CHAPTER NINETEEN

Kyle—

The smell of the coffee in my mug hits my nose as I lean against my kitchen counter and pull up Jerry's Auto Repair in Burbank. It's open until 5:30pm. Scanning, I find a photo of the owner. Jerry's smiling face stares back at me. "Smile, motherfucker. Soon you're not going to have any front teeth left. You'll be drinking through a straw for a long fucking time."

I take a sip of coffee and map it out on my app. Five hours. That's a haul, but this is a trip I don't mind making. The clock on the wall says quarter to noon, and I need to get going if I plan to make it before closing time.

Dumping the dregs of my coffee in the sink, I grab my cut off the back of the chair and head out to my Harley just as TJ pulls in my drive.

Shit .

He shuts his bike off, noticing I'm checking my saddlebags.

"Where are you headed?"

"Got somewhere I've got to be," I say without really answering.

"I'll ride along."

"Not this time." I swing my leg over the seat and lift my bike off the kickstand.

"Why not? What's so secretive?"

"You don't need to be involved in this, TJ."

He tilts his head. "You're not going to Rafe's place, are you?"

I huff a laugh. "Why? What do you think I'm gonna do?"

"I don't know, but you've got that ‘I'm going to beat the shit out of someone' look in your eye."

"And it's gotta be Rafe?"

"No, but you've seemed a little…" He trails off.

"A little what?"

He shrugs. "Like you've lost patience with him."

"Maybe I have, but that's not what this is about. I've got to go."

"When will you be back?"

"By eleven."

"Come have a beer with me at the clubhouse when you get back."

I nod and fire my bike up, drop it in gear, and hit the throttle, roaring out of the drive and down the street. Checking my side mirror, I see TJ making a call.

He better not try to follow me. This is my deal, not the club's.

The ride is monotonous, and I spend most of it on autopilot, trying not to dwell on what I'm about to do. Roughing people up isn't my favorite part of the club, but I'm not doing it for the club. I'm doing it for Sutton, and I'm going to enjoy this one. I don't think Cole will mind that I do it wearing my cut. He's always been a staunch protector of women—never one to stand by and let anyone disrespect them, even the dancers down at Sonny's Gentleman's Club.

Finally, I hit Burbank and find Victory Blvd. It's a four-lane road lined with orange trees and small, one level businesses. I pass a bowling alley, a couple of cash advance franchises, and a bail bonds place.

The orange trees are in blossom, and it smells like someone dumped a bottle of perfume on the town.

I come to the intersection of Providencia and spot the place I'm looking for on the left-hand corner. It's a small cement block building with two double-bays in an area lined with a bunch of other collision centers, body shops, and auto repair places.

I stop at the light and check the time. Ten minutes until they close for the night.

When the light turns green, I make a left down the side street and find an alley behind the building. Perfect. I roll in and park. Reaching inside my cut, I grab my phone and check his photo again, so I don't make a mistake. I climb from my bike, stretch, and walk to the corner. There's a bus stop and I lean against a lamppost to light up a cigarette, like I'm waiting for a bus.

Blowing smoke toward the sky, it doesn't take me long to spot Jerry. He's got slicked back dark hair and rolled up short sleeves, like he thinks he's James Dean or something. He looks like the tough guy who folds the moment a man worth his salt challenges him—the guy who only throws his weight around with women and those weaker than him. I've seen his kind a million times in this MC life.

Any time the club walks into a bar, there's always some guy thinks he's gonna challenge us. But guys like Jerry usually lose their backbone in the first thirty seconds and head out the back door with their tails between their legs.

Since it's near closing, only one other guy is still there. I smoke another cigarette and stay out of sight around some bushes.

When his last employee goes to his car, I yank my gloves from my back pocket, slip them on, and make my move. Crossing the small parking lot, I stroll nonchalantly into one of the garage bays before Jerry gets the overhead doors pulled down.

"We're closed, sir. Come back in the morning," he says, pulling the chain on the first overhead door. It rumbles into place, the sound echoing through the garage. Somewhere a sound system is playing Johnny Cash's Ring of Fire .

"I only need a minute." I glance around, looking for security cameras, but I don't see any.

"Okay," he says, slowing his actions when he sees my cut. "What can I do for you? You got a car that needs repair?"

I yank the chain, slamming the second set of doors down, and now. Jerry backs up a step.

"No, Jerry. I don't have a car."

He frowns. "Do I know you?"

"Nope. I'm here about Sutton."

"Sutton? What about her?" His eyes follow my movements as I pick up a nearby tire iron and walk toward him. He lifts his hands. "I don't want any trouble, mister."

"Too bad. ‘Cause trouble just found you." I swing and break his femur, hearing it crunch as he goes down. I'm over him in a second with my arm raised.

Jerry's hands go up in a defensive position. "No, please. Don't kill me."

"I hear you've got pictures of Sutton. Pictures you've been threatening to make public if she doesn't come up with money to buy you off. True? And you better give me the right answer."

"Okay. Yeah, I did." He moans, tears streaming down his face. "Motherfucker, that hurts. I need an ambulance."

"You don't tell me what I want to hear, you're gonna need a coroner and a trip to the morgue."

"I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Please. T-there's money in the drawer." His shaking hand points toward a small office.

"I don't want your fucking money. Where are the pictures?"

"On my phone. They're all on my phone."

"What about your computer? A jump drive? The cloud?"

"No, I swear. Just my phone."

"I find out you're lying to me, they'll never find your body. Do you understand?"

He nods, his teeth gritted against the pain.

"So, one more time, Jerry. Where are they?"

"My phone. Just my phone. I swear it."

I hold out my hand. "Give it to me."

He digs into his pocket and hands it over.

"What's the code?" I ask.

"6969."

I shake my head. What a sophomoric asshole. It unlocks, and I go to his photos. Scrolling, I see he's got naked photos of a lot of different women. I whistle. "You're a regular Romeo, aren't you? Or maybe you're a rapist and serial killer."

"What?"

I punch him in the face again and again until it's pouring blood onto his shirt. "Take your fucking shirt off."

He can't talk at this point. I probably broke his jaw, but he shrugs out of it, ripping the buttons down the front and tossing it to me.

I grab it, squat, and hold it in front of his face. "You see this blood? That's your DNA. You ever do another thing to harm Sutton in any fucking way, the cops are gonna find your shirt and DNA at a horrific murder scene. We clear?"

He nods, barely able to hold his head up.

"You go to the cops, I'll destroy your life." Then I stand, kick him in the nuts, and stroll quietly out to the alley. I don't pass a soul as I leave.

Reaching my bike, I stuff the shirt in my saddlebag, pull out of the alley, and head farther down the side street. I make a big loop through the backstreets until I can find my way to I5 and make the five-hour ride to San Jose.

When I hit town, I ride to the clubhouse. There are only a few bikes parked out front. I recognize all of them and know immediately who's inside. TJ, Marcus, and Billy.

Climbing from my bike, I stretch, my muscles aching from the ten-plus hours I've spent in the saddle today. The music is low background noise, and I see the guys sitting at the bar. They turn when I walk in.

TJ motions to the prospect behind the bar, and the kid brings me an ice-cold long neck. I press it to my forehead, letting the coolness sink into my skin.

"You okay?" TJ asks.

"Yeah." Twisting the cap off, I down a big portion.

"You take care of whatever it was you went to take care of?" TJ asks, obviously fishing for an explanation.

"Yep." The one-word answer is all I give him.

"That all you're gonna tell us?" Billy asks.

I lift a brow to TJ. "You've been busy, I see."

"I was worried about you, man." His eyes drop to my hand on the bottle, and he frowns.

I glance down to see my swollen knuckles.

"Brother, you been in a fistfight?" he asks.

"Just had some business to take care of. I took care of it. End of story."

"Why you gotta be such a closed-up motherfucker?" TJ snaps.

"Because it's my business."

His eyes narrow. "This got anything to do with Sutton?"

My eyes flare when he hits the nail on the head. I tip my bottle up.

"Jesus, it's like trying to pry the nuclear codes from you. We're your brothers. No secrets, remember?"

"Bullshit. You don't get to know about my private life," I snap.

Billy chuckles. "You don't have a private life, Kyle. We all know it."

TJ studies me for a few seconds, then presses again. "And this wasn't about Rafe?"

"Nope."

"Just spill, bro," Marcus huffs. "You know he's not gonna let it go. TJ's like a dog with a bone when he thinks he's on to something."

I lean on the bar, my shoulders tight. "Just doin' Rafe's job."

"Rafe's job?" Billy asks. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I stepped up and took care of a problem Rafe should have dealt with."

"Yeah? What's that?"

I tip my bottle up again, finishing and pushing it forward for another. The prospect hurries over with a replacement, snatching away the empty.

"Kyle? Come on. Spill," TJ presses. "Ain't nothin' you can't tell us."

I consider his words and know they're true. If I needed a body buried, they'd grab a shovel. "There's an ex-boyfriend hustling Sutton. I took care of it."

"Hustling her how?" Billy asks.

"Blackmailing her. Seems he had some nude shots he'd taken of her when they were dating."

"No shit?" Marcus mutters. "What'd you do?"

"I went and delivered a message. Then I confiscated his phone."

"And?" TJ asks.

"And he's gonna be drinking through a straw and using crutches for a long while."

"Dude," TJ says, grinning.

"We could have helped you," Billy offers.

"Nope. Like I said, this was my responsibility."

"Actually, it was Rafe's responsibility. He know about this guy?" TJ asks.

I shake my head. "I don't know if Sutton told him."

"But she told you?" Marcus asks.

"Yeah, she told me. What of it?" I snap.

He holds his palms up. "Whoa. Chill out, man."

"Rafe should have been the one to do that," TJ says.

"Yeah, he should have. Guess he didn't care enough." I sound bitter, even to my own ears.

"But you don't know if she told him, Kyle. You just said as much. He deserves the benefit of the doubt until you know," Marcus says quietly.

He's right. "Where is he?"

"It was his turn staking out Joselyn Silver, making sure she didn't go after Carlo Bianchi," Billy explains. "He called this afternoon and said she was in her Mercedes headed south on I5. Cole told him to stay on her. She could have been headed to LA. We didn't know. When she picked up Highway 58 east toward Bakersfield, Cole figured she had to be going to Vegas. He and the other originals went to head her off."

"She was almost to Vegas when they caught up with her. They should be home tomorrow."

I polish off my second beer and push from the bar. "I'm tired. I'll see you boys tomorrow."

Heading to my bike, I text Sutton.

ME: JUST HEARD RAFE WAS CALLED OUT OF TOWN ON MC BUSINESS. JUST WANTED TO CHECK IN ON YOU AND MAKE SURE YOU'RE OKAY.

SUTTON: I'M FINE. THANKS.

ME: IF YOU NEED ANYTHING, I'M HERE.

SUTTON: I'M GOOD. THANKS.

ME: TOMORROW I'M GONNA OPEN UP FOR LUNCH RUSH DOWN BY THE FARMER'S MARKET. IF YOU WANT TO WORK, I CAN SWING BY AND PICK YOU UP

SUTTON: SURE. I'LL WORK.

ME: GREAT. SEE YOU AT TEN

SUTTON: OK. GOODNIGHT

ME: SLEEP TIGHT