The demon glanced up from the pile of papers on the table. “What?”
“Simone Brightston is next door, and she’s a member of the Council of the Coven Nine. It’s my job to keep her protected, and right now, she has enemies after her.” Daire spoke evenly.
Zane glanced at the doorway. “We’ll keep her covered while you’re gone. You have my word.”
He nodded. “Thanks.” He would’ve had to have been blind not to miss Felicity’s dazzling smile as he and her kid worked together. If only it were as easy as that. “I’ll be in touch.” Grabbing his coat decorated with the Titans enforcer patch from the closet, he strode down the hallway and stairs to the underground garage. Straddling his bike calmed him, but he’d have to hurry to make the meeting.
Garrett jogged into the garage just as Daire was about to light up his engine. “What?” Daire asked.
“Coming with you.” Garrett reached his Harley and swung his leg over. “The prospects and other members hang out in the bar while the board meetings take place. I’ll see if anybody knows where Logan is or if anybody knows about Apollo. I may ask to score some, if I get the right vibe.”
Good plan. Daire turned the key and his pipes roared to life. He drove into the misty Seattle evening and allowed the movement and rumble to ease his senses and focus his mind. The kid stayed on his six, and they easily made it through Seattle traffic and onto open road. The scents of pine and rain soon filled his senses.
His mind remained on one tiny blond demon. How frightened she must be with her youngest son in the hands of a bastard like Bychkov. But she’d held it together, showing the strength he’d come to expect from her. While she seemed to think he and her sons had reached a détente, he knew better. Family complicated everything.
Soon the road condensed, and way too soon he was parking outside of the Titans of Fire Motorcycle Club headquarters. Music and the smell of spilled tequila poured out of the open doorway to the main bar.
He crossed inside, catching several furtive looks. When he’d created a fake motorcycle gang in Ireland in order to merge with Fire, many of the Fire members had objected to the partnership. His driving both Harleys and Ducatis had also been a bone of contention and led to more than one remark about pansy foreigners. So he’d promptly put three Fire members in the hospital and then assigned Kellach to be the main contact with the club.
The three members remained in-patients for quite some time, and one guy still needed physical therapy. So Kellach hadn’t been bothered much when he’d started his duties.
Daire stepped inside, and the heat from many bodies slammed into him. The last time he’d made that step, he’d seen Felicity for the first time. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He crossed through the crowd toward the back of the bar, grabbed a beer, and proceeded into the long hallway of Fire bedrooms to the main conference room.
Garrett would probably wait a few minutes and then join the party. The Fire members didn’t know Daire was working with either Garrett or Logan, who were posing as prospective members.
The heavy oak door required a hard shove, and Daire pushed, prowling into the quiet room. A thick oval table took precedence with several chairs around it. Pictures of club members and several old cuts lined the walls. Pyro, the Fire leader, sat at the head of the table, his hair greasy, his eyes bloodshot, his cheeks red. An empty chair sat next to him, and three other members filled out chairs.
Daire slowed and then shut the door. The empty chair had belonged to Duck, Pyro’s nephew and former vice president of the club. Duck had been murdered just a week before, and from the look of Pyro, he wasn’t taking it well. Daire relaxed his body and tuned in to the club’s president, noting altered biorhythms, sluggish blood flow, and burning lungs. The guy had definitely been self-medicating with cocaine and alcohol.