“Rodriguez?” he asks and I nod.
“Yeah, you know him?”
He releases me and grabs his coffee, taking a sip. “The club works with him from time to time on cases.”
“Oh. What kind?”
Shrugging, he leans forward, propping his arms up on the table. “It changes. Sometimes he helps us and other times, we help him. It’s beneficial to both of us since sometimes, there are things that as a cop, he can’t do and vice versa.”
“Is the club super top secret or can you talk about it?” I ask and he laughs.
“I can talk about it to an extent. Why? What do you want to know?”
“Why do y’all do this? I mean, there are so many things you could do with your time, why go out of your way to help people?”
Nodding, he leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. “We each have our own reasons for why we do this. Each member has watched the injustice of this world and wished we could have done something to stop it. Now, we do.”
“It’s just so different from what I’ve heard about other clubs,” I say and he nods again.
“It is but they weren’t always like that. Back before I joined, they had their hands elbow deep in all that illegal shit.”
“What changed?”
He shrugs. “I wasn’t here so I only have this information second hand but it seems that Blaze, our president, got shot during a deal and another member, Henn, was set up for selling drugs and went to prison. Blaze said it was like a light bulb went off and he realized he needed to step up and be a better leader, put the club on a better path.”
I lean forward and rest my arms on the table. “And what if the members didn’t agree with the new direction?”
“I think at that point, everyone was getting tired of it all but I’m sure they did have a few members leave.”
“How does the club survive if there’s no more money coming in?”
He laughs. “You’re just full of questions, aren’t you?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, just because they don’t run drugs and guns anymore doesn’t mean there’s no money coming in. The motorcycle shop has been running since before Blaze changed things, which is where I work, and afterward, he also started a P.I. business.”
“Huh,” I hum, sitting back in my seat with my mind working in overdrive. I’m fascinated with the idea of his club and the work they do to help people who would otherwise be forgotten.
“Sorry, we were talking about your mom and kind of got off track,” Lincoln says and I glance at him.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. What was it you said about distracting me?”
He grins. “Glad I could help. I’m here for whatever you need.”
I nod. “Thank you. It still doesn’t seem real to me most of the time. My mom was bigger than life, so strong and vibrant that her dying in a car accident just seems impossible.”
“It’s harder when you don’t know what happened.”
“I’ve learned so much about who my mother was since her death but it’s only raised more questions. I’d give anything just to have one more conversation with her.” Tears sting my eyes again and I blow out a breath, looking up at the ceiling. “Sorry.”
“Hey, don’t apologize and anytime you need to rant, give me a call. I understand what you’re going through and I want to be here for you.”
Smiling through my tears, I nod. “Thank you, Lincoln.”
Chapter Seven
Tatum
“Have a nice day,” I chirp, pasting a smile on my face as the grumpy middle-aged man swipes his bag of chips off the counter and grumbles something inaudible. I doubt whatever he said was anywhere near polite, though.
“Yeah, you, too, asshole,” I whisper, rolling my eyes. How hard is it to just say thank you? I don’t even care if you don’t mean it.
“Tate,” my boss, Reed, calls as he steps out of the back office. “Why don’t you go stock shelves and I’ll manage the register?”
Nodding, I step out from behind the counter and sigh as I walk down the center aisle and turn toward the back room. Once there, I grab a pad of paper and pen before starting at the beginning of the first aisle and making my way down its length, writing down the items that need to be restocked before moving to the end cap and the next row. About halfway through the store, I feel someone’s gaze on me and glance up, catching Reed ogling my ass from his perch behind the register.
A low growl slips out of my mouth as I turn back to the shelf and try to ignore his inappropriate behavior. There was a time when I really liked this job – it was fairly easy and I was usually by myself while I worked – but six months ago, my old boss, Otis, retired and handed the reins over to his nephew, Reed. It’s bad enough that Reed is a college dropout who couldn’t stop partying long enough to pass his classes but turns out, he’s also a bit of a perv. His advances have been getting more and more blatant in the past three weeks and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to have a job.
The bell over the door rings and I peek over my shoulder as I write down another product that needs stocked. Lincoln struts into the gas station in all his bad boy, biker glory and my mouth goes dry as my pen trails off the page. Damn. It’s been two days since he suggested we just be friends and already, I know it’s not going to work. Not when just the sight of him is enough to melt my panties.
“Hey, Darlin,” he says, an easy grin pulling at the corner of his mouth as he walks over to me.
“Hey, yourself. What are you doing here?”
He shrugs, gazing around the store. “I was in the area and I remembered you saying you worked here.”
“And?” I ask again, arching a brow as I focus on the shelf in front of me. Maybe if I keep my gaze on the bags of chips, I won’t notice how his t-shirt clings to the muscles in his stomach like a second skin or how damn good he smells.
“And I wanted to see you.”
“Tate, this isn’t social hour!” Reed yells from the counter, his face red and I roll my eyes.
“Who’s that?” Lincoln asks.
“A punk ass little bitch who thinks he’s my boss.”
He barks out a laugh, glancing over his shoulder at Reed as he leans against the shelf.
“Tate!” Reed yells again.
“Shut up, Reed!” I yell back before turning my annoyed glance to Lincoln. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”
A wicked grin lights up his face and goose bumps race across my skin. “Sounds fun.”
“What do you want? If you haven’t noticed, I’m a little busy here.”
He stands up straight, tucking his hands into his jean pockets. “What time do you get off?”
A crude joke pops into my head and I bite back a smile as I peek up at the clock. “Ten.”
“Damn,” he mutters. “Well, how about tomorrow? You want to go do something?”
“This sounds an awful lot like you’re asking me out on a date,” I point out, moving on to the next aisle. He shakes his head.
“No, ma’am. Just want to hang out with you… as a friend, of course.”