“Like I’m going to tell you.” Confident now that Dax was out of the room, Doreen shuffled back on the bed and leaned against the wall, her gaze focused on the table where Dax had left his equipment.

“I got a kid, too.” The unfamiliar words slipped off his tongue. “Just wanted to make sure yours wasn’t alone.” He glanced up at the camera, hoped the mic was off. He’d never live it down if the brothers heard him showing concern for a prisoner. Hell, they’d be shocked he showed concern for anyone. He had a reputation as a loner, an “ice man,” and he liked to keep it that way.

Doreen exhaled a long breath. “He’s with my mom in another town. Viper sends all the kids away. He doesn’t want the women he’s fucking to be distracted. It’s hard to blow a man when your kid is whining for juice, especially because no one bothers with closed doors in the Black Jack clubhouse. MC women don’t get a choice of where they get fucked.”

She gave him a sly look, her eyes slightly narrowed and a smirk on her lips. “Just like your redhead from the shop. She’s got no choice either. Viper wants her bad. Never seen him want a woman the way he wants her.”

“She’s with me.”

“And I was with Axle. Look what happened to him.”

Zane forced his muscles to relax, feigning disinterest. “Viper killed him to get you?”

Doreen opened her mouth and then closed it again, her eyes flicking back to the table. “It’s a long story and not one I’m wantin’ to share unless you’re gonna let me outta here. But I think it’s pretty damn obvious that Viper doesn’t let anyone or anything stand in the way of what he wants.”

“Neither do I.”

“So why are you here talking to me? He’s probably on his way to get your redhead right now.”

*   *   *

Evie dusted the tank of the Honda CB600F Hornet. Her client loved the matte black but needed a touch-up on the paint. The factory had put the clear coat over the decals and when he pulled them off the marks were visible. Even worse, the aftermarket front end’s color was off from the rest of the bike. Not a big job. She had a stock of color match paint and there weren’t many dents to fill. Maybe three hours and then she could get back to the work she enjoyed best, the custom designs, creative artwork that reflected the owner with a little bit of her soul thrown in.

Stan and Gene were working on a Kawasaki Ninja in the corner, badly damaged after the owner had skidded in the rain and dropped his bike under a stopped SUV. The fenders were dented beyond repair and there was substantial mechanical damage—almost a write-off, but not enough for the bike’s insurers who were footing the bill. Insurance claims made up the bulk of the mechanics’ work, taking them away from the custom builds that had first drawn them to Bill’s shop.

“Morning, all.” As if on cue, Bill walked into the shop through the back door, all relaxed like he hadn’t just up and disappeared a week ago. “Can anyone tell me why the back entrance is covered in bullet holes?”

Big Bill, so named because he was six feet five inches tall and maybe half as wide, with long, dark shaggy hair and a thick beard to match. He had inherited the shop from his old man, and although he loved bikes, he wasn’t a businessman. After running the shop into the red in its first three months of operation, he’d hired the best staff he could find and let them run the shop for him.

“How about you tell us first where you were?” Evie folded her arms across her chest. She’d been happy to partner with Bill when he first approached her, but now she was pretty much running the show on her own and his unreliability was becoming an issue.

“Tables in Helena were calling, darlin’. I was feeling lucky.”

Unfortunately, Bill had a gambling habit and had fallen into gun running for the Jacks as a way to earn money to feed his addiction. But when the Sinners took over the arms trade in Montana, and his work started drying up, he started skimming off the shipments and selling weapons on the side. Only Evie and Connie knew where he kept his stash, and only then because they’d just happened to be driving past the Conundrum cemetery one Saturday evening, and spotted Bill’s Harley Fat Boy with Evie’s custom paint on the fender. His daddy was still helping him out, he said, when they called out to him from the fence, even from the grave.

“Jacks and Sinners had a shoot-out the day after Axle came to the shop, and you slipped out the side door and left us alone.” Evie mounted the tank on one of the stands Bill had bought for her work after he realized she was bringing in more clients than the mechanics and the sales departments together. He’d also splurged for some high-end paint guns and a supply of paints from most of the well-known dealerships.

Bill had the good grace to look sheepish. “Sorry about that, but I didn’t want to take the risk he had a message for me, too.” He looked back over his shoulder, as if he were expecting someone to be there. “Got a little antsy when I saw a coupla Jacks buzzing around my house the other week, but things seem to have cooled off. I heard Axle bit the bullet so at least we won’t be seeing him around here anymore. Jacks left him with their initials carved into his chest.”

So Viper hadn’t been lying. “Do you know who…?”

“Word on the street is he pissed off Viper.” Bill waggled a finger at her. “I hope you finally got the message not to get involved with him, or it will be you lying in the county morgue.”

“Thanks for the concern, but I’m done with outlaw bikers. I had my wake-up call last night.” Evie didn’t know where she stood with Zane, but she did know that a man who would hurt her once would do it again. And Viper … Well, no question that relationship was over.

“I had a wake-up call, too,” Bill said. “That’s why I’m here. I’m gonna tie up a few loose ends and then I’m taking some of those guns up to Great Falls. Got a Canadian buyer who can get them across the border. You’ll be in charge.”

“I think I’ll start off giving myself a raise.” Evie gave him a half smile. “Since I’ll be doing twice as much work.”

Bill laughed, the sound echoing off the walls. “You already do all the work. That’s how I can be as relaxed as I am. I know the shop will be in good hands.”

“Why are you still skimming, Bill?” She followed him to the door. “If Viper really killed one of his own men, imagine what he’s going to do to you. Is it really worth the risk?”

“Got nothing much in my life except the thrill of living on the edge.” Bill traced one of the worry lines on her forehead. “It’s a gamble, darlin’. Just like at the tables. Maybe I’ll win. Maybe I’ll lose, but at least I’ve enjoyed the game.”

The rumble of motorcycle engines reverberated around the building, and Bill paused, half in and half out of the shop. “Anyone expecting a client or six?”

“Two Man Crew are coming in today for a tune-up.” Stan called out. “I think they said they were bringing in five bikes.”

“Must be them.” Bill let out a relieved breath. “For a minute there I thought it was the Jacks. I’ll be in my office. Back in five to say goodbye.”

After he left, Evie headed to the paint rack for some matte black Honda paint. She tested the paint against the fender and waited for it to dry. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Something nagged at the back of her mind, and she felt a growing sense of unease. She checked her client book to see who was next on the list and made a few calls for pickups. After half an hour, she left her work and went to talk to Stan.

“Did Two Man Crew show up?”

“Not yet. They’re probably out front talking to Bill and Connie. They always buy new gear when they come in.”

“They’ve been out there a long time,” Evie said. “I’ll go check on them.”

She tidied her equipment away and then pushed open the shop door, her nose wrinkling as the familiar scents of paint and gasoline, morphed into the sharp, tangy odor of … blood.