Page 10 of Angel’s Claim

My bike is still parked where I left it, right out front of the bar. The chrome catches the light from the neon signs, and I run my hand over the seat before I climb on.

The engine roars to life, loud in the quiet night, and I pull out onto the empty street.

The ride to the clubhouse takes ten minutes, and I spend all of them thinking about the way she looked wearing my cut. The way something in my chest tightened when she asked if she'd see me again. The way she smiled when I said I'd come back tomorrow.

I've known her for less than two hours.

I gave her my cut.

I'm coming back tomorrow.

Phoenix is definitely going to have questions.

I pull into the clubhouse, and most of the bikes are already here, which means everyone's either inside or already asleep. I kill the engine and sit on the bike for a moment, trying to figure out what I'm going to say if anyone asks where I've been.

The truth, probably. I've never been good at lying, and the Iron Phoenix doesn't tolerate it anyway.

I head inside through the side door, hoping I can make it to my room without running into anyone. The common room is mostly empty. Just Canvas and Eden curled up on the couch watching something on the TV, and Brick at the bar nursing a beer.

Canvas glances up when I walk in. His eyes go straight to my missing cut.

"You lost something, prospect?" he asks, and there's amusement in his voice.

Shit.

"It's at the motel," I say.

Eden sits up slightly, interested now. "The motel?"

"Yeah."

"Why is your cut at the motel?" Canvas asks.

"Because I gave it to someone who was cold."

Brick sets his beer down and turns to look at me. "You gave your cut to someone."

"Yeah."