I shuffle Ezra toward the back of her tent space where we have a little more coverage. It looks like the bidding is done and the kids are looking over the sheets with their heads down as they focus. Jessi looks our way, clearly worried, but she’s also helping the kids.
I keep my gaze moving over the crowd, looking for my prey. Even though I don’t see him, I see Playboy walking up with Sidewinder.
Ezra stiffens next to me, but I slide a hand down her spine. “I’ve got you, Teach,” I murmur. When I glance down at her shirt, I can’t help but grin. “Nice shirt, by the way.”
She looks down and smiles, actually fucking smiles. Today her shirt reads: Don’t make me repeat myself – History.
When I look back up, Playboy is looking at me, his eyebrows trying to disappear off the top of his head. Sidewinder is glancing between Ezra and me, but his face is unreadable. Sidewinder has always been steady. Playboy has always been chaos.
I pitch my voice low, “Ezra saw Bobby buy a dog from one of the carnies.”
“Bobby Baskin?” There’s a little bit of surprise in Sidewinder’s voice when he asks the question.
With narrowed eyes pointed at my brother, I bite out, “Yeah. Him.”
“Am I missing something?” Playboy asks, clearly confused.
“He wasn’t buying just any dog,” Ezra pipes up, her tone leaving no room for argument.
My dick becomes a steel pipe in my jeans.
“You didn’t hear the way the dog was barking, growling, and snarling. It was like he was waging war while trapped in his cage. It sounded awful. It wasn’t some calm pet who was happy to be going to a new home,” she insists.
“Might be some kind of lead on the dog fighting bullshit,” Sidewinder offers, his eyes studying Ezra like he’s expecting her to come clean and say this was all some elaborate joke. But it’s not.
“Don’t know, but we’re going to find out.” I shoot meaningful looks at my brothers and they nod in understanding.
Ezra looks between the three of us, all towering over her, but before she can say anything, Jessi walks up. “We have all the final winners. Josiah is taking the announcement sheet over to the booth. The winners will be announced before the cake eating contest,” her voice wobbles slightly and she keeps her eyes on Ezra.
Playboy snorts, his voice cocky, “I’m taking that trophy home this year.”
I can’t help but grin. He was beaten last year by two seconds. Because when it comes to a cake eating contest, it’s not about volume. It’s about speed and not leaving any crumbs behind.
It used to be a pie eating contest, but when Bunz Out opened, they started sponsoring the event. I’m sure it was a whole marketing thing on Lara’s part. I have to say it has worked for her. The bakery seems to be doing well, and she’s found a space within our little town.
Playboy loves taking shots at the woman. I’m not even sure why. It’s not like him at all to not be friendly, especially to women. With Lara it’s different.
She’s the kind of woman who is more than willing to stand up for herself. I don’t see the whole thing ending well, but I think he’ll have to find that out for himself. I’m not getting involved and it sure as fuck isn’t part of my job description.
“Thanks, Jessi,” Ezra breathes out, but I can see the tension in her shoulders.
She’s nowhere near as freaked as she was when she walked up to me, but she’s on alert. I fucking hate it.
Jessi yanks her friend a few steps away and as much as I want to reach for Ezra and tuck her into my side, I stop myself.
“What is really going on here?” Playboy asks the question, pitching his voice low to keep the conversation just between us. Sidewinder is looking at me closely like he’s expecting me to brush it off.
“She’s scared,” I answer. “When I stopped her, I could see the terror on her face. She asked me for help and I’m going to help her. I can’t say if it really is anything, but we’re going to find out. I noticed a guy watching her when we got on the Ferris Wheel, but it was before I knew what was going on. He wasn’t there when we got off.”
“You want her,” Sidewinder doesn’t soften his words, he just puts them at my feet and leaves them.
“More than you know,” I mutter. I look between them. “Do a sweep, find the carnie. I’ll send you a photo. Take him to the clubhouse. Keep an eye out for Bobby, even though we know he already left the fair. He could come back later. Pull whoever you need to get it done quickly and quietly.”
When I glance at Playboy he has a forlorn expression on his face. The man is practically pouting. It’s not a good look for anyone, let alone a fucking biker.
“You better fucking win this year,” I tell him and he perks right the fuck up.
Fucking hell. It’s like wrangling toddlers sometimes.