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“Murder is the foundation of a surprising number of relationships.”
Dixon disentangles himself from the crowd, and he taps one member of his MC on the shoulder — a wiry, muscled man with short, dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and so many tattoos that his skin looks like a canvas — and the two of them approach my bar station. It’s as they get closer that I see the newcomer has the folder in his hands. He must’ve gotten it from Dixon earlier.
“Alexandra, this is Ghost. He’s going to help us run down this Erik Marquez. If there’s anyone out there who can track him, it’s Ghost.”
The doubt on my face must be more readable than I realize, because Ghost extends a calloused hand and a smile. “I spent some time in intelligence and… doing other things I can’t tell you about, for agencies that don’t exist, in places you’ve never heard of. I’ve already sent what little information we have about Erik Marquez out to some of my connections. Something will turn up on him. No one is so good that they don’t leave a few breadcrumbs behind.” As if on cue, his phone chirps, and he takes it out of his pocket. He frowns. “Here’s something. Or several somethings. According to one of my sources in the DEA, Marquez is connected to a few heavy-hitters. Picked up a few times, but never charged. But you know how that is. Smokey, we may want to suggest to Rook that we loop in the Twisted Devils. When the time comes to act, if Marquez is working for any of the names on this list, taking him down may require manpower.”
Dixon nods grimly. “Fair enough. I’ll talk to him. Or whoever ends up getting elected president.”
Striker and Ghost both trade a look and a smile passes between them.
“You haven’t heard?”
“What?”
“Shit, we should’ve told you earlier,” Striker says. “Bullet and Thunder, they came up with the idea. We’re all voting Rook as president. Ghost and Hawk are on board, too.”
“Why?” Dixon says. “He doesn’t want the fucking job. That grumpy asshole doesn’t want to do anything that might bring him into contact with other people.”
“That’s exactly why we’re voting for him.”
“Some kind of punishment thing? Or a prank? We can’t risk the future of our club just for a good gag.”
Ghost shakes his head. “He’s got good relations with the TDMC. Besides, it’s a bonus that he is a grumpy asshole because that will make him the leader we need right now: someone to keep us from getting entangled in enterprises that we do not need to be involved in.”
“And,” Striker adds, “if we get wrapped up in any business with the asshole Santoro Syndicate or the Covingtons, we’ll just send him to negotiate a deal and he’ll grump them into submission.”
Dixon shrugs. “Fair enough. You make a strong case — he’s got my vote.”
There’s another beep from Ghost’s phone. He squints at the screen. “Another from my DEA friend. She’s sent me some surveillance photos from a cartel case about four years back. Looks like we got a workable photo of our guy instead of that grainy shit from your files.” He passes the phone to Dixon, who looks and then holds it to me.
I take the phone, a look, and then everything goes dark as I’m caught in a sudden memory. The phone clatters to the ground, and a vivid vision of my past swirls in front of my eyes. I sway, my breath leaving me in a sharp release.
“Alexandra, what is it?” Dixon says, catching me before I can fall.
“I’ve seen that man before… I know him. My father and my brother hired him.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dixon
The weight of the revelation dissipates the second I see the look on Alexandra’s face. Nothing matters except comforting her. I put an arm around her and pull her to my chest. She’s shaking, and tears soak through my shirt. Gently, I lead her away from the crowd and back to her car. The party, my brothers, the fire crew — it all can wait.
Over my shoulder, I meet eyes with Ghost.
“Find out everything you can about that man. Call me as soon as you have a location.”
I get Alexandra to her car, and she hands over the keys. The doors slam shut once we enter, cutting off all sounds but her shuddering breaths.
“What happened back there?”
She breathes in. Hesitates, releases it with a shaky sigh.
“I’ve seen him before. That man.”
The way her voice trembles, my fists clench into fists before I even realize it.
“Talk to me, Alexandra. What else do you remember about him? Did he hurt you?”
