Page 33 of Biker's Property

Judging him won’t help.I put my arm around Ryder’s shoulder.

“I knowwe’ve been drinking since we were kids and you’re fighting demons I can’t even imagine but… that girl back there. If you care about her, one day, you’re gonna have to choose.”

Ryder’s throat visibly tenses, but he doesn’t answer me directly.

“Her street is that way.”

He didn’t starta fight over my suggestion, which is much better than I expected. We walk along the dark streets together, weaving through cars and moving in sync without any words. We rarely need to talk when running surveillance together. Makes it much fucking easier to get shit done with Ryder than with anyone else.

I sense his movement changing in the darkness as we draw closer to the house. Without seeing the number, I know where we need to stop. I can feel Ryder’s attention fixated on the house and that strange sixth sense between us lights up my awareness. There’s a black Cadillac Escalade parked in the driveway of the modest ranch-style home.

There’s alsoa light on in the kitchen and from our position outside, we can both see the person inside.

Chapter Fifteen

STEEL

The pair of us stand on the sidewalk, staring into the house as an old Asian woman walks across the kitchen holding a stack of envelopes. She sets them on the counter and walks over to the sink, staring out the window. Hunter grabs my wrist, reminding me that she can’t see us, despite what it might feel like.

“Is that the maid?” Hunter asks.

The maid.

No.It’s not the fucking maid. I barely had to get a good look at her to recognize her. The woman looks exactly like her daughter.

“It’s Joslin’s mother.”

“I fucking hate you,”Hunter says. He sighs again and I feel a smidgeon of guilt for putting him in this position. Joslin never mentioned her mother, but considering what I know about her story, I can guess why. Mom pushed her into a marriage she didn’t want.

If it were any other way, I can’t imagine Joslin not asking about her or wanting to see her. Maybe I shouldn’t put much faith in the heart of a confessed killer, but Joslin doesn’t have the traits of a true criminal. If anyone forced this woman to the point of violence, she saw no other choice.

Hunter says. “We’re not gonna kill her.”

I don’t react outwardly. Hunter has always had the uncanny ability to read even my darkest, most intrusive thoughts that I would never act on.We have the same brain… and it’s fucked up.

“Of course we’re not going to kill her. She’s an old ass Asian woman.”

I wait a beat, to come up with a plan that sounds better than killing her. Not too many options come into my head. Killing her mother before I take Joslin to bed seems like a good way to get off on the wrong foot with her.

“I’ll go talk to her.”

Hunter puts his hand on my shoulder to physically stop me from rushing across the street. If there’s one thing liquor is good for, it’s stopping you from overthinking a situation. Action gets you from point A to B a hell of a lot faster.

“What do you know about her? Could she be armed?”

“She’s a church lady.”

“We’ll both talk to her.”

“That won’t scare her at all,” I mutter.

Hunter just flashes me a look.I want to scare her.

We walk across the street together. She’s up at three in the morning. Maybe Hunter’s right to be cautious. Maybe her mind is just heavy as fuck… We walk around to the backdoor as Hunter scans the house for cameras. My brother stalks ahead across the backyard towards the door. No automatic lights. No barking. It’s almost too quiet.

My hands slide into my cut and my fingers curl around the handle of the revolver I planned to use on Joslin’s husband if I caught any whiff of him. Hunter puts his hand on the door, then turns back to look at me. He says it without words.Locked.He steps aside, allowing me to work my magic. Hunter’s way would be a lot quicker, but we don’t need to converse or argue to decide that it’s not worth the risk to make this break-in too loud.

First, I check the type of lock. It’s simple to break into doors like these. I certainly wouldn’t let Joslin stay in a house with this type of lock under any circumstances. I reach into my pocket for the nail file I picked up from the Flying J on the way out. My fingers haven’t lost the stickiness they gained in prison.

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