Page 33 of Property of the Hellfire Riders

“Tank…” I start breathlessly, but I don’t have any words to follow, only the heat building up through me. Ever since meeting the three of them, I’ve been like a loaded gun, ready for one of them to just pull the trigger, release me from this pent-up need.

“I should get the chance to have you strip down in front of me and do a little dance.” His eyes drop over my, as he slides his hand beneath my flannel, resting onto my back. “Would you do that for me, Izzy?”

“If that’s what you want me to do,” I whisper.

“Oh, I like the sound of that.”

His lips turn into a crack of that same endearing smile.

“I’ll be a good boy and listen to my president. At least, today I will, but next time, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back.” He steps back. “Come on, let's head to the clubhouse. The others will be wondering where we've gone off to."

“Wait! How did you know about what happened with Hawk and I?”

“If Vance is right hand, think of me as the left. We know everything about one another.”

My cheeks turn as red as the flannel I’m wearing.

“Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart. There’s no reason for that. Hawk likes to play games with his things. It’s his nature. Me? I’m a bit more direct.”

I don’t know where this spike of courage comes from, but it does and I’m not about to lose it. “Three nights ago, my friend came to the clubhouse. Do you remember her? Short, like five foot three with blonde hair.”

He shakes his head.

“No, you’re the first thing that’s walked into the shithole and caught my eye in a long while.” He motions for me to follow. “Come on.”

I listen to his direction, a thousand questions spinning in my head. I want to know why he brought me here of all places and let me know where they grow their marijuana.

The only answer I can come up with is that this is a test of trust. They want to know if I’ll lead someone straight here.

There aren’t nearly asmany bikes parked at the front of the clubhouse, during the day. I imagine most are off doing drug runs and tending to their massive growth operation.

I slide off the motorcycle behind him, my legs feeling a bit shaky after the long ride.

“Tank! Who’s the new chick?” A deep voice belonging to a skinny, pale man with a gym-rat’s physique and a sleeve of tattoos. All at once, Tank’s hand wraps around my waist, pulling me against him, keeping me close.

“Piss off Gunnar,” he says with a wink to me then leads the way inside. In the daylight, the space takes on a less intimidating appearance.

“We talked it over,” he starts.

“We?”

“Hawk, Vance, and I.” We head into the main area of the clubhouse. The ceiling fans whirl overhead. A few of the bikers hang around at the table, but the place is almost empty.

“We want you to stay here with us, okay? It’ll be better this way.”

“Like live here?”

“Yeah. Of course. It’s about the safest place I can think of to have you.”

“Wait—what about my things, where will I sleep?”

“First, don’t worry about those and second, come upstairs with us.”

I don’t know what to say. It’s most definitely not safe, and I don’t have a way to get to Reynolds. I don’t even have a car.

It clicks then. This is their way of trapping me without force to watch and see what I’m up to. They must think I’m after the weed. I could care less about the drugs when Laina’s missing.

This behavior doesn’t line up with the Puppeteer’s profile, so then how is this puzzle all connected?

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