“His son was a wannabe,” Dragon chimes in. “There’s a goldmine of shit on Junior.”
I sit in a chair and roll around to where Dragon is. “Hadley? She was his girlfriend. What do you find on her?”
“Nothing yet. From the looks of it, some bitch named Juicy was all over Junior. Not sure why he’d fuck that when he had PG, but it’s evident he did. She’s still a mystery.”
“Anything on the missing person reports?” I ask my brother.
“Nope. Either she gave you a fake name or one hasn’t been filed for a Hadley.”
Of course not. That’d be too easy.
“What about you, Halo?”
Halo leans back in his chair and it creaks against his solid, muscular frame. “Still hunting down my leads from before. I smell something big. Give me time to sniff it out.”
I give him a nod. “Dragon, cull through Junior’s friend list. If Hadley really was his girlfriend, she’ll be on there. Check profiles with no pictures or anything remotely vague. We’ll narrow down from there.”
“Narrow down by…” he implores.
I flash a wicked grin at him. “I have my ways.”
My ways involve diving into the code to isolate their IP addresses. Shit only I can do. I don’t have time to go through his three hundred friends on his list, but if they can get me twenty or so to work with, my hunt will be easier.
“Yo, Prez,” Gibson says, stepping in the doorway. “Got a call from my brother. He’s got brisket going. We still on for a Q tonight?”
Our monthly Qs—short for barbeque—are something I both hate and love in equal parts. It’s nice to kick back, drink a little, shoot the shit with my guys’ friends and family, but it also fucking hurts because my family is gone. I tend to get a little too fucked up sometimes and Copper has to drag my blubbering ass to my room before I do something stupid like cry.
“Yeah. Round up Hadley and make her help Stormy. I don’t trust Hadley on a grocery run, but when you guys get back, get her out of her room, even if you have to drag her.”
Gibson laughs. “You got it, man.”
Unlike Payne, Gibson won’t hurt her. Maybe try to serenade the bitch or some shit, but not hurt. Gibson, when not being a dumbass with Bizzy, is our entertainment in the literal sense. He can sing and play anything on his guitars. His room is full of them, both electric and acoustic. Some cost more than cars. I know this shit because it’s all he talks about some days. I’m pretty sure if he could figure out how to put wheels on his custom PRS, he’d ride that fucker around town, strumming it like it’s some sort of special pussy he has to play.
“We’ll continue this shit tomorrow,” I tell my guys. “Tonight, let’s celebrate the fact we killed everyone Putnam knows and cares about.”
Hadley
A knock on my door has me jolting upright and fear ratcheting inside me. I’d fallen asleep on the comfortable bed, lulled into a false sense of security. I can’t forget that I’m in enemy territory. Trapped and kept like a prisoner. I glance around my “cell” and frown. It’s the nicest room I’ve ever been in and that says a lot considering what I grew up in.
“Who is it?” I croak out.
“Stormy Jean.”
The blond club whore who was eyeing me like I was an alien. No, thank you.
“I’m not allowed to have visitors,” I lie.
She snorts. “And I’m probably not allowed to visit, but here we are. Put your panties on. I’m coming in.”
I roll my eyes because I’m still dressed in the horrible outfit I borrowed at Animal’s clubhouse. Stormy walks in, a picture of Southern biker babe perfection. She’s beautiful and not quite hardened like most of the club bitches are. There’s a predatory glint in her eyes that I home in on.
“What do you want?” I say not unkindly. “I was napping.” Okay, so that part didn’t come out exactly nice.
She tosses a handful of items onto my bed. “The guys let girls visit, but so far, I’m the only one they allow to stay. This is exciting.”
Yes, because being held prisoner by the man who killed your boyfriend is so very exciting. My chest aches whenever I think of Junior. I try not to let my last memory be of him hitting me or balls deep inside Juicy’s filthy cunt. I try to think about stargazing on the trampoline, heavy make out sessions when we were younger, and long phone calls where he spoke freely without his father’s influence. The good ol’ days.
“I brought you clothes and some shoes. Makeup. Whatever shit they have you wearing doesn’t fit well and looks homeless. If you’re going to be staying at the Man Mansion, then you gotta look hot. There are a ton of hotties to choose from. Except Filter. He’s mine.” She bats her lashes at me and smiles. “Surely you were eyeing one of them? Dragon maybe? You two would make beautiful babies. He’s crazy and I’m talking batshit crazy, but I bet he has a big dick.”
You don’t have confidence and swagger that practically drips from you unless you have the dick to back it up. I have no doubts Dragon is hung.
“Man Mansion, huh?” I’m amused by this. This whole MC is so different than the Roaring River MCs. Like characters out of a comic book.
“That’s my nickname for it. Koyn hates it. He calls it, and I quote,” she says deepening her voice, “‘the compound.’”
The compound.
Man Mansion does sound better.
“Is he always a dick?” I ask, picking up a silky top.
“Always. Without fail.” She grins. “It’s because he lost his wife and daughter. They were murdered.”
I gape at her. “Murdered?”
“Yep. It’s totally hush-hush, but everyone knows. I wouldn’t bring it up if I were you. He gets a crazy look in his eyes sometimes and it scares me far worse than Dragon ever could.”
“Are you in love with Filter?”
My question must catch her off guard because her smile falters and her eyes dart to the side. “Yes. Of course I am. Just gotta convince him I’m good enough to be his old lady.”
I’ve been around Magna long enough to sniff out liars. It’s what he was best at. I had to become the best to outsmart him. Tell my lies and believe them as truths.
“Hmm,” is all I say.
“I could fuck Dragon if I want. And believe me, girl, I want. Just to see what he feels like. To see if he’s as wild in bed as he is in real life. It could be fun.” Her brows knit together. “But I’m not here to have fun. I’m here to be with Filter.”
Stepford wife, much?
And I thought the bitches my dad knows and runs around with were bad.
“They kidnapped me,” I tell her boldly. “Killed my boyfriend and everyone I knew.”
Her gaze darkens. “Did they…touch you?”
No, that was my boyfriend and his dad.
“Not like that. No.”
Relief floods her features. “Good. I…I did not want to deal with that today.”
“How exactly were you planning on dealing with it if it were the truth?” I challenge, curious about this woman.
She plasters on a fake smile. “I’d whip their asses. Now put on something cute and fix your face. Bermuda and I went to the store. Got all kinds of fixins for the Q.”