Page 20 of Property of Rattler

“A way to make up for you being an ass, more like,” Saint growls.

“Circle back,” Tempest cuts in. “I want to know more about this Malachi Stone. He going to be a problem for us?”

“Well, I don’t fuckin’ like he was able to just waltz into the club,” Bullseye rasps.

My head rises and dips. “Yeah. That’s why I stashed her in my room. He knows the Kings own Royals. Seems likely he’ll be stopping by, playing the concerned brother.”

“And if we didn’t know that he wanted to kill her, we’d have probably given him her info.” Saint stands and paces. He sweeps his long hair back and holds it like a ponytail. “This is fucked up. If Rat hadn’t gotten locked in with her, we’d have never known.” While he’s been speaking, I’ve been nodding my head.

“What’s she really like?” Prez asks.

Air leaves my mouth on a sigh. “Pretty enough, I suppose. Clumsy, drops more drinks than she serves.” Then quickly I add, “But she’s getting better. She’s a smartass, obviously comes from money, and thinks she’s better than us.” Actually, I’m notsure about that part. She did seem down to earth. But she is an heiress to a fortune, so I guess it’s a fair bet.

“But she’s ready to marry a biker?”

“She’s desperate.” I shrug.

“Must have been to ask you,” Tempest mumbles. He doesn’t flinch at my death glare.

“Okay.” Bullseye sits forward. “She’s a multi-million-heiress. There might be some way we can use her to add to our coffers.” He exchanges a glance with Saint. “I need to think on this. Go back to her, Rat. Tell her she’s under the club’s protection. That should satisfy her for now. But how to proceed? Well, I’ll give you my answer later.”

“And what do we do about Satin?” I’ve already explained about her and my doubts.

“Send a prospect to bring her in. We need to talk to her.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Tempest says. “Get her here, then let her meet with Ames. You stay with them, Rat, and see what you make of her.”

Bullseye raises his chin, then picks up his phone. “I’ll get Genie looking into Amethyst and Malachi Stone, see if we can confirm her story. And I’d like to speak with her myself. If she betrayed the girl, then she might know something about Stone and his desperate need for money.”

“Unless he just wants to kill her because she’s annoying as fuck,” I can’t help adding.

All three men ignore me.

“You considering ending the brother?” Tempest asks.

Bullseye’s eyes shutter. He seems to sink into himself. “If he’s dead, there’s no longer a risk to her. But we’ve got to find him first.” Then he shrugs. “We can’t decide anything until we know who he is and why he has an urgent need for money. Could be he owes someone, and we might have to think carefully about howto approach the situation, depending on who that someone is.” He shakes his head. “Can’t do more without information.”

He then jerks his chin first at me, then at the door. I take it as my cue to leave.

CHAPTER NINE

AMES

Rattler’s room is really quite boring. And, yes, I’ve snooped. He’s got a bookshelf, but it’s full of comics, a couple of Harley manuals, and various porn magazines. His drawers hold nothing but numerous almost identical t-shirts, folded jeans, and underwear. His nightstand holds multiple boxes of condoms. There’s nothing here to suggest he’s anything other than shallow. It makes me regret ever having asked this man to marry me. Thank God he didn’t take me seriously.

I’m in two minds about the prospect he left guarding the door. Am I a prisoner? Or, as he said, is it for my own protection? While I’m not a violent person, I wanted to hit Rattler when he blatantly said he didn’t trust me to have the common sense not to venture into their clubhouse, in the probable event that Malachi would come looking for me. That I’m awkward as fuck carrying drinks on trays doesn’t mean I’m stupid. And even that’s getting better with practice. I’d challenge him to hold on to a tray while his ass is pinched as he passes almost every table. And I’d love to see him doing so while performing the shimmy dance I’ve adopted to evade roaminghands. It’s not just me. It’s something I’ve copied from the other servers.

Not in the mood and knowing I’ll be unable to lose myself in mindless television, I sit on the bed with my head in my hands, considering my situation. Just two months ago, I was living with my grandparents, happy being a student and enjoying my course, while thinking about a worthwhile career using my skills to track down criminals. Now I’m holed up with a whole bunch of them instead.

The coroner had determined that the deaths of my grandparents were from natural causes. I knew better, though it hadn’t been proven. It was damn convenient for Malachi. While them being alive wouldn’t have stopped him from getting my inheritance, they were two invested people who might have queried why I’d suddenly died when finally, one of his attempts on me had worked. Or perhaps they wouldn’t. They’d started to think of me as accident-prone, as I’d had so many near misses. Of course, I was supposed to die beside them that night. At least it would have been an easy death. With carbon monoxide poisoning, I’d have just gone to sleep and never woken up. Sometimes I wonder whether it was good luck or bad that I wasn’t home that night. I’ve certainly not had it easy since.

A tear comes to my eye. Malachi and I had never been close, our age difference too great for us to have had shared interests. And I’d known he was jealous of the attention given to me, after having had our parents' sole affection for years. But he was my blood. There was still part of me that wanted to believe I’d gotten it all wrong, that I’d misunderstood that overheard conversation. But last night proved it. How could he be so evil as to plot against me, and all for money?

It wasn’t even that I wanted it. I’d have preferred our parents to still be alive. As it was, I’d grown up with grandparents who had plenty of love to give, but only average means to get by. Ididn’t go hungry, but there were no designer clothes or foreign holidays for me. I’d been brought up to focus on furthering my education to eventually make a decent salary. My inheritance was waiting, I knew that, but I hadn’t really considered what it would mean. None of my friends at university had had such a cushion waiting for them in the wings. When I first realised it meant so much more to Malachi than to me, I’d briefly wondered about promising to sign it all over to him. But he’d have to wait until my twenty-first birthday for me to inherit, and it seemed he was in urgent need of the money. On my death, of course, it would go to him immediately.

The coffee I’d drunk earlier catches up with me, and I need to use the bathroom. That’s something that’s lacking in this bunkhouse—private facilities. After holding on as long as I can, I open the door. The man outside pushes away from the wall he had been leaning against.

Feeling very much like the prisoner it appears I am, I gingerly ask, “Er, can I use the bathroom?”