Page 9 of Maverick

I spotted a few men with Road Monsters' patches milling about, but not him.

Finally, a woman giggled from behind another tent, the flap partially open. I heard a man’s low voice, too familiar. Fury ignited in my chest. I marched over, fueled by shock and grief, and yanked the tent flap aside.

Inside, Maverick was indeed in the midst of hooking up with some scantily clad woman. His bare ass was out, and her top was off, and I couldn’t see the rest of her. They both jerked in surprise at my intrusion.

“What the hell?” Maverick growled, eyes narrowing.

“You!” My voice broke. I pointed a shaking finger at him. “My mother is dead, and you’re in here screwing some random chick?”

The woman gasped, covering herself, glaring at me like I was the intruder. Maverick’s face darkened, and he shoved off her, standing up. “Wait,dead? Dirty D?”

“Yes,Diana,” I spat, tears threatening to choke me. But as much as I cried, I noticed Maverick didn’t cover up. His erect dick, complete with slimy condom, was on full display. I tried not to let it distract me. “She’s in her tent, cold as ice, and there’s a bruise on her neck. You were the last person seen with her.”

His expression flickered with something, shock, or even grief. But then it morphed into anger. “Calm down, princess. I had nothing to do with that.”

“You expect me to believe that?” I shouted, ignoring the woman who was scrambling for her clothes. “You left her. She was threatened. She’s dead. And you’re here, going to town on another woman.”

He stepped forward, pulling up his pants. “I didn’t kill her, all right? Don’t come in here accusing me.”

My eyes burned with tears, heartbreak twisting inside me. “She’s dead,” I choked, my voice cracking. “My mother isdead. Someone strangled her.”

Maverick froze, fists clenching. His jaw tightened. “Who else knows?”

“You should worry less about that,” I snapped. “And more about explaining where you were last night. Because I called the cops.”

He grabbed my arm. “No cops!”

I wrenched free. “Stay away from me.”

Everything was chaos then, the sound of sirens in the distance, the woman pulling on her shirt and cursing at Maverick, me stumbling back, half-blinded by tears and rage. If he didn’t kill my mother, he sure as hell didn’t seem innocent. And the fact that he was having sex with someone while my mother’s body lay in a tent just yards away made me sick.

Police cars began to pull up at the edge of the rally, creating a buzz of alarm among the bikers. Everyone scurried to hide their drugs or vanish before the cops could question them. I spun on my heel, dashing back to my mother’s tent, wanting to be near her, wanting to protect her even though it was too late.

One of the officers, a gray-haired man with a somber look, took in the scene, noticing the tears on my face and the lifeless form of my mother. He immediately radioed for more assistance. The crowd pressed in, curious onlookers, but parted for the cops.

I felt someone’s hand on my shoulder. Nova, newly arrived, face pale as a sheet. “Lexi, oh my God, I got your text. I came as fast as I could. Is she…?”

I nodded, tears slipping free. “Yeah. She’s gone.”

“Jesus,” Nova whispered, eyes brimming with sympathy. She hauled me into a hug, and I buried my face in her shoulder, trembling.

Over her shoulder, I saw Maverick standing a few yards away, arms folded, watching me with a troubled look. Our eyes met, and I glared at him, rage pulsing under my skin. My mind screamed that he was involved, that he was no good, that he was trying to protect whoever really did it, or it was him.

But for now, I had no answers. Just a dead mother, a bruised heart, and a sickening, ugly suspicion that Maverick knew far more than he was saying.

And as the cops swarmed around to secure the scene, I realized my life had just taken a sharp turn into the darkest parts of the biker world, a place I had never wanted to go. The ache in my chest told me there was no going back to normal.

Chapter 5

Maverick

A Week Ago

The smell of spilled beer and stale smoke hit my nose the moment I shoved open the door of the Velvet Rooster. The place always reminded me of a cheap, run-down whorehouse, only with more broken glass on the floor and fewer illusions about class.

A neon-red glow bathed the walls, flickering off the battered jukebox in the corner that blasted some ear-splitting heavy metal track. Looked like the same scrawny waitress was slinging drinks behind the bar, but she didn’t give me a second glance. Nobody here gave a damn about any new face unless you gave them a reason. I liked that about this dive.

But I wasn’t in the mood for nostalgia. I was here because Kingpin had called me out, the son of a bitch. The bastard who’d stolen my first love, then married her. The same man I’d stolen another woman from, his wife, if we’re being real technical. Shit was complicated as hell, dirty, but in my line of work, dirty deeds were the only real currency we traded in.

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