“Nope. Not a word.”
“Didn’t he recognize you?” Derek asks with a frown, like he doesn’t believe it.
“Yep. He knew who I was.”
“You’re sure?”
“I could tell by the way he stared. He knew.”
“But he said nothing?” Derek asks, not letting it go.
I shrug. “I don’t think he wanted to admit he knew me, not in front of his club brother. At least, that’s the impression I got. So, I took my cue from him and didn’t acknowledge him either.”
“That’s fucking weird,” Derek muses, wiping his hands on a rag.
“That’s what I thought. Hell, the whole thing is weird. I never took Sully for the type of man to join an MC.”
“Your bar got robbed. Sully’s in town. Got any other big news you want to drop on us?” Remy asks, derision lacing his voice.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip, and I slip my hands into the hip pockets of my jeans. “Actually, I was wondering if I could borrow some money.”
“How much?” Derek asks, not even asking what it’s for. I love that about him.
“Five hundred.” I wince.
“Five hundred?” Derek whistles.
Remy chuckles. “You think we’ve got that kind of money lying around? Sorry, Mags.”
“I can let you borrow a hundred, maybe,” Derek says, pulling out his wallet.
My eyes travel around the shop they opened not long after they came to town.
“How did you afford this place?”
“Worked our asses off for the money, same as always. We’ve worked hard for everything we ever got,” Remy snaps.
I doubt that. My brothers always look for shortcuts. I bet half the parts in here are hot. Sully once accused them of stealing motorcycles and chopping them for parts. He claimed half the bikes they rebuilt were on stolen frames. I never wanted to believe it back then, but they always seemed to have money to feed their motocross addiction.
“You guys got any races coming up?” I glance toward their motocross bikes.
Mine sits right next to theirs. I haven’t ridden it since I left it behind in Louisiana. Actually, I’m surprised they didn’t sell it. Remy probably wanted to do exactly that, and knowing Derek, he stopped him. I’m glad to see they brought it out here. The area around Durango is great for dirt bikes. I really need to get back on it. That, or maybe I could sell it for the money.
“No, but there’s one in a few months that’s supposed to have the biggest payout the sport has ever seen,” Derek says.
“Really? How much?” I ask, my interest piqued.
“Fifty grand. No one’s ever offered that kind of money before. Not in motocross. First place takes home twenty-five thousand dollars. Second gets fifteen and third gets ten,” Remy replies.
“Four hundred or two-fifty?” I ask, referring to the number of laps.
“Four hundred,” Derek says.
“Where?”
“That’s the best part. It’s close to us. Rock Creek Raceway outside Denver.”
“Are you entering?” I ask.