Page 57 of Dagger

“Nice to hear your voice too, asshole.” The laughter in his voice would’ve pissed me off, but Slate only used the phone when absolutely necessary.

“Sorry,” I growled. “Hey, Slate, how are you doing? Having a good day?”

He chuckled. “I am having a pretty good day, thanks for asking. It took some doing but I have something for you.”

“I’m listening.” I left Minx’s room and headed to the office in back. “What did you find?”

“Finish up at Steel City Ink and get your ass to the clubhouse.” The amusement had faded and in its place was something serious that put me on edge.

“Shit, you ain’t gonna tell me anything?”

“I’ll tell you everything, when you get here.”

Goddammit, he was being a cryptic fucker. “Okay. See you soon.” I ended the call and went to find my client.

“All right, Steve, let’s give it another hour and then I need to get going. Forgot my kid has a doctor’s appointment,” I lied easily, but the relief on his face told me he wouldn’t make it another hour.

My mind raced, wondering what Slate had found and why he needed to tell me in person. I could hardly focus on Steve’s back. Thankfully, the outlining was done, and I’d started filling in some spots.

An hour later, Steve’s ink was covered, his tears had dried, and he already had a cigarette in his mouth as we left the shop together. “See you next week, brother?”

I flashed a smile and nodded. Steve was a weekend warrior and belonged to one of those suburban dad MCs who mostly got together to drink, play pool, and bitch about their almost perfect lives. “I’ll be here. Don’t forget the aftercare.” We took off on our bikes in opposite directions, Steve heading to his wife and three kids while I made my way to the clubhouse for answers. I fucking needed answers.

***

I made it to the clubhouse in record time and hurried through the main room, offering up a halfhearted wave as I headed straight for Slate’s office.

“What do you have for me, brother?”

He leaned back in his chair with a smile. “It’s always what I have for you but it’s never about what you have for me. That’s cold, man.”

I pinched my lips together and reached for all of my patience. “Slate, don’t fuck with me. Not right now.”

He laughed out loud. “If not now, when, brother?” He pointed to the empty chairs behind him. “You want the details now or do you wanna wait for Diesel and Rocky? They’re coming too.”

“We’re here,” Rocky said, and clapped me on the back. He took a seat with a grunt and clasped his hands behind his head. “What’s the news?”

“I managed to get intel on Nick. He’s Nicholas Rain. Thirty-five years old with no known current address. A few minor scrapes with the law but mostly petty shit like bar fights, domestics, and retail theft. Never served any time either.”

“Okay,” I said as his DMV photo popped up on the screen. He was a non-descript looking man with short dirty-blond hair. If this was the man I’d caught outside Sinclair’s house and seen at the museum, then the years hadn’t been kind to him. “None of that tells me what the fuck he’s doing here and why he’s after Sinclair.” I studied the photo. It was a New Jersey driver’s license. I’d looked into Sinclair, and she’d never lived in that state. So what was the connection?

“His mother, Della Rain, died two years ago. And his father, Terrence Bronson, died years before that.” Slate eyed me carefully, waiting for me to explode or some shit.

“He’s her fucking brother?” I exclaimed.

“Looks like it,” Slate said.

“She swore she didn’t know anyone called Nick, how could she forget her own damn brother?”

“I don’t know if she knows about him.”

I was already on my feet, I needed to speak to Sinclair and find out for myself, “Send me whatever you’ve got, okay?” I asked as I headed for the door.

I couldn’t get home fast enough. The ride back to my place was a blur. I needed to know what Sinclair knew about this man. Maybe if she’d told me she had an older brother who she was estranged from, then we might have gotten all this shit sorted quicker. After parking my bike I stormed into the kitchen where Dani and Sinclair were covered in chocolate and vanilla swirl frosting. “Dani, I need to talk to Sinclair. Alone.”

Dani looked up with that wary look in her eyes that I thought we’d worked hard—together—to get rid of.

“But we’re not done.” She wasn’t whining, just pleading.

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