Page 21 of Strider's Misstep

I feel I need to point out, “Except I didn’t claim her.”

I swear Buzz mouthsidiotunder his breath.

“So why the fuck are we here?” Madman states. “That’s the proof that there’s nothing to this. Prez don’t feel anything other for her than a hole in which to place his dick.”

Rage rushes through me at his description. There’s so much more to my relationship with Jasmine than that. But I’d bebetraying another woman if I admitted I had feelings for her. Even so, I can’t leave it like this.

“Your prez, VP, enforcer. and sergeant-at-arms give credence to believing she’s in danger. So, we’re going to treat it that she is until we know for certain.” I give my best presidential stare at Madman, keeping my gaze there until his drops, then turn my attention to Data. “You found anything?”

With a loud cough, Data clears his throat. “I found Jasmine Smart.” Just as I breathe out,thank fuck,he continues, “She died as an infant of three months old, thirty years back.”

“What?”

“How?”

The questions come so fast that it’s hard to tell who’s asking them.

“Fuckin’ fake identity. Just like in the book,” Tequila gets in.

As the implications hit, I find it hard to draw oxygen into my lungs. The girl in the book bought an expensive new ID, which is proof that Jasmine did the same. One more reason not to dismiss the predicament it’s possible she’s in. “And?” I snap, eager to hear the rest. “Where is she now?”

Data’s creased eyes meet mine. “Sorry, Prez, she’s off the grid. Can’t find her anywhere.” His head moves side to side slowly. “I don’t know where to start. She may have bought another identity and is using that now.”

“Why would she change her name again if it’s served her well for three years?” Buzz’s brow creases.

Tequila shrugs. “Maybe she wouldn’t, but here she was guaranteed a place off the grid with no questions asked. She didn’t have her name on any rental leases, and we paid her in cash.”

Shout raises his hand, and I give him a nod. “She must have a bank account. She got payments for her books each month.”

“But in what name?” Data ponders.

Something hits me. “Frobisher. That’s her pen name. Maybe she was able to set up an account using that.”

Data shakes his head adamantly. “Don’t you think I didn’t try that first? Been digging, and there’s no account for a Jasmine Frobisher, just like there wasn’t a Smart.” His hands brush back through his hair, the gesture showing his frustration. “We don’t know anything about her, where she came from—even the little she gave us when she arrived, I suspect was a concoction to hide her tracks.”

“Frobisher,” I repeat, making Data’s eyes widen.

Exasperated, he spits out, “Prez, already told you I’ve looked into that.” He stands from the table and goes to bang his fist on the wall.

“Data?” I snap, getting his attention. “Buzz had mentioned she said her pen name was the maiden name of her beloved grandmother. Why would she make something like that up?”

Buzz lets out a long breath. “Good catch, Prez. Well, now, surely that’s somewhere to start.”

Data crosses his arms. “What? You want me to search for an old lady who happened to be called Frobisher before she got wed and one who has a granddaughter—fuck, even Jasmine might not be her real first name.” He snorts. “Do you want me to limit my search to the mainland USA, or do you want me to make it worldwide?”

Completely straight-faced, Shout remarks, “She has an American accent.”

I almost wish I had a camera ready to record our computer guru’s expression at that comment.

CHAPTER EIGHT

JASMINE

The one thing that’s lifted me up over the past couple of weeks has been the memory of how reluctant the men of the Wretched Soulz were to see me leave. Their concern had warmed my heart. Although nothing they said would dissuade me, I had left with my head held high rather than feeling I was sneaking out with my tail between my legs.

It had never occurred to me how much the little I thought I did around the club had been appreciated. If it hadn’t been for the message I’d clearly received from Strider and my unrequited love, I could have been persuaded to stay. As it is, I need the time and space to pull the pieces of my broken heart together, to accept once and for all that the Wretched Soulz and their prez don’t hold the key to my future.

It’s all my fault I fell for an unobtainable man. It was only his tenderness toward me and the monopolisation he showed that made me stupidly dream that he could be mine. I can’t blame him for not telling me he had a wife. Bikers are a different breed, and normal men’s morals don’t apply. It was all on me for having expectations.

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