“You’re the one who dragged me into this mess,” Dragon reminds me, his tone still light but with an edge underneath. “And something about all this still doesn’t add up.”
I turn to face him, crossing my arms over my chest. “What are you talking about?”
Dragon pushes himself up and moves to the front window, standing with his hands on his hips as he looks outside. In the days since Kayla’s release, I’ve gotten used to his presence, even gotten to the point where I can ignore the unsettling feeling of seeing Demon every time I look at his face.
“Kit’s never kidnapped someone from another MC before,” he says, turning from the window and pacing the length of my small shop. “He’s never started a club war. It’s not his style.” He stops, turning to face me. “And then there’s this disappearing act. The only thing Kit loves more than causing chaos is sticking around to watch the fallout.”
“So what? Maybe he’s finally lost it completely.”
“Maybe,” Dragon concedes, but I can tell he doesn’t believe it. “Or maybe there’s something bigger at play here. Something we’re missing.” He studies my face. “And I intend to find out what it is.”
“Why do you even care?” I ask. “From what you’ve told me, you and Demon aren’t exactly close.”
Something flickers across Dragon’s face, too quick to read. “He’s still my brother,” he says simply. “And whatever else he is, whatever he’s done, I don’t want him ending up dead in a ditch somewhere.”
I laugh, a bitter sound with no humor in it. “That’s exactly where I want him.”
“I’m aware,” Dragon says dryly. “But our priorities differ. I did, however, come to tell you I’m heading back to Billings. My VP’s been running things in my absence, but I need to check in.”
“So you’re leaving?” I’m surprised by the sudden wave of not disappointment exactly, but something close to it. Despite my present irritation with him, Dragon has been the only person I’ve been able to depend on since this nightmare began.
“Kayla doesn’t seem to be in any danger at the moment,” he confirms. “I’ll be in touch if I find anything. About Kit, or about what’s really going on here.”
Dragon gathers his things, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Try not to completely self-destruct while I’m gone,” he says. “It would be a shame after all the effort you put into finding her.”
I just nod, not trusting myself to speak. Dragon gives me one last look, something almost like concern in those unsettling green-gold eyes, then turns and leaves. The bell over the door jingles; the sound oddly cheerful in the somber shop.
I watch through the window as he mounts his bike. He lifts a hand in a brief salute before pulling away from the curb, disappearing down the street.
I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice the cruiser pulling up until the door opens again, the bell jerking me back to the present. Deputy Colton steps inside, his expression grim as ever.
“Sullivan,” he says by way of greeting.
“What do you want?” I ask, not bothering to hide my annoyance. “I’ve already told you everything I know.”
Colton seems unfazed by my tone. “I have some new information I’d like to go over with you,” he says, reaching into his jacket for his ever-present notebook.
I sigh, leaning back against the counter. “Make it quick. I have another appointment coming in.”
“Tell me what you know about Amara Hammond,” Colton says, his eyes fixed on my face.
The name means nothing to me at first. “Who?”
“Amara Hammond,” he repeats. “She was an employee at one of the strip clubs in town, The Red Door. I believe that particular establishment is owned by your club.”
I start to shake my head, about to deny any knowledge, when suddenly I freeze. A memory crashes into me, so vivid it’s like I’m back there. A young woman with frightened brown eyes,tears streaming down her face as she begs, “Please, I swear I didn’t. Please, just let me go. I swear I didn’t do it, Viper.”
“Sullivan?” Colton’s voice pulls me back to the present. “You okay there? Looked like you went somewhere else for a minute.”
I swallow hard, trying to steady myself. “Yeah, I… I remember her now. She didn’t go by Amara when she worked for us. She used a stage name.” I try to recall it but come up blank. There have been so many dancers over the years; their faces and names blur together.
“What can you tell me about her?” Colton presses.
I shrug, aiming for casual, though my heart is racing uncomfortably. “Not much. She quit — what, a year ago? Maybe a little more. Dancers come and go all the time. They rarely leave forwarding addresses.”
Colton’s eyes narrow slightly. “You’re sure about that? She just quit?”
“As far as I know,” I say, meeting his gaze steadily. “Why the interest in a dancer who hasn’t worked for us in a year?”