Page 66 of Biker Daddies

“Don’t beat around the bush, Bane.” Colt’s words are laced in sarcasm.

“I don’t understand that. There is no bush to beat here,” I say dryly, hating his kind of jokes.

“It’s just a figure of speech. It means you’re just diving right in. You aren’t sugarcoating things.”

“There isn’t time to sugarcoat. Heather—” I cross my arms on the table. “There have been deaths in the area. Drug-related. Do you have any information? Have you heard anything? Any information will help us.”

Heather wipes her mouth and sighs, suddenly seeming ten years older. She pushes her food around, then her eyes slide to the table next to us to make sure no one is listening.

“Yes,” she begins, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “At first, I didn’t think anything of it. I thought a couple of drug overdoses, it’s fine.” She spins the straw in her drink. “And then some of them were covered up. Mostly domestic violence victims, beaten to death, but all were found with the unknown drug in their systems. I knew some of those women. They didn’t do drugs.”

“Why didn’t you tell us? That’s what we’re here for,” Colt says, leaning back in the chair but keeping his voice down so we don’t cause alarm.

“I didn’t think anything of it at first. I thought it was typical. Drugs, death, violence, which isn’t news around here, but then…” She swallows, breaking the eye contact she had with us.

“But then what?” I lean forward, turning my head with interest.

“These men I have never seen before came to the door. They asked for food, and I’m not the type of person to turn anyone down, but my gut said they were up to something. They’ve been hanging out. Whispers have been filling the streets, guys. We don’t know who they are.”

I don’t like that sound of that. “Why didn’t you say anything? Heather, we’re here to protect you and this shelter, including the people in it.”

“I didn’t want you all to think I was being paranoid. They haven’t bothered me, but can’t you see there are less women here? I would be happy to say it’s because domestic violence is down, but—” She scoffs, stabbing at her leaves. “Come on. When has that ever happened? I was going to come to you guys, but you beat me to it.”

“So much for wishful thinking that maybe you were having a good day.” Colt glances around, running his fingers through his hair. “We will take care of this, okay? If anything happens—”

“I know the drill. Don’t worry. I’ll be okay. We’re safer here because of you. I wish we knew where this drug was coming from. It’s hurting a lot of women. Only women,” she bites, her cheeks turning red as she becomes angry. “I don’t understand why men hate us.” She blinks up at the ceiling to hide her tears and I can’t help but frown at that statement.

I do something out of character and reach for her hand. I pause, unsure if I really want to, but Harlow would probably be proud of me if I did, so with that, I awkwardly pat the top of her hand in odd beats.

Colt stifles a laugh but Heather smiles, then takes her other hand to press it on top of mine.

Pure panic. I don’t like to not be in control of touch. I tug my hand free and inhale a deep breath, calming my nerves.

“Thank you, Bane,” she says at my poor attempt to make her feel better.

We finish our food and Colt gives Heather another hug, then a kiss on the cheek.

“Bane. I’m really happy to see how much you’ve grown. You might not think so, but whoever this woman is, she’s good for you.” She widens her arms and slowly comes in for a hug. “I’m going to give you a quick hug. That’s all.”

I freeze as she wraps her arms around me, but then I get a whiff of perfume, something my mom wears, and my arms melt, wrapping around Heather. I let go fast. I don’t want to linger.

“Be safe,” I grunt, giving her another odd pat on the shoulder. “And give us a call.”

“Will do. Bye, boys.” She waves with a smile, then shuts the heavy door.

“I didn’t like the sound of that at all.” Colt sits on his bike. “Something fucked-up is going on. We need to tell Grizzly it’s more than drugs.”

“If he’ll even hear us over Grim,” I growl, the man’s name pissing me off.

“We will have to make him.” Colt starts his bike, the conversation over as the grumbles of our bikes fill the air.

We roll to the gate, Colt punches in the code that opens it, and we ride out, patrolling the roads to search for this drug. Colt can’t come back empty-handed. We head to the shadier side of town and hit the streets where the prostitutes like to work the corner.

We don’t get off our bikes when we stop in front of them. A brunette woman wearing a bra with a sheer shirt, a leather mini skirt, red heels, and a feathery jacket sways her hips as she walks up to me. She wraps her red-painted lips around a cigarette, a blood-colored imprint left behind on the filter.

“Hey there, big boy. Looking for a good time?” she purrs, blowing smoke into the air. “Two hundred for a romp, baby.”

“No,” I state bluntly. “We’re looking for the new drug. I was hoping you could point us in the right direction."

---