Page 3 of Doc
“Bats said that?”The VP’s eyebrows raised.
“He did,” I confirmed.“And with him gone, you’re all I have left.”
The President’s eyes were unreadable as he studied my face.“You understand what you’re asking?If what you’re saying is true, you’re talking about going up against powerful people.The kind that can make a car accident happen.”
“I know.”My voice came out steadier than I felt.“But they killed my parents.They’ve been watching me too.Cars following me home.Strange calls.Last week someone broke into my apartment.”I pulled up my sleeve, revealing a jagged raw wound on my forearm.“I surprised him.He had a knife.”
That drew a low curse from one of the men who hadn’t spoken yet.
“Before she died, my mother dug into something dangerous -- something big enough to get her killed.These bastards still tried to bury it, but I swore I’d drag the truth into the light and make them pay.”My gaze cut across the table, meeting each man’s eyes in turn.“Justice for my parents is the only thing that matters.”
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the distant sounds of the main room beyond the door.
Finally, the President gathered up my mother’s papers, tapping them into a neat stack.“Wait outside.”
The doorman stepped forward, opening the door for me.I hesitated, reluctant to leave my mother’s research behind.
“We’ll return these,” the President said, seeing my hesitation.“Go on now.”
I had no choice but to comply.The doorman escorted me back to the main room, indicating a worn leather couch against the wall.“Sit tight.”
I perched on the edge of the couch, feeling the weight of curious stares from the men scattered around the room.No one approached me, but I could hear the whispers.
“… Bats’ niece…”
“… Mary-Jane’s kid…”
“… looks just like her mother…”
That last comment made me look up sharply, trying to identify who had spoken.An older member nodded at me from the bar, raising his beer bottle slightly.“Knew your mama when she was younger than you.Bats always said she was the smart one in the family.Said she could sniff out a lie from a mile away.”
A lump formed in my throat.I’d never heard anyone talk about my mother like that, like they’d known her personally.“Did you know her well?”
The man shrugged.“Well enough.Your uncle always spoke highly of her investigative skills.Said she could’ve been FBI if she hadn’t been so damn stubborn about working outside the system.”
That sounded like my mother.And it sounded like something Uncle Bats would say.I sat straighter, hope kindling in my chest for the first time since I’d arrived.Maybe they would help me after all.Maybe I’d finally get the answers I’d been seeking for weeks.I just had to convince them I was worth the risk.
I counted the seconds that stretched into minutes.The leather couch beneath me had seen better days, cracked and worn by years of men larger than me shifting their weight.Around the room, bikers pretended not to watch me while doing exactly that.I wondered if Uncle Bats had sat here, on this very couch, planning runs or celebrating victories I’d never know about.
My gaze drifted to a wall of photos near the bar -- men in Dixie Reapers cuts, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, grins splitting their bearded faces.I rose slowly, drawn to search for my uncle’s face among them.A few members tensed as I moved, but none stopped me.
There he was.Younger, with fewer lines around his eyes, his arm thrown around another member, looking more relaxed than I’d ever seen him during his rare visits to our home.He’d always been on edge around us, as if expecting trouble to follow him through our door.Now I understood why.
“He was a good man,” said a voice behind me.
I turned to find the older member who’d spoken to me earlier, the one who’d known my mother.
“One of our best,” he continued.“Loyal to the bone.”
“But not loyal enough to tell you about his family,” I said softly.
The old biker’s mouth quirked in a half-smile.“That was his loyalty to you, girl.Keeping you separate.Safe.”He nodded toward the back room.“Not many of us manage that trick.”
Before I could respond, the door to the back room opened.The President emerged, followed by the others.The room fell silent as they approached.
“Ms.Treemont,” the President said, his voice carrying across the now-quiet clubhouse.“We’ve discussed your situation.”
I returned to the couch, perching on its edge, hands folded in my lap to hide their trembling.“And?”
