Page 59 of Traitor

I touched the patches. “Jesus Christ, man. What the fuck did you do to earn all these? Fuck every clubwhore in the state?”

Colored wings were trophies that indicated a member had engaged in sex acts while being watched by other members of the club. I couldn’t give two fucks about earning my wings, but I’d be willing to do some freaky shit for tequila and blow.

The biker removed my hand from his kutte and snarled, “Touch my patch again and I’ll ram this beer bottle down your fucking throat and watch you choke on it!”

Grey grabbed him by the back of his kutte, dragging him off the bar stool. “Are you that fucking wasted that you think you can speak to Detective Sullivan like that? Get the fuck out of here!”

The biker scrambled up from the floor, apologizing profusely. “I’m sorry, Pres. It was a mistake—”

Grey leveled a glare at him. “Get. Out. I’ll deal with you back at the clubhouse. You better pray that Comedian doesn’t find out about this.”

That last line had me almost chuckling. Comedian wouldn’t do jack shit if he knew one of his brothers was threatening me. Fuck, he’d probably buy them a drink for it.

The biker was escorted out by his buddy while Grey continued to walk around, looking under tables and chairs.

“Grey? What the hell are you doing?”

He popped out from under a booth. “Looking for bugs, Mikey.”

I walked over to where he was crouched down. “Are we back to not thinking that you’ve got a rat in your club? Because when we went over the plans involving Lauren, we were down in the canyon. Either the Sons managed to infiltrate every single one of your hangouts or you’ve got someone with big ears and an even bigger mouth.”

He scratched at his jaw. I’d watched him do it more and more lately. This was starting to get to him. He paused from where he was and looked back toward the bar. “Brianne…October second. Holy shit.”

Grey stood up and I reached out to him. “What? What’s wrong?”

He shook his head as if in a daze. “It was right in front of my fucking nose the entire time. I didn’t put two and two together. Ian—it’s the same night Ian was killed. Someone here handed him over to the Sons.”

I struggled to keep up, wracking my brain for the name Ian. “Ian? Who the fuck is Ian?”

Grey slammed a hand down on the table in front of him. “Ian was the prospect that was gutted on October second. I saw the name and the date, but it meant nothing to me then. I can’t believe I didn’t catch on.”

“Where are you getting this information from?”

He waved a hand, dismissing my question. “It’s not important. What is important is that I now know who the fuck Brianne is—and more specifically, where Brianne is.”

Grey strode across the room, bellowing, “Everybody out!” Bikers marched out like ants, leaving us alone with the bartender. The guy looked rough as hell—worse than all of the bikers he served, combined. He had a long scar running down one side of his face, but had tried covering it up with a scraggly beard. That had been an epic failure.

Instead, he was just a few missing teeth and a banjo away from a job as an extra on the set ofDeliverance.

“Get Brianne down here,” Grey ordered and the man hesitated. Within seconds, Grey had his gun pressed against the man’s temple. “Now.”

He nodded shakily and reached for his cell phone. Grey turned to me. “Call the boys. Get ‘em down here for this.”

I nodded and stepped outside. This was shaping up to be a banner morning and it wasn’t like I could go home and sleep it off after either—my ass was going to have to head home to change and then drive into work.

Carnage, Little Ricky, Torch, and Comedian were at the bar within minutes—all of them in varying degrees of drunkenness, minus Torch, but I knew that was only because Gloria hid the alcohol from him.

“What do we got, Junior?” My old man asked.

I jerked my thumb back inside. “Brianne rolled over. That’s all I know.”

I didn’t even know who Brianne was, but if Grey thought she had something to do with his club members getting killed, then it wasn’t going to matter a fucking bit by the end of today. She would be long gone by then.

Our boots crunched through the gravel as we made our way back inside. A female, who I could only presume was Brianne was sitting in a chair with Grey in front of her. She’d miraculously appeared in the time it took me to step outside and call for backup, leading me to assume that she’d been here the entire time.

Brianne was a tweaker—that was inherently obvious just from one look at her. Her face was a canvas of open sores and scratch marks. Her hair had been bleached at one point, but was now more roots than anything else. What she lacked in looks, she made up for in weight, surprisingly. Brianne had not let her drug use affect her eating habits. She was nervously chattering away to Grey, even as her eyes darted to the various faces around the bar.

The bartender sat back behind the bar with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. Obviously, he’d just come to the realization that his fuck buddy was in a shitload of trouble.

---