Jackson’s fingers strummed against the passenger door. Declan was behind the wheel but they weren’t driving. They were waiting. Watching the little screen on Declan’s phone. They’d used one of their connections from the military to acquire a high-tech wireless camera which Declan had planted just above the exit of the basement stairs in the Trinity parking lot. There was sound and a crystal-clear image. That was all they needed.
They’d already been waiting for a good hour, but so far, they’d seen nothing. They’d wait another hour and, if nothing happened, go to the fight.
“What I wouldn’t give to be able to step into that club tonight and murder every asshole involved in Ryker’s death,” Declan said quietly, leaning his head back.
“You and me both, brother. But first we need to work out exactly who Elijah is and what he’s up to.”
If Ryker had become involved, it had to be important.
Declan nodded.
“We’ve got to be careful,” Jackson continued. “Even though the club is Mickey’s turf, and he’s okay with us being here, I wouldn’t put it past this Elijah guy to try something.”
“That’s why we’re armed and we watch our backs.” He turned to look at Jackson. “How was River this morning?”
His fingers paused mid-strum. “I think she’s more frustrated than anything that no one believes it was Ryker.”
“I mean, the question’s there. Who the hell saved her?”
Jackson blew out a long breath. “I don’t know. She’s adamant she saw two men fighting so it had to be someone.”
Declan nodded again.
“I wish she was right,” he said quietly. “I would give my right fucking arm to have our brother back with us.”
“You and me both,” Declan echoed.
He opened his mouth to say something but quickly snapped it shut. Because really, what could he say? Ryker was dead.
“You talk to Erik today?”
Jackson scrubbed a hand over his face. “No. I’m hoping to catch him tonight.” And hoping the guy didn’t throw a fist in his face. But if he did, Jackson deserved it. Everything Erik had said yesterday was true. The guy had just been trying to help. Hell, he’d been helping him since Jackson walked into that club.
“Your girl had just been slammed against a wall and almost had her finger sliced off,” Declan said, watching the screen on their phone. “Your anger was understandable.”
True. But that didn’t make it any fairer for Erik.
Jackson’s eyes were also on the empty parking lot through the screen. He was starting to think nothing was going to happen when the basement door opened and three men stepped out.
Jackson straightened. Declan leaned closer to the screen. The three men were the same ones Jackson recognized from the last fight. And he was almost certain one of them was Elijah.
Before the door could close behind them, a fourth man stepped out. Jackson’s fist clenched so hard, his knuckles cracked.
Brian.
He’d been sure his father was involved, both from the way he’d led those people into the office at the club and after the warning he’d served to Jackson to stay away. This just confirmed it. And it had his blood chilling in his veins.
The four of them stood around for about ten minutes, two of them pulling out cigarettes, his father and the other guy just waiting. All of them silent.
Jackson heard it before he saw it. A large truck pulling up outside the door.
When the truck stopped, two guys got out of the cab and moved around to the back. The way the truck parked, with its rear facing the club door, Jackson and Declan had a perfect view of the back.
One of the guys from the front opened the cargo door, and four more guys stepped out. Behind them were metal kegs. The truck was full of them. Some large, some small. They didn’t quite fill the space, but they came close.
The driver stopped in front of one of the guys. “It’s all here, Elijah.”
Ah, there you are, Elijah.
Elijah nodded to one of his men, who moved forward, climbed into the truck, and unscrewed the top of one of the kegs. He stuck his hand inside, and when he pulled it out, Jackson cursed under his breath.
Money. A handful of it. The man lifted the cash closer to his face, studying it, before shoving it back inside. He did the same thing to each keg.
When he was done, he turned to Elijah and nodded.
Over the next twenty minutes, Jackson and Declan watched as the guys moved the kegs down the stairs. When the truck was empty, the six men got back in and drove away, while the others went back into the club, his father being the one to pull the door closed behind him.
For a moment, both Jackson and Dec were silent.
“So they’re selling something out of the club and whoever’s buying it is hiding the payment in kegs?” Declan said quietly, even though there was no one else around to hear.
“The question is, what are they selling?”
What were Elijah and his father putting back into those kegs in exchange for that kind of money?
Jackson and Declan remained in the car for another hour, watching the camera, waiting to see if the truck returned. Or if anything else went down.
It didn’t.
Declan finally drove the short distance around the corner to the club. When they stepped into the basement, the place was already packed. Jackson had just reached the bottom step when he saw them—Elijah and Mickey talking. And just like last week, neither man looked happy.
He looked away before either could see him watching and moved down the hall and into the changing room. Four other fighters were already inside, Erik included. His gaze clashed with Erik’s for a second before the other guy quickly looked away. He didn’t look angry. But he didn’t look happy, either.
Jackson dropped his bag and spent the next ten minutes getting changed. Then he slipped out of the room, beelining down the hall.
The first door he checked led to an empty room, just like last week. He quickly moved to the next—and the second he opened it, he froze.
Five people he’d never seen before looked back at him from where they stood around the empty desk he’d searched last week. And then the man behind the desk glanced up.
Brian.
His father’s eyes narrowed to slits.
Before anyone could say anything, Jackson tugged the door shut. But in those few seconds, he’d already seen what he needed to see.
Guns. Bags of them on the desk. And a few open kegs. He’d also seen money being exchanged, Brian handing a wad of bills to one of the men standing across the desk.
Firearms. Elijah’s men were buying firearms, then selling them elsewhere. That had to be it.
But where the hell did Ryker fit into it all?
He was just stepping away from the door, half expecting it to open behind him, when fingers grabbed his arm, spinning him around.
It was one of Mickey’s guys.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Jackson narrowed his eyes. “Unless you want that hand broken, get it the hell off me.”
Instead of letting go, the guy tightened his fingers. Jackson was a second away from snatching his arm and breaking the guy’s bones when Erik appeared beside him.
“He’s new. I gave him the wrong directions to the bathroom.”
The guy’s fingers remained for a moment before dropping. He took a step back. “Don’t let it happen again.”
Erik shoved Jackson in front of him as they headed back to the changing room. Jackson felt Mickey’s guys eyes on him the entire way.
The second they stepped into the room, he met Erik’s gaze. “Thanks.”
“Don’t do that again. They’ll murder your ass.”
He was about to walk away when Jackson stopped him. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I was an asshole.”
There was a short beat of silence before Erik nodded. “Don’t worry about it. It was a shit day for you.”
River dunked the measuring cup into the sugar canister. When she pulled it out, she was seconds away from pouring it into the bowl when Michele’s sharp voice stopped her.
“What the heck are you doing?”
River frowned. “Ah…you asked me to pour a cup of sugar into the mixture, so I’m pouring a cup of sugar into the mixture.”
Was she the one who’d hit her head yesterday or had Chele?
Michele took the cup from her fingers and lifted it to eye level like she was a scientist inspecting a specimen under a microscope. “This isn’t a cup, River. It’s not even close to full.”
Well, sure, the sugar wasn’t level with the top, but—
“It’s needs to be exact.” Michele dunked the cup back into the sugar. When she pulled it out, it was overflowing. She grabbed a knife, tapping the side of the cup a couple times before using the flat edge of the knife to smooth the top.
Okay, maybe River hadn’t been that precise, but was it really necessary?
“Perfect,” Michele said, more to herself than to River, before pouring it into the bowl.
“Okay, now I remember why I don’t bake with you.” The woman was a little dictator in the kitchen.
Michele sighed, setting the measuring cup back on the table. “Sorry, I know I’m a lot. I just…when it comes to making food, it’s the one thing I’m confident in and good at, so I don’t like to mess it up.”
River frowned. “The one thing you’re good at? Michele Joy King, I know you’re not insinuating you aren’t good at much.”
Michele rolled her eyes. “What else am I good at, River?”
“Uh, a million things. You’re good at being a dog mama to Pokey. You make those homemade cards at Christmas that make everyone in town smile. You’re an awesome businesswoman. And the best damn friend I’ve ever had.”
One side of Michele’s mouth lifted. “Okay, I agree with you on the dog mama part.”
“And everything else, I hope.” River shot a look across to Cole on the couch. “Would you tell the woman she’s amazing?”
Cole rose from the couch, moving into the kitchen. “If those cookies taste anything like the banana cake you brought over tonight, I wouldn’t stop at amazing.”
River gave her friend a pointed look. “See?” She reached over, grabbing the bag of chocolate chips before popping one in her mouth.
Michele shook her head this time, but the smile remained. She pushed the bowl in front of River. “The mixture needs some chocolate chips, too.”
River frowned. “Okay, this time you haven’t even told me a quantity. You setting me up to fail, woman?”
“You can add as many or as few as you want.”
River met Cole’s gaze. “So, a lot?”
“And then a few more,” he confirmed.
The man knew how to bake. She poured almost the entire bag into the bowl. Michele shook her head again, taking the bowl back.
River leaned over the island. “So, Cole, give us the goss on Declan.”
Beside her, Michele paused for a moment before going back to her mixing.
Cole frowned. “Goss?”
“Yeah, is he a good guy? Is he dating anyone? A playboy? Does he have anger management issues that only come out on the third date?”
Cole scoffed. “The man is calmer than a saint. Definitely calmer than me or J. And I haven’t seen him date a woman since I met the guy over ten years ago.”
Okay, not really the answer she was looking for, but hey, he was calm and single. “So, playboy?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Cole shot a quick look Michele’s way. The woman wasn’t looking at him. In fact, she was mixing the cookie batter, looking at it like it was the most interesting thing she’d ever seen. He looked back at River. “What I would say is, no woman has made him pause. Not to say it won’t happen in the future.”
Interesting. If there was anyone River thought could make a man pause, as Cole put it, it was definitely her beautiful, softly-spoken best friend.
She grabbed another few chocolate chips from the bag. “What about you? Any woman in your life?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
That was all she got? Nope? “I might know—”
“Nope.” Again with that word. “Not going on any blind dates.”
She pouted. “Why? Because God forbid you might meet the perfect woman and live happily ever after?”
He leaned forward. “Because I don’t believe in happily ever after.”
Then he grabbed the remaining chocolate chips and headed back to the couch.
