He slowed the truck as we reached the outskirts of town. Buildings started to appear alongside the road. Not much farther to the truck stop where we planned to set up shop for the night. The bikes were trailered behind us, along with some basic furniture and shit—just enough to set up an apartment or something. We’d debated that approach initially, because showing up in a semi underloaded with motorcycles would make us stand out. But standing out wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. We needed to make contact with the club, hopefully sooner rather than later. Our cover story pegged Gage as a trucker looking for a new base of operations after an ugly divorce. I was his cousin, here to help him find a new place and get settled.

If we played it right, they’d hear about us hitting town but wouldn’t give it a second thought. Just a couple of independents—no threat to the club.

Up ahead I saw the lights of the truck stop. It wasn’t as big as I expected—more of a souped-up gas station than anything else, although I knew from their website that they had a convenience store with showers around the back. Gage slowed the big rig, pulling behind the building, where they had parking for the trucks. We rolled to a stop, then climbed out to look around.

“Not a whole lot here, is there?” I commented.

“Population is about three thousand,” he replied. “Small, but not so small that they don’t see the occasional stranger. Rance filled me in. He stops by every couple of weeks to check on Marsh.”

I nodded—Rance was smart. We could trust his intel.

“Rance thinks the best way to get in is through Marsh’s sister, Talia. Apparently she’s always bringing home some new guy. She and Marsh are close, so he puts up with it. Even lets ’em in the clubhouse, which seems wrong somehow. Perfect way to get in as a hangaround, though. Collect some good information that way.”

“No shit,” I said. “You planning to fuck her, or is that on me?”

Gage snorted.

“Get right to the point, don’t you?”

“Saves time,” I replied. My phone buzzed, and I looked down to see Melanie’s name pop up with a text.

MEL: Jess dragged Taz home again this afternoon. I’m going to strangle her—turns out he’s a screamer, too . . .

I snorted, not thrilled by the fact that Taz was at her place, but at least she didn’t sound interested in him.

“What’s that?” Gage asked.

“Melanie,” I replied. “Says Taz is loud during sex.”

“Really . . . Do I want to know?”

I laughed. “Probably not. Taz hooked up with Jessica at the rodeo—wonder how Pic feels about that?”

“I think he’s given up on controlling the girls in his life,” Gage replied. “Why’s Mel texting you? I thought you weren’t gonna tap that.”

“We’re friends, I guess,” I replied, uncomfortable with the word.

“If you’re just friends, you mind if I hook up with her?”

I nearly took the bait, then I caught the shit-eating grin he was trying to hide.

“Fuck you. So what’s the plan now?”

“We’ll check things out,” he said. “See if we can establish a presence, take it from there. That work for you?”

“Sure,” I said, trying not to think how much time that’d mean away from Mel. “But I’d rather not fuck the sister if I don’t have to.”

Gage snorted. “You haven’t seen her yet.”

He grabbed his phone, swiping at it and then handing it over so I could see a picture. Damn—the girl was gorgeous. Long red hair, bright green eyes. Brilliant white smile. Oh, and it didn’t hurt that her tits were huge and halfway popped out of the tiny little American-flag bikini she wore. Allegedly covering her legs were a faded pair of Daisy Dukes. The top button was even open.

Hell.

“Pulled that off Instagram,” Gage said. “She likes posting pictures of herself. You still want to pass?”

I studied the photo again. She was hot, definitely. But the red wasn’t doing it for me, not really. I preferred brunettes. Chocolate brown hair was the best, not to mention smooth skin tanned darker than this girl would ever get outside of a spray booth.

“Still pass,” I said. “Unless you’re not up for it? I know you’re older than me, so if you need some of those little blue pills . . .”

“You’re an asshole,” he said, laughing as he pulled the truck over into one of the parking spots lining the old downtown. “Okay, here we go. Try not to fuck up too badly.”

“Fuck up what? Existing? I thought we were just here to check it out.”

“Just act normal.”

I snorted, opening my door. We’d see if I could pull it off or not.

• • •

It didn’t take us long to unload the bikes, and then we were headed down the old highway toward town, which had been bypassed by the freeway years ago. Felt weird to be riding around without my Reaper colors. Unnatural. The small downtown held two diners, clearly in competition with each other. At one end was Clare’s, which seemed to have a coffee shop/hipster kind of vibe. On the other was the Hungry Chicken, which was all greasy spoon. We parked on the street between them.

“There,” Gage said, nodding his head toward the chicken place. “We’ll get better gossip there.”

“And more food, too,” I said, noting the sidewalk board advertising their big breakfast platter, served all day. Nice.