Think. Think. Naiya twisted her ring around her finger wishing she’d never bought those damn Bolton Beaver shirts. But how could she have known where that night would lead? Certainly not to her and Holt going on the run all over Montana racking up the crimes and attracting the attention of the ATF.
Michael smirked as he lifted the glass, the same kind of smirk that had been on Viper’s lips when he pretended to be solicitous seven years ago at the party when she said she wasn’t feeling well after the drink he gave her. Michael was toying with her, just as Viper had toyed with her. Except this time she wasn’t fifteen, alone, and innocent. She’d been through hell and back. And there was no damn way anyone was taking anything from her again. She wasn’t a victim, and she hadn’t done anything wrong.
Well … maybe she’d done a few things wrong, but nothing bad enough to warrant the kind of attention Michael was throwing her way.
And he had no evidence to tie her to Leo’s death, or they would be having this conversation in an entirely different location.
She finished her water, and nodded at Banks for a refill. “So, Michael. What brings you to a one-percenter biker bar in the middle of a one-percenter biker town? Isn’t this a dangerous place for an ATF agent to be?”
His head jerked toward her, and his eyes hardened. Well, too damn bad. She wasn’t playing his game anymore. No more pretend. The very fact she was in the bar proclaimed her biker connections. After this was over she was heading out of the state for her interviews, and she would be done with bikers forever, so why not use her connections to her advantage while she could?
“My personal safety is never an issue when I’m looking for a cold-blooded killer.” He puffed out his chest. “I’ll do what it takes to keep the public safe and ensure justice is done.”
“How noble,” she said dryly. “And you think you’re going to find him in this bar?”
Michael pulled a piece of paper from inside his jacket and laid it on the counter. “I think I’ll find Holt Savage wherever you are.”
Naiya stared at the mug shot of a young Holt and read through the text that set out his juvenile record in Laredo for assault, battery, theft, and violation of parole. His fingerprints appeared at the bottom of the page along with a note detailing his current known associates: the Sinner’s Tribe MC.
“You printed him from the glass in Trenton,” she said without thinking.
“Clever.” Michael tipped his chin.
But not clever enough. How could she have missed the glass? She’d been hyperaware about evidence around Michael. But then Holt had made that comment about pizzas …
“Do you have evidence that he’s done something wrong, except maybe indecent exposure with his girl outside the bar?”
“You think you’re so smart, but I’m on to you.” Michael gripped her arm so hard her eyes watered. “And as for evidence, in less than twelve hours I’m going to have a copy of the CCTV tape from the gas station that shows the faces of the two people in Bolton Beaver shirts who were riding the deceased biker’s Harley. And I’m pretty damn sure I know who I’m going to see when I look at that tape. So why don’t you stop playing games and start cooperating, and maybe I’ll go easy on—”
His last word was cut off when a massive hand landed on his shoulder.
“This the guy you texted me about, Banks? The one causing trouble in our bar?”
Naiya looked up at the tall, giant of a man behind Michael. It took her a second, but she remembered him from the front door—Gunner. And behind him were Zane and Cade, and a dark haired, blue-eyed biker she’d only briefly met, Sparky.
“I think he’s lost,” Banks said. “Must be in the wrong bar. See the way he’s holding Naiya? Anyone who comes to Rider’s would know our policy about manhandling the ladies. In the civilian world, I believe unwanted touching is called … assault.” Banks cocked his head and gave Michael a cold smile. “Isn’t that right?”
Michael’s lips thinned and he released Naiya’s arm. “I didn’t assault her. I was holding her so she didn’t get away.”
Catching on, Naiya twisted her face in a frown. “Look at the bruises on my arm. I believe a person convicted of assault under the Montana code faces a fine and imprisonment in county jail for up to six months. In fact it might even be aggravated assault, since I had a reasonable apprehension of serious bodily injury, and you do have a weapon, don’t you?”
“I definitely think he was trying to intimidate you,” Banks said. “I felt intimidated listening to your conversation. I think I might have even pissed my pants.”
“He did make me afraid he might inflict physical harm or subject me to physical confinement or restraint.” Naiya slid off her seat, paraphrasing the code as best she could remember from her criminal-law course. “That’s an even worse offence. He could go to state prison for up to ten years or have to pay a $50,000 fine.”
“Seems a shame such an efficient ATF agent would have to spend ten years in jail,” Gunner said. “Maybe we could offer not to report him if he accepts Sinner justice instead.”