8. ~Skylar~

I flipped back the long hair of my purple wig as I strode toward the dive bar, aware of a couple of the motorcycle members checking out my ride—a custom Harley Sportster I'd borrowed from Caspian, given the fact that I'd lost my own bike in the fire two years back.

This was one of the holdings belonging to the Iron Crows Motorcycle Club and the very place that Dante's intel had put Raze at. Also known as Scott Timmins, the club's president.

A hulking guy wearing a leather cut, his long hair blowing all over the place in the wild wind whipping through the night, stepped forward and held up his hand. "What's your business here, sweet thing?"

"That's between me and Raze."

"Is that so?" he asked, all amused. He took his sweet time looking me up and down in my Onyx gear—the version of me that their president knew—with the head-to-toe black leather, including my form-fitting hooded jacket with the spikes down the length of the sleeves and my studded gloves.

"Tell him Onyx is here to see him."

His eyes shot wide and I saw the recognition there instantly. "Hold up… you're her? From the fight clubs?"

"In the flesh."

"Damn. Yeah, he's gonna want to see you, big time." He walked to the steel door and hauled it open, telling me, "I'll go get him. Come on in." He gave me a wink. "He's just finishing up something in the rear office."

The raucous sounds of hearty laughter, shouts, beer mugs clinking, and hard-rock music blaring inundated me, along with the scent of booze, leather, and cigarette smoke.

The place was packed, a sea of jeans and leather cuts filling my vision as I made my way over to the far end of the old oak bar to wait and not draw any undue attention to myself. Well, any more than my get-up was already doing. Although, that was probably minimized by the black leather throughout the place too.

I quietly ordered a beer. The bartender slid it across the bar within moments and winked at my outfit, before she turned to handle the bikers crowded around the heart of the thing, her long red hair bouncing as she went.

I'd barely taken a sip when someone brushed against my left side.

I was going to let it go and give the offender the benefit of the doubt, considering how packed the place was.

But then a hand landed on my thigh.

Hell, no.

I turned on my stool to see a guy of medium build, the signifier near his patch designating him as SAA—Sergeant-at-Arms—with a bright-green buzz cut licking his lips at me. "This night just got a hell of a lot better. You here to serve, darlin'?"

"No. Get your fucking hand off me."

He tightened his grip instead. "Playing hard to get, huh? Hey, you a gift from one of the boys because they know I like that shit?"

"Like I said, no. Last chance to remove your hand before you lose it."

"Mmm, you like it rough, huh? Well, that's right up my alley, sugar tits."

Sugar tits? Seriously?

He went to double down and reached for my hair with his free hand.

In the next beat, I smashed his head down onto the bar top, blood exploding as it broke his nose. I ripped his hand off me, drew my blade in a split second, spun it, then drove it through the back of his hand, crucifying it to the bar top.

He flailed and shrieked.

I shoved my arm to his back, my weight bearing down, as I hissed at his ear, "Like I said, sugar tits, hands off."

It took me a moment through the takedown to realize that the bar had gone dead silent.

Even the music had shut off.

A bunch of the bikers and the women hanging off them were stunned, basically stock-still, while a half a dozen others were stalking toward me, moving in to surround me.

Well, this had all escalated quickly.

I went to reach for the Glock that Dante had given me as an extra precaution, but then a familiar voice thundered through the room.

"Stand the fuck down!"

When the guys kept coming, his tone became even harsher. "President's orders, motherfuckers!"

That halted their approach.

I looked to see the man in question pushing through the crowds and coming into view.

He was adjusting his skull and crossbones silver belt buckle as he went, his navy jeans pulling taut across those big thighs of his. His black leather cut was slung over a plain white t-shirt, his broad shoulders filling it out well. His light-brown shoulder length hair was pulled back into a bun.

"All right, Skylar, let him go."

"Sure thing." I yanked my knife free, making the guy shriek and writhe.

I stepped back and wiped the bloodied blade on my pants, then holstered it.

Raze shook his head at me, scrubbing his hand over his thick, unruly facial hair. "Get him up to the club infirmary," he ordered a couple of his guys.

As they snapped into action and carried their fellow club member out, Raze thumbed the side door just past the bar. "Let's talk."

I nodded and he led the way out, slamming his hand into the door, before stepping out in the night at a quiet area devoid of anything or anyone around this part of the bar.

As the door shut behind me, I walked out to meet him.

"Still not pulling any punches, yeah?"

"He wouldn't take no for an answer. He needed a lesson."

"That shithead is on his way out of the club anyway. Had a load of trouble with him. Got one of my enforcers lined up to take over the SAA role real soon."

"Good," I grunted.

"What brings you down to my territory? Unannounced, too." He thumbed the bar. "You know, I was throat-deep in a hella good blowjob when you showed up." He eyed me salaciously. "Up for compensating me there?"

I tossed him a withering look. "Please. We both know I'm not your type."

"Thank fuck for that."

"The feeling's mutual."

He grinned and folded his arms across his chest. "So? Get to it so I can go back to getting my dick wet."

Urgh. "You lent your transport services to Elijah Bane recently."

He tensed, his grin faltering. "Where are you getting that?"

"Spare me the denial. We're beyond mere rumors, I have proof." I stepped closer. "I need access to your system to track the two still in his possession."

"That's a hell of an ask."

"I'm under no illusions that you'll hand over the intel out of the goodness of your heart."

He shifted his weight. "All right then, make me an offer."

"Two fights. I'll take a dive."

He cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Undo the humiliation you caused my club when you destroyed one of my boys last time around? All the coin you cost me from losing that major bet?"

I nodded. "My rep's only gotten stronger since then. My presence will guarantee a major turnout. A shit-ton of bets will be on me. You'll have it made."

"You get that doing this will destroy your standing in the underground fighting circuits? Everything you spent years building will be fucked beyond belief."

"I'm well aware."

"Nah, it's not enough to risk giving you that information."

"There's a fight venue in Rossun that attracts some big-time wealthy spectators. These people spent tens of thousands of dollars betting on fighters. Even one fight there is gonna make you big bank." I eyeballed him. "As for you being shit-scared of Elijah Bane coming after you and your club for giving up this intel, he's not going to be a factor soon. He's marked by Caspian King."

"I heard, but Elijah is slippery. That's no guarantee."

Fine. He wanted to play hardball, that was what we'd do.

I unzipped my jacket and pulled out the envelope of photos from my inside pocket.

"I came here as a courtesy. Your involvement with Elijah has been kept off King's radar. Your trucks were used to abduct Sebastian Thorn and Caleb Rowland."

He started. "What? Nah, that wasn't part of the deal. He was using them to move some weapons from one of his warehouses."

Interesting. The chief warehouse Dante and his team had been at, the one Elijah had blown up?

"Thorn and Rowland are his family." I shoved the envelope into his hands. "And this is what King does to those who go after said family."

He opened the envelope and pulled out the photos.

He might be a seasoned motorcycle club president, but even he couldn't stomach the sight of them, the horror and fear flitting across his face making that clear. "Jesus fucking Christ."

I snatched the photos back, secured them in the envelope, then pocketed them. "Like I said, your unwitting involvement in all of this has been kept off King's radar. But that can easily change."

He glared at me, then scrubbed his hand over his beard. "Fuck. One fight and you keep this off King's radar indefinitely."

"Deal."

We shook on it, then he pulled away and told me, "Follow me up to the clubhouse. What you need is in my office."

Anticipation thrummed through me as we headed over to our bikes.

For the first time since they'd been taken from us, hope sparked.

We'll find you. We'll fucking find you.