Page 40 of Property of the Hellfire Riders

I need to find out what’s in the basement.

I weave my way through the bar and up the stairs to Hawk’s apartment.

Either way, this will be a good place to start.

The more I’m with them, the less I feel like Laina was right about them being connected to the Puppeteer,

They don’t seem like killers. Dangerous, manipulative, evil - yes. But some part of me can’t believe that they’re kidnapping and murdering women right off the street. It’s too risky.

Or maybe I’m being naive. So many people have no idea the person they’re living with is a killer. Ted Bundy managed to fool his wife.

I push that thought away. Self-doubt will kill me. Literally.

I open the door to his apartment and lock it behind me, falling backwards against it and sliding to the floor. The whole place smells like him - like whiskey and leather. The space is silent though which gives me some room to think.

I take a few minutes gathering my head into my hands.

My whole body is still tingling from what he did to me. I stifle a groan, holding myself tightly.

Get it together. I was riled all turned on, and this is like a whole new level of torture.

After three long breaths, I push myself up off the floor and don’t waste any time.

I rifle through drawers but find nothing. It’s too clean for someone who's all danger and motor oil. There are two other bedrooms, similar in appearance. Based on the massive size of clothes in the closet of one, I can only assume it’s Tank. The other, I guess is Vance? Though it’s hard to tell.

Of course, they all live up here together.

Where the hell am I supposed to sleep?The thought of being in bed with any of them sends a wave of nerves and excitement through me.

I search the couch cushions and under their mattresses but it's like they’ve got nothing to hide. What kind of biker doesn't have anything incriminating in their room?

One that’s not stupid.

The worst thing I find is a stash of weed in Tank’s dresser. I roll my eyes and slam the dresser door shut. No other set of keys,no photos, or evidence to be found. I sink down on Hawk’s bed, running my hands through my hair.

God. It smells good. Warm and with his rich scent.

The door handle shakes for a moment, then the lock clicks as someone fusses with the key.

I jerk upright as though I’ve just been caught red handed. My eyes dart around the room. I was sure to put everything back the way I’d found it. Nothing was out of place; they’d never know I tore through their things.

“Hello?” I shout sheepishly.

Vance’s steel, silver eyes settle on me as he appears in the doorway.

“Well, look at you,” he murmurs. “Making yourself at home?”

I swallow hard, heat coating my cheeks despite myself.

“I…um, I um…it’s been a crazy few days. Just tired, I guess.” I get off the bed as though it’s on fire.

“Relax, love.” He smirks and starts to unzip his leather vest, the muscles in his arms rippling as he does so. He tosses it over the chair, followed by his boots. “You sound like you’ve been up to trouble.”

“Trouble?” I repeat dumbly.

A smirk tugs at his lips. “You tell me, Izzy.”

“Hawk told me to stay up here.”

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