“Hey, Jude!” Ember replies easily. “You look like hell.”
Jude booms with laughter. “Flattery, flattery. You, on the other hand, look good enough to eat. Which…”
“Prospect!” I bark.
“Oh, yeah. Hey, Strike.” Jude pretends he just noticed me standing next to her. “What’s shakin’? You two are about eight hours too late for the party.”
“We’re here to see your computer guy,” Ember says. “Tweak?”
“Huh.” Jude furrows his brow. “I ain’t seen him here this morning.”
“He’s meeting us here,” I interrupt, pissed at myself for being irritated.
“You want some coffee, Ember?” Jude asks with a wink. “There’s a fresh pot in the kitchen the club whor— I mean, girls, made.”
“No thanks.” She pats her stomach. “I just had brunch.”
A few more of the men emerge from the kitchen and the upstairs apartments. Beast, Hale, Thorn, and Hawk converge on us, each one of them eyeing Ember appreciatively as they introduce themselves. She’s polite with all of them — friendly, even — and before I know it, I’m even more pissed off than I was when it was just Jude. Pretty soon, I can’t fuckin’ take it anymore.
“Come on,” I growl, practically grabbing Ember by the arm. “Let’s go see if Tweak’s around.”
“See ya tonight, Ember,” Jude calls after us.
“Son of a bitch,” I grumble as I lead her away.
“What?” Ember asks.
“Nothing. Come on, Tweak’s office is over here.”
I figured Tweak would beat us to the clubhouse, and I’m not disappointed. He’s already sitting at his command center, the multiple screens that litter his two desks all illuminated and ready to go. He stands, and I introduce Ember, watching as she takes in his thin features, wild hair, and sharp blue eyes.
“Have a seat.” Tweak lifts his chin toward two old-style swiveling office chairs that are shoved against one wall. I grab them and wheel them up, indicating for Ember to sit in the one closer to the screens. “I don’t have much for you, at least not right now. I was looking to track down Wren’s mom a few months ago, when we first figured out that she’d hooked up with an enemy of the MC.”
Tweak cuts his eyes toward me, an unspoken question in them.
“You can tell her anything you want.”
Tweak nods. “Okay. The short of it is, this fucker named Demon had a score to settle with us. We’re assuming Jess was his bitch — at least at the time — and from what we understand, she told Demon her kid’s father was one of the Lords.”
Ember chews her lip. “So, this man got the idea to use Wren as a way to blackmail Tank.”
“That’s right. They dumped Wren off on Tank’s doorstep. That much you know.” Tweak rubs his eyes. “We figure they were hoping that once Tank had a chance to bond with her, when the time came, he would put the life of his own innocent child over his fellow club members. Luckily, Tank told Angel, our prez, about it.
“The two of them came to me, and I got to work looking to find out any info I could about how to track down Jess or Demon.” Tweak’s mouth twists into an ugly snarl. “The short of it for your purposes is, I ended up findin’ out how to track Demon down, but I never got much on Jess. Far as I could tell, she hasn’t had a permanent address in a while. The most I got was an apartment she used to live in with a roommate a few years ago, possible addresses of a couple family members, stuff like that.” Tweak turns from Ember to me. “And given how things went down, I’m guessing she’s doin’ her best not to be found by any of the Lords of Carnage, considering she almost got us all killed.”
“Yeah,” I grunt. “That’s no exaggeration. Tweak’s right, Jess isn’t gonna want to be found. She might not even be goin’ by her real name anymore.”
Ember blows out a frustrated breath. “Well. That’s not going to make things easier. Tweak, you said you do have some addresses of some family and people she used to live with, anyway. Could we get that info from you?”
“Sure thing.” Tweak reaches for a couple sheets of paper sitting on the desk to his right. He hands them to her. “I printed it out before you got here. That’s everything I’ve got.”
Ember takes the papers, briefly gives them a once-over. “Thank you. Could we — could I — contact you again if I end up with some other leads to pursue? Striker says you’re the best at this sort of stuff.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d actually think Tweak was gonna giggle or something.
“Sure thing,” he mumbles with a shy grin. “I’m happy to help.”
16
Ember
“I thought bikers were old dudes with ZZ top beards and pot bellies,” I frown at Striker as we leave the clubhouse. “My dad knew a biker club guy when I was growing up, and it seemed like all his friends fit that description.”
Striker has been in an off mood for the past fifteen minutes or so, but he snickers at that.
“Well, that ain’t inaccurate, I guess,” he says. “But the Lords of Carnage is a young club. The Lords used to be a pretty small MC when it started out. A lot of the old guard got killed in a club war before my time. When the dust cleared, there were only three men left: Rock Anthony, Smiley Hunt, and Truck Wallace. They named Rock Anthony the new president, and started again from the ground up. Smiley’s still around — he was a medic in Nam, and he’s our resident doc, though he’s mostly retired now. Truck Wallace died of cancer about ten years ago. I never knew him, but I knew of him.”
“My God,” I breathe. “You really are a one-percenter club.”
“We’ve done some shit, yeah,” Striker admits. “I ain’t gonna lie. But we’re movin’ in a new direction. The Lords are working on going legit.”
I eye him skeptically. “That’s a convenient thing to say to me right now.”
“I mean it. I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”
I consider his words. “So, how is ‘going legit’ working out for you?”
He throws back his head and roars with laughter.
“Depends on the day, darlin’. Depends on the day.”
Striker beats me to the passenger side of his SUV and pulls open the door to let me in. I climb up and sink into the seat. When he gets over to his side, I say, “I’d better call Tank and Cady about the birth certificate. Tank has been dragging his feet about taking a blood test, even though I told him we should do it even if the certificate came back showing him as the father. Now that we know it doesn’t, there’s no reason to wait anymore.”
Striker doesn’t say anything in reply. He starts the engine and pulls out into traffic as I continue to scan the two pages Tweak gave me.
“Look here, Striker,” I say, pointing even though he’s driving. “One of the addresses Tweak has here is a listing for Jess’s parents. It says here this is their last known address, a rental place. As of two years ago.” I swivel to face him. “I want to go see them.”