just say? You’re son?” My Uncle’s eyes go wide in stunned disbelief.
