Page 49 of Matrix

“We’ve got a lead on my sister. We’re here to check it out.”

“What lead? Where are you?”

“New Orleans. She was spotted in the city a few months ago.”

“By whom?”

“A man I talked to in Denver.”

“Look, I’m getting sick of this vague shit. If you don’t start giving me names and places, I’m pulling you off this case.”

“You can’t do that.” I raise my voice so much that several tourists turn to stare at me. “When I have details, I’ll pass them along.”

I end the call before he can respond. Who the hell does he think he is? I’m following the first real lead in my sister’s case since it was opened. The FBI hadn’t made any progress until I joined Underground Vengeance. I’ve learned more about what happened to her since going undercover than the FBI ever did. Right now, my relationship with the club is far more important than the one I have with my boss. He’s going to yank me off this case for sure, but I don’t care. I’m staying with the club for as long as it takes to find my sister. If that means going rogue, then so be it.

After stopping in the bathroom to wash the rage off my face, I stare into the mirror. I’m exhausted, angry, and ready to rip someone’s head off. Not a good combination.

By the time I get back to the guys, they’re on their bikes, ready to ride. “Sorry. The line was huge.”

“I was about to go looking for you,” Matrix says.

“Good thing I’m here now, so you don’t have to.” I give him the sweetest smile I can manage, but my anger toward my SAC is pulling my lips too taut. I’m sure he can see it. Yanking on my helmet, I hope I can cover my expression before he asks me about it. I need to get myself under control. I don’t want Matrix to get suspicious.

The clubhouse isn’t more than a couple of miles from the edge of the French Quarter. We cross a canal before entering the Lower 9th Ward. During Hurricane Katrina, the entire area flooded. The water went as high as the rooftops and destroyed most of the houses. Those not ripped from their foundations ended up with extensive water damage. Many of the homes were condemned. Eventually, people were able to rebuild, but it’s still an economically impoverished area. I’m glad Matrix let me keep one of the club’s guns. I wouldn’t want to be out after dark in this neighborhood without it.

As we rumble over streets filled with potholes, I grip Matrix’s waist a little tighter. People sitting on porches watch us drive by. Clearly, we’re outsiders. Because of that, we might have a target on our backs. I hope the clubhouse has plenty of extra security.

We arrive at a two-story row house made of stone. According to Matrix, the house survived Katrina, barely. It was completely underwater and infested with all kinds of vermin by the time officials let the club return to assess the damage. Members from surrounding chapters of UV chipped in with their time or other resources. Eventually, they returned the house to its previous condition. They even repainted it with an alabaster hue to make it non-descript compared to the other vibrantly painted houses in the neighborhood.

We park the bikes in a diagonal row in front of the house and store the trailers behind it. Several men in cut-off vests and shorts mill around the first and second-floor patios. Two huge glass windows flank the front door. As we walk up the steps, the guys stand to greet us.

After a lot of back-slapping and bro-hugs, they introduce themselves to me. Vapor, the club’s president, is the tallest of the men. He’s easily six and a half feet tall with enough muscle to be on a football team. His sharp blue eyes miss nothing.

“Scar says you’ve been a real asset to the club.” He strokes his hand through his slicked-back hair. It’s as black as a raven’s.

“I do what I can,” I say cautiously, unsure of how much Scar shared with the man.

“I’m Ice.” The man standing next to Vapor is wearing the VP patch. Ice’s long, platinum hair is so pale he resembles a vampire. He has an otherworldly aura, with piercing silver-blue eyes that seem to glow in the darkness. His hypnotic voice lingers in my mind, almost as if he’s in my head.

“Nice to meet you.”

“That’s Diablo.” Ice points to another man with an Enforcer patch on his cut. He has a ruggedly handsome face that is accentuated by a prominent jawline. His intense brown eyes seem to smolder with a hint of danger. He has short, tousled black hair that falls over his forehead, giving him a brooding, mysterious look. His physique is muscular and toned, with broad shoulders and a chest that exudes raw power. He stands tall and confident, with an imposing presence that commands attention. Yet, he never says a word.

“I’m Bones, the Sgt at Arms.” He’s a tall man with broad shoulders and a muscular build. His skin is a deep shade of bronze, and he has rugged, angular features. His hair is dark and thick, and he wears it short in a low-maintenance style. His eyes are chocolate brown, and they’re just as warm as his smile.

Fang is the last man to introduce himself. He’s the secretary/tech guru of the club. His impressive muscles are in sharp contrast to his nerdy demeanor. He’s wearing a geeky graphic tee, cargo shorts, and sneakers. A pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses accentuate dazzling green eyes. I immediately like him because he reminds me of Matrix.

After finishing the introductions, Vapor leads us into the clubhouse. Several women wearing shorts and tank tops lounge around the living room. They’re watching a reality TV show and seem completely uninterested in what’s happening in the clubhouse until they spot me. Several of them narrow their gazes. I do my best not to roll my eyes. I’m not here to swipe one of their men. There’s only one guy in this house that I have any interest in, and that’s Matrix.

“Ladies, how about making a big batch of jambalaya,” Vapor says. It sounds like a casual suggestion, but I can tell it’s an order. Two women get to their feet and head into a kitchen toward the rear of the house. “The bedrooms are all upstairs. Fang will show you where to put your stuff down. Church in ten. We meet in the library. It’s the door on the right just before you get to the kitchen.”

“Come on, babe.” Matrix grabs my hand, and we follow the others to our assigned room. After he pushes open the door, we walk in. It’s small, with only a full-sized bed and a dresser. A French door leads to the balcony. “Well, it’s not big, but it’s got a bed. That’s all we’ll need.”

“Can I come to the meeting?” I ask.

“No. Scar told them you’re FBI. He didn’t want you to have to walk around on eggshells the way you did in Denver. The guys don’t like it, as expected, but they’re willing to work with you.”

“So, why can’t I go to Church, then?” As I sit on the edge of the bed, the box springs creak slightly.

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