“I’m surprised they didn’t name you Cerberus,” she muttered.
“The three-headed dog who guards the gates of Hades?” Banks laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Maybe one day if I ever join an MC, I’ll tell them I want that as a road name. I gotta be fucking on guard for these boys twenty-four seven, even if they don’t realize it.” He poured her a glass of water and slid it across the bar. “No alcohol unless you produce some ID or a good story about how you lost your purse.”
God. All she wanted to do was find Tank. “You wouldn’t believe the truth if I told you.”
Banks threw back his head and laughed. “Sweetheart, after the shit I’ve seen since the Sinners started coming to my bar, I’m pretty much open to anything.”
“Fine.” She licked her lips. “I’m from Missoula. Originally from Devil’s Hills. I went home to bury my mother, and Viper grabbed me and threw me in his dungeon under the Black Jacks’ clubhouse.” She paused, tilted her head to the side. “You know who Viper is?”
Banks’ eyes narrowed. “Mighta heard of him. Go on.”
“I escaped, but without my purse or my phone. I can’t go home because he’s after me to pay off my mother’s debts with my body as currency. I might also have stabbed him with a penknife but not hard enough to do anything more than piss him off. Anyway, I met someone who helped me. Now I want to help him, and the only way I can do that is by talking to a Sinner named Tank. I’m not here to cause trouble or stir things up. I heard the Sinners come to this bar, and I figured someone might know where he is. I’m not armed. I don’t even know how to shoot a gun. I just really, really want to talk to Tank.”
Silence.
Naiya bit her lip. “Will you help me?”
“You a Black Jack bitch?”
She recoiled, and her nose wrinkled. “No.”
“That’s one hell of a story.” Banks poured a shot of vodka in a glass and added some soda and lime. “And you’re leaving a lot out.” He pushed it across the counter, and Naiya took a grateful sip of the drink, sweet and tart with just the faintest kick of vodka. Perfect.
“Yes, I am, but only to protect someone, and because Tank should hear the rest of it first.” She heaved a sigh. “I’m telling you the truth, and if you don’t help me I’ll stand outside the door and ask everyone who comes out where he is.”
“Looking the way you look, dressed the way you’re dressed, talking sweet the way you talk, that’s tantamount to suicide.” He looked over her shoulder then back to her.
“Tank was here earlier, but I think he’s gone. Jagger’s in the back room. He’s the president of the Sinners. He’ll know where you can find him.”
Naiya sucked in a sharp breath. Now here was a part of the plan she hadn’t thought through. Jagger was with Arianne, and Arianne knew her from the few times her mother had dragged her to the Black Jack clubhouse, and the weekends she’d played with Jeff. In fact, Arianne only knew her as a club brat, and she didn’t want to think about what might happen if Arianne outted her as a Black Jack in a Sinner bar.
Bank stilled, assessing her. “You got a problem with Jagger?”
“No,” she said quickly, thumbing the ring on her finger. “I’ve never met him. It’s just … talking to the Sinner president sounds kind of scary.”
“Who’s scary?” A grizzled biker with a long, unkempt beard joined them at the bar. He had hazel eyes and a face weathered from years of riding.
“You are with that rat’s nest attached to your chin. Fucking thing is a health hazard.” Banks poured a shot of whiskey and shoved it across the bar. “This here’s Shaggy. Oldest member of the Sinner’s Tribe. His claim to fame is that fucking beard he hasn’t cut in twenty years.”
“Twenty-two and counting.” Shaggy stroked his beard, his fingers lost in the tangle.
“Our sweet rose here is looking for Tank.” Bank gave her a wink. “You seen him around?”
“He was out for a bit, but he just came in.” Shaggy nodded to the door, and Naiya turned to see a tall, heavily built biker crossing the floor toward them. He was about the same height and build as Holt, but dark where Holt was fair, his eyes chestnut brown, and his hair thick, but closely cropped to his head, bringing his wide jaw and defined cheekbones into stark relief. Handsome but rough.
“There’s a girl here,” Banks said when Tank joined them at the bar. “Wants to talk to you.”
Tank’s gaze flicked to her, and he frowned. She could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. Who was she? Had he slept with her?