Kase shifted his gaze to Rourke. They had been trying to get her info from anybody who might have leads. The only problem was no one was talking—not the police, not the ambulance crew, nobody. They were tight-lipped when it came to the identity of the Good Samaritan.

“I want that girl,” Kase said and turned heel back down the hallway. It was done, their president had spoken. Whether Trax agreed or not, it didn’t matter. When Kase gave an order, it was followed.

Chapter Three

The rumble of the engines was loud and vibrating. Even half a block away, she could feel the tremors on the road, which intensified her anxiety. She sat silently, the same as she had been doing for the past hour. She’d never seen so much leather in her life. Or motorcycles.

She craned her neck to watch the next batch of riders. A wave of twenty or thirty bikes would pass by, then minutes later, another wave would come through. The streets were lined with men, women, and even a few children. It almost looked like a parade, but it wasn’t. It was a funeral.

The plan of returning the envelope had been foiled majorly. She’d made the decision a few days ago. Not one of her better choices. She had spent the last few days weighing her options, and Macy’s. They were both involved now. Going to the police with the envelope would have been the most sensible choice. It was a no brainer. But something held her back. There had to be a reason Mick had been so adamant about her taking the package. A further inspection of the envelope showed, along with the decaying body part and cash, a few documents. Neither she nor Macy could make anything out of it, but the one thing they agreed on was it was meant for the club. It cinched her decision. She would just return it to the Ghosttown Riders.

Then her mind changed again.

Cheyenne glanced up into her rearview mirror as another group drove down Main Street. Blacksburg hadn’t seen this much action in years. Since then, the news had picked up the story. Their small town had been inundated with news cameras and motorcycles. To anyone not involved, it was intriguing, but not for Cheyenne. The police had visited her apartment again. They were digging deep with their investigation. She rehashed the story of what happened, omitting the obvious envelope part. She kept that piece of information to herself. If she admitted she had it now, it would raise suspicion on why she never turned it over from the beginning. Detective Ross seemed nice enough and genuinely concerned, but his questions were leading. He flat out asked if she’d taken anything from the scene. A question he hadn’t asked earlier. She vehemently denied it, but he gave her an uneasy feeling.

He instructed her not to talk to the press for her own safety and assured her that her name would not be released. She was also specifically instructed not to approach the club. The officer’s words replayed over in her head.

“These are not good guys, Cheyenne. They tend to take matters into their own hands. It’s best that they don’t know who you are.”

She agreed.

That was yesterday.

Now she sat in the convenience store parking lot, watching the procession of bikes at the local funeral home. All the preconceived notions and ideas she had about the club were slashed as she watched the men somberly embrace one another. Women in tears, even small kids holding tight to the hands of the adults.

They may be outlaws and criminals, but what she saw now was nothing more than a group of people in complete sorrow for losing their friend. It made them seem more human, not cold-blooded killers or criminals, but a family who had lost one of their own.

She had struggled with her decision to not turn over the envelope. It was as if she had Mick’s last dying wish in her hands. He didn’t want the cops to have it. She glanced over to the passenger seat. The envelope lay there like a fork in the road, daring her to make the right decision.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered, never taking her gaze off the envelope. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

****

The mood in the clubhouse was a vast contrast from earlier in the day. The funeral was a time to reflect, to comfort one another for a fallen brother. Now they were celebrating his life with booze, music, and half-naked women filtering throughout the club. He leaned back, watching the show play out in front of him. Strippers on the stage, men drunk everywhere, some fucking in the corner, a train forming at the pool table.

He groaned, dropping his head back as Val suctioned over his cock, taking her mouth to the root of his dick. With his cock shoved down her throat, she licked his balls. He closed his eyes, thankful for the distraction and release. Right now, all he wanted to do was come down her throat and relieve some tension. Think of anything but his fallen brother. He gripped her hair and angled her down farther. She gagged slightly, and he eased off.

He gave her no warning except the tightening of his fist through the strands of her bleached hair. It wasn’t soft like silk, which for some crazy reason pissed him off. The coarse hair was almost brittle in his hand. He wrenched his hand back and gripped the couch. He was seconds away from coming.

Her moan vibrated over his cock, sending a pulsing shock over the crown of his length. It was her thing. She did it every time. Fucking A, it was the perfect end. But that was just it, the end. It was a mere distraction to keep his grief at bay.

Without the distraction, his thoughts would be brought back to Mick. Shit.

He stood, ignoring her stare, and zipped up his jeans. He needed to get out of there, away from everyone. He needed the escape of the road. Val dropped onto the couch where he had been sitting. Her red nails trailed down his jeans, and he glanced over.

“Was it good?”

“I came, didn’t I?” He smirked and cocked his brow. His tone was teasing and light.

Val twitched her nose and chuckled. He smiled and lifted his chin. “See ya later.”

He hadn’t made it a foot away when her hand clasped into his. She jolted up and pressed her breasts against his chest.

“I don’t think you should be alone. Not tonight.” She batted her lashes, and Trax sighed. Fuck me, I shoulda known better. Val wasn’t just a club whore happy with the life. She had an agenda. She had been working her way through the brothers, waiting on someone to make her an old lady. That someone wouldn’t be him.

She clasped her hand around his waist and smiled. “I could come home with you?”

He was shaking his head before she even finished talking.

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