Chaos Bound (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #4)(110)
EPILOGUE
Naiya parked her SUV in front of T & T’s Auto Body Shop, carefully maneuvering around the row of motorcycles gleaming in the Montana summer sunshine. Every week that row got longer and longer. She would have been happy if the bikers had all been customers, although Tank and Holt had more than enough mechanic work to keep them busy, but many of them belonged to MC presidents who had come courting Holt to set up a new MC in Northern Montana, uniting them all under one patch—Holt’s patch.
Tank came running out to help her unload her briefcase and boxes, his navy coveralls streaked with grease. Swamped with work, the Montana State Crime Lab had set up a new branch in Auburn, just north of Whitefish and after only one year working with them, Naiya received a promotion and the extra work to go with it. Sometimes she missed the time she, Tank, and Holt had spent on the road crisscrossing the country after leaving Conundrum, when they had nothing to worry about except where they were going to sleep the next night and how many women Tank would have to fight off at the bars.
“You should have called. I would’ve come to get you,” Tank chastised. “Holt’s gonna be pissed when he finds out you carried all these boxes to your car. You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”
“He’ll only be pissed if he finds out, and you’re not going to tell him.” Her gaze flicked to the shop that Holt and Tank bought together after she’d accepted the job in Auburn. They’d fixed it all up themselves and within a matter of months had built up a reputation for quality work in the biker community. When Holt had started to seriously consider setting up his own MC, he and Tank built an office out back to keep their activities discrete and away from the prying eyes of local civilians.
Naiya glanced over at the shop. “Is Holt in the office?”
Tank nodded. “He’s got four MC presidents in there with him. They sure want him bad. They see a leader in him, and once the biker is in your blood, it’s not easy to let it go.”
Naiya snorted a laugh. “I figured that when we were on the road, and you two would only go to biker bars, get your bikes fixed at biker shops, and let me wear biker gear when I wasn’t in an interview.”
“Those were good times.” He dug his hand into his coveralls and pulled out two tickets. “Speaking of good times … you busy tonight? Fractured Skyway is playing down in Whitefish. I missed them at the big rally where we took down Viper. A customer gave me these comps and told me not to miss the warm-up band. He said they were just as good as the headlining act. I was curious so I looked them up…” His voice trailed off, and Naiya frowned. Was Tank … blushing?
“And?” she prompted.
“The band is called Snark Bite, and Connie is the front woman. Fractured Skyway is her parents’ band. Looks like she started something up on her own. You never met her, but she’s the one…” He cleared his throat—“… who got away.”
“And you need a wingman or woman?”
Tank toed the dirt. “Yeah. I don’t know if she’ll want to see me. She kinda started seeing Sparky, and then up and left one day without saying good-bye.”
“Sure, I’ll go.” Naiya brightened at the thought of hitting the road and getting out of town. Holt hadn’t had much time for her over the last few weeks. He was either working in the shop, visiting other clubs, or meeting with his soon-to-be-appointed board. Although she had been leery at first about him getting involved again in the biker world, Holt had assured her nothing he did would touch her or her work. His new club would operate in the gray—not quite criminal but not legitimate either. She couldn’t take it away from him. Like Tank said, he had biker in the blood.
“Are you f*cking kidding me?” Shaggy stalked over to them, his Sinner cut swinging around his narrow hips. She hadn’t seen him when she drove up but she knew he would be around. After they had settled in Auburn, Shaggy came to see her. That first meeting had been gut-wrenchingly awful. She hadn’t dealt well with finding out Shaggy was her dad, especially after what she’d gone through with Viper and her mom, and she’d turned her back on him and asked him to leave. He had left her with his ring—the Skull Ring—and a promise to try and make up for all the missed years if she ever forgave him. It had taken six long months of soul searching and Holt’s full support before she made that first call. Even then the first few visits had been awkward as hell. But Shaggy—she couldn’t bring herself to call him dad—didn’t give up. They’d discovered shared interests in music, science fiction, and comic books and he’d slowly integrated himself into her life, limiting his visits to a few days every month.
At least until she told him that she was pregnant.
Now she couldn’t get rid of him. And with Doug and Ally coming to see her and Holt every other weekend, their small ranch house was never empty.
“My little girl’s five months pregnant,” he spit out. “Are you seriously thinkin’ of taking her down to Whitefish on your bike? Are you insane?” He scrubbed his clean-shaven jaw and scowled at a horrified Tank.
“No man.” Tank held up his hands, palms forward. “I was gonna take her in my truck. Wrap her in coats and bubble wrap in case—”
“Your truck?” Shaggy rounded on Tank, cutting him off. “Your bike is safer than that piece of shit. And she shouldn’t be goin’ to a concert. There’s gonna be drunks there and drugs, people smokin’ weed and shit, and the music’s gonna be loud and upset the baby. They can hear stuff and it should be good stuff. Not frickin’ Indie Rock.”