Page 16 of Sophia, Property of Tracker

Play it cool, Ryan.

“Come on, brother, we ain’t got all day.”

Knowing I don’t really have a choice and don't want to piss them off, I follow as Blaze begins walking toward them.

Once we reach the table, I spot Quill, the club’s president. He’s sitting at the end of the table with the others around him. He’s not that hard to spot, having the most piercing blue eyes I’ve ever seen. I’ve also seen images of him when we were looking into his club. When you look at Quill, he has this sense of authority about him. You don’t have to read his cut to know he’s the president of the Blood Brothers.

“I’ll take this,” Hawke says from beside me, and without warning, he grabs my gun from my jeans and slides it over to Quill, who picks it up and looks at it intently.Fuck!

“That’s not what it looks like,” I state, panic filling me.

What will they do if they find out I’m an FBI agent? Goddammit, they probably think I’m here to investigate them. Shit, I didn’t think this one through well enough.

Quill checks the safety’s on and places it back on the table. I look around the room, hoping there are witnesses in case something goes down.

“One thing you don’t know, stranger, is that we own this bar. So whatever happens here tonight will stay here. You get me?” Quill says.

Clearing my throat, I reply, “Let me explain.”

He smirks, and I can see it’s not a genuine smile. “Sure, you can explain. Get your ass over here.”

The biker sitting next to Quill vacates his seat and Quill gestures for me to sit next to him. Swallowing hard and thinking what an idiot I am for not taking Sam on his offer to head down here with me, I do as he says and take a seat.

“Want a beer?” he asks in a low demanding voice.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Prospect, get him a beer.”

“Looks like I’m havin’ a beer,” I murmur under my breath.

“What you say?”

I look up at Quill and reply, “Nothing, man. I’ll have a beer.”

A man whose cut reads, ‘Trigger, Prospect’ hands me a beer and I instantly accept and take a swig. But, something tells me by the end of the night, I’m not going to be able to ride out of here.

“I’m only going to ask you this once…” Quill growls, his eyes holding mine, and I know he means every word by the look of his face.

“You a cop?”

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Trying to stall a little, I grab my bottle of beer in one hand and begin scratching at the label. “This is good beer, this local?

Quill’s hand grabs mine, and he squeezes, forcing me to look at him. “Answer the fuckin’ question.”

“It’s not what you think.”

He shoves his hand off mine and sits back in his chair with a wide smile. “So what is it this time that has the Feds on my back? Is it about my old man? Because I have nothing to do with his business. I run a biker club, a legitimate biker club. We don’t deal drugs or guns. We own legitimate businesses like Rubix. So why the hell are you out here investigating us?”

I look around the table and notice all the bikers’ eyes are on me. The look in their eyes showing what they would like to do to me, and it’s not pleasant.

I sit back in my chair, thinking of the right words to use without coming off sounding like I’m lying. Because basically, I’m not.

“As I was telling Hawke over there…” I say, pointing to where Hawke is standing. “I’m trying to find my brother, Tate.”

I reach into my pocket and slide the photograph to Quill on the table.

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