Page 15 of Sophia, Property of Tracker

I quickly type a text to Sam, letting him know I’ve arrived and am safe.For now, anyway.I don’t know what I’ve got myself in for, but I’m hoping someone can identify Tate and may know where he is. Sam did a background check on the Blood Brothers to ensure I wasn’t getting myself in too much danger. I mean, I can hold my own, but one man against twenty or so is impossible and stupid.

I guess it’s good news that Sam came up short on his background check. Doesn’t seem like they have much of a record other than what went on in the club before their new president, Quill.

We know that Quill’s old man has connections with the cartel, but there’s no strong evidence that’s linking the Blood Brothers with that same cartel. We’ve been in contact with the New York FBI to check if they had anything on Mr. Owen—Quill’s old man—that could link with the kidnappings happening in LA, but so far, we’ve come up blank.

Entering Rubix Bar with my hands in my jeans pockets, I scan the place. A band is playing as some people dance and sing along with them. People are drinking at the bar, and my eyes land on a biker vest with some sort of reaper holding ascythe logo. I can just make out the words ‘Blood Brothers’ and instantly feel a sense of relief because I know I’m in the right bar. If Tate has been here and joined a biker club, then these bikers should know if they’ve seen him or not.

My hands travel around my back to check where I have securely tucked my gun into my jeans and ensure my jacket covers it. As an Agent, you always come prepared, especially when you’re walking into a biker bar and don’t know what to expect. Things can take a turn quickly.

Making my way to the bar, I slide through the crowd. The scent of beer and strong perfume is in the air. Once I reach my goal, I casually stand behind one of the bikers who has blond hair tied up in a bun. He’s talking to a tall and well-built man with two sleeves of tattoos on his arms. Trying not to look out of place, I order a beer and slide over some cash to the waitress. Then, I turn around and check the room. My eyes land on a few bikers seated at a table and chairs with women around them.

“You’re not from around here, are you, brother?”

Looking over my shoulder, I thank the man behind the bar who’s placed a beer for me and look to my right to answer the blond biker. If I thought I would blend in, then I was wrong because it didn’t take them long to realize I’m not from around here. I need to make sure I watch what comes out of my mouth. Bikers have a code that makes them closer than blood if that’s possible. If there’s one thing I’ve learned while investigating biker gangs is that they would do anything for one another, even take a bullet. It’s more than a biker gang to them, it’s a brotherhood, a family, and I can respect that.

Looking down at the blond biker’s chest, ‘Hawke, VP 1%’ is written on his patch.

So this is the vice president of the club.Quill, the president’s right-hand man.

Taking a swig of my beer, I reply over the music, “No, I’m not. Just passing through.”

“Hawke’s the name. What’s yours?” The other biker that Hawke’s with leaves us to head over to the others at the table.

“Ryan.”

Hawke nods. “What brings you to Rubix?”

“I’m looking for someone.”

Hawke straightens his shoulders and clicks his neck from side to side. So much for keeping a low profile. It’s only been five minutes, and he’s already asking questions about me. Obviously, something about me has him on edge. I can tell he thinks I’m here for them. Well, I am, in a way but not looking for them for the reason he thinks.

“And who might that be?” Hawke asks before he takes another swig of his beer. I do the same, then place my beer back on the bar and raise my voice, answering his question, “My brother.”

Hawke’s eyebrows raise. “Your brother?”

“Yeah, my brother. Would you mind if I showed you a photograph and tell me if you’ve seen him around?”

I go to reach for the photograph on the inside of my jacket, and he stalls me by placing his hand on mine. He stands and lifts his black shirt a little revealing his gun tucked in the front of his jeans, letting me know that he’s packing if I have any intentions of trying to harm him.

I place my palms up to him. “Just reaching for a photo, that’s all.”

He calms a little, then nods his head, gesturing me to continue.

Grabbing the photograph, I lift it.

He snatches it out of my hand and takes a good long look. He stares at the picture, then at me, then back to the picture.

“Well? You seen him around?”

He slams the photograph against my chest. “Nope, never seen the guy.”

I release the breath I’d been holding in anticipation of his answer. Hawke gets up from his stool and gives me a quick slap on the shoulder, saying, “Good luck, man,” before he turns and heads to the table to join the others.

With disappointment filling me, I skull the rest of my beer and order another one.

I’m onto my third beer when someone taps me on my back and growls. “Our prez wants to meet you.” I turn around and notice the man who was with Hawke earlier standing before me. His cut reads, ‘Blade, Sargeant-at-Arms 1%’. A sargeant-at-arms is also an important part of the club. He’s responsible for protection. He must defend the club members at all costs. Security and safety take priority which is probably why he’s the one talking to me now.

Glancing over his shoulder to the others at the table, the bikers are all staring at me.

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