Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Fox sat behind a desk you’d expect to see in a Wall Street exec’s office—big, modern, and spotless. He was a neat freak to the core, though only Maverick, our VP and his best friend, had the balls to tease him about it. The rest of us valued breathing too much.
The prez was wicked smart, had a head for numbers, and a gift for strategy. A complete nerd. But he’d also been schooled in martial arts and weapons from a young age and was deadlier and more fucking ruthless than most of the guys in the club.
Yeah, his road name was spot on. Intelligent, cunning, and lethal.
Before patching into the club, he’d earned a degree in finance from an Ivy League university. Then he’d spent a few years cleaning up on Wall Street. After making a few million, he got bored and came home. Despite being the son of one of the founders—and the president at the time—Fox had prospected like the rest of us, earning fear and respect as he worked his way to the top.
Now? He was the reason we owned most of Old Bridge—and a nice chunk of the next few towns over.
Fox was talking with Maverick, who was leaning against the desk, arms crossed. Deviant, and Racer—two of our enforcers—were camped out at the round table in the corner. So was Savage, a patch who managed the club’s bar, The Midnight Rebel.
The room was built to accommodate large gatherings. Oversized, with a bar and a couple of battered sofas, plus a side door leading into Mav’s office.
“Need something?” I grunted.
Fox paused, pinning me with his steady, sharp gaze. “Need you to make a stop on your way out.”
I nodded.
Viper and I had a quick run to make—delivering a sensitive package to a customer—and then I planned to take a few extra days for a ride-out. It had been almost a year since I’d taken time off. Being an enforcer, especially one with my…skill set, kept me tied up more often than not. Fox gave me shit about burnout every so often, but he wasn’t the type to hold my hand. Which I appreciated because after fifteen years split between the military and the FBI, I didn’t need anyone telling me when to eat, sleep, or shit.
When I’d mentioned taking a break, he just grunted, “’Bout fucking time.”
Stone unfolded from his chair and held out the packet of papers, so I crossed the room and took them.
One glance had my brows pulling together. “A rental agreement?”
Sniper rifles, tracking ghosts, interrogation—those were my wheelhouse. I was a fucking trained killer who was one of the best shots in the country. Legal paperwork? Not so much.
“Just have it with you,” Stone said as though it made perfect sense. “In case there’s any questions.”
I scanned the document again. “Country Crust,” I muttered, then shot Fox a look. “The new bakery?”
He nodded. “When the owner signed the lease, we slipped in a clause allowing background checks on new hires.”
Savage whistled low. “She actually agreed to that?”
Stone shrugged. “Don’t think she noticed. Her lawyer didn’t object. Wasn’t my job to point it out.”
“She hired someone a couple of days ago,” Fox added.
I waited, silent. Wasting words wasn’t my style. It had served me well when I was growing up—and in my career—since being invisible had been an asset in both environments.
Fox was used to it, so he went on without being prompted.
“She hired the girl on the spot. No application, no system record. No name, no social. Until the paperwork’s filled out and we can dig deeper, we need to get a read on her.”
There it was. The reason I was being sent on this little errand.
Maverick spoke up. “Doubt you’ll have to show it, but if the owner pitches a fit about you sniffing around, flash the lease.”
Racer chuckled. “Or turn on that Hunter charm.”
“Guys don’t need charm when they look like him,” Molly—Maverick’s old lady—teased as she breezed into the room.
She winked at me, and Mav’s growl sent a chill through my bones. My club brothers weren’t reasonable when it came to their women. They’d lost their fucking minds.
“You trying to get my ass kicked?” I muttered.
“She’s aiming for a cherry-red ass,” Maverick snarled, hauling his wife into his arms.
“What makes you think I wasn’t talking about you?” Molly shot back, laughing. Mav didn’t crack a smile, but Molly smirked. “Will telling you that Luna is having a sleepover with your parents tonight get me out of trouble?”
“Nope,” he grunted as he jumped to his feet and stalked out of the room with her slung over his shoulder.
“Lucky me!” Molly’s giggles echoed down the hall.
Fox and Stone exchanged looks, both wearing the long-suffering smirks of men who knew exactly what it meant to be whipped—and didn’t give a damn.
“Back to the job?” I prompted, not bothering to mask my impatience.