Tank parked his bike outside Joey’s Fish’n Chips in the sleepy little town of Still Water. Gunner and Sparky pulled up beside him. Benson drove past on his way to the gas station to fill up the SUV.
“What the fuck are the Black Jacks doing out here?” Sparky adjusted the bandana over his thick, brown hair. Usually, he spent his days in the Sinner garage with Arianne but Jagger needed men on the road keeping tabs on the Jacks so Sparky had left the shop in Arianne’s capable hands to follow up on an unusual Jacks sighting with Tank and Gunner as his back up.
“Any local clubs in the area they might be trying to recruit?” Tank texted Benson, telling him to watch the bikes after he was done filling up the cage. As the only junior patch member of the group—both Gunner and Sparky were senior patch and executive members of the board that ran the MC—Tank was responsible for keeping Benson busy and out of trouble.
“Nah.” Gunner shook his head. “Most of the cabins out here are for rich city folk, and the local businesses are all about serving their needs.”
Tank had often dreamed about having a cabin. Fishing, hunting, off-roading, canoeing … There weren’t many outdoor activities he didn’t enjoy. As a kid, he’d always wanted to do the father-son things his friends always did with their fathers. But Tank’s dad didn’t have time for his kids. Except to beat them for being bad.
And then Tank met T-Rex, who loved the outdoors just like him, and all the shit he’d gone through with his dad didn’t matter.
They ordered lunch and spread out a map on the worn wooden table, dividing up the small roads in the area for a thorough search. The strong fishy scent of the restaurant reminded Tank of the weekend he and T-Rex had hiked into the mountains to fish. It had been a perfect day. Warm, sunny, the mountain lake clear and still. They took a rental boat into the middle of the lake, chilled out with a cooler filled with beer, and shared stories about their youth. They agreed the Sinners were the best thing that ever happened to them, and they would be Sinners until the day they died. It had been a perfect day, at least until T-Rex caught a forty-pound trout and fell out of the boat trying to bring it in. Despite losing the catch of the season, Tank had never laughed so hard.
After lunch, Gunner and Sparky headed out to check the side roads, leaving Tank and Benson in town to ask local business owners if they’d seen any Jacks. Tank left Benson to pay the bill while he checked a small grocery store with a stuffed deer head over the front door.
“Only bike I’ve seen here in the last few days is the one at the gas station across the street.” The owner pointed across the road in response to Tank’s question. “But they aren’t the bikers you’re looking for. Young couple. They were in here twenty minutes ago buying groceries. Looked like tourists. Not wearing any leather vests or stuff.”
Tank thanked him for his time and headed across the road to the gas station. He spotted the bike at once and whistled low. The top-of-the-line, 2015 “super premium” CVO Road Glide Ultra slathered in chrome and custom Radioactive Green paint with a luxury pillion seat and Harley-Davidson’s strongest motor, was one of the most expensive Harleys currently available. Only an MC president or VP would ride a bike like that, as much a show of power as it was of wealth.
He positioned himself behind a plumbing van to keep watch. Only five minutes passed before he was rewarded with the sight of a pretty chick with long dark hair and the sweetest heart-shaped ass he’d ever seen.
She headed over to the bike and unbuckled the saddlebag. Tank let out a sigh. Off limits. Any man who rode a bike like that wouldn’t be happy to see another man sniffing around. Hell, if he had a woman like that, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight.
As if on cue, the door to the gas station opened, and a man stepped out and called her. His long hair obscured his face, but he was wearing a Bolton Beaver T-shirt that matched the girl’s hoodie. Tourists. Probably just weekend warriors who took the bike out only on sunny days. What a fucking waste. He turned to leave when the man stepped forward and partially into the light.
One step. So familiar. Something niggled at Tank’s brain, and he turned back and took another look.