Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(47)

I missed its power. Its status.

Instead, I was wearing a black leather jacket I’d bought the first month after we’d put our cuts away for good. It was too hot for a jacket, but I’d needed something to cover the Glock holstered at my side.

Dad and I rode away from the Warriors and down the highway. About fifty miles away from the bar where we’d met with Tucker and his crew, Dad pulled off the road at a little turnout next to an open meadow. We got off our bikes and walked where asphalt met grass, staring at the trees and mountains in the distance.

“Do you think Tucker’s telling the truth?” I asked.

Dad sighed. “Don’t know.”

“Smart of him to bring the guys.” I’d expected Tucker to show up with his vice president and sergeant at arms. Instead, he’d brought the men previously loyal to the Gypsies.

Tucker had let us ask them point-blank if they’d had anything to do with Amina’s murder. We knew them. Spent time riding alongside them. And when each had promised they had nothing to do with setting up Dad, we believed them.

Those five were off the list.

Tucker still had a question mark behind his name.

Since the Warriors were at the top of the list of people who’d want revenge against Dad for past crimes, he’d arranged this meeting with Tucker.

The Warriors were located in Ashton, a town about three hours away from Clifton Forge. Dad couldn’t go there without violating his bond, so we’d all met at a country bar on the edge of our county. It was far enough away from town that the Warriors saw it as neutral ground.

All Dad had asked for was a meeting. No explanation. No reason. Not that Tucker needed one. He’d been keeping better tabs on us than we had on him.

“Tough to say if Tucker was lying,” Dad said. “But he made a good point. What reason would they have to set me up?”

The Warriors were making more money now with our former drug connections than they ever had before. We weren’t killing one another off anymore. They were happy the Gypsies were gone. Tucker had said so himself today.

“I don’t think he’d risk pissing us off, having us start the club back up again,” I told Dad.

“Me neither.”

“How tight a hold do you think he’s got on his members these days?”

Dad scoffed. “Considering how much control he had back in the day? Not much.”

If Tucker wasn’t the one to set Dad up, it could have been one of his members. It wouldn’t be the first time one of them had gone against orders.

The Warriors who’d tried to kidnap Emmeline had been acting of their own stupid fucking accord. They’d hoped to get some attention from their president by walking back into their clubhouse as heroes, dragging Emmeline behind them. Except they’d failed to get her. And instead of patting them on their backs, Tucker had sent a message to his members.

No one went against his orders.

Tucker delivered the men who’d tried to kidnap Emmeline to Dad’s front door. The Gypsies had dealt with them for good. Those two were buried in the mountains where their bodies would never be found.

We didn’t know if Tucker’s message had been received. Maybe another idiot looking to make a name for himself had gone rogue too.

“If it was a Warrior, we’ll probably never know,” Dad said. “Tucker won’t admit one of his brothers disobeyed his orders. Not again.”

“Then where does that leave us?”

“Hell if I know.” Dad stared out at the meadow’s grass rolling in easy waves under the gentle wind. “What’s going on with the reporter? She still a problem?”

Yeah, she was a problem. I couldn’t get the woman off my damn mind.

“Yes and no,” I answered. “Think I’ve got her convinced to work with us and not against. But it cost me.”

“How much?” Dad had paid off the previous newspaper owners for years to only print the minimum.

“Not money. A story. She wanted to know more about the club. Why we quit. What we did. Some was on the record. Most was off.”

Dad turned from the view and planted his hands on his hips. “And you trust her to keep quiet?”

“She’ll stay quiet. She’s honest.”

It was the best way to describe Bryce. When she said something was off the record, it wouldn’t make the print. It was part of her code as a journalist. As long as I held up my end of the bargain and told her the truth, our relationship would stay mutually beneficial.

It wouldn’t be hard to do. Those deep brown eyes looked at me and the truth was easy to see. Besides, if I tried to lie, she’d see through my bullshit. Those eyes were beautiful. And cunning.

After I’d fucked her twice last night, Bryce had fallen asleep exhausted and spent, naked under her sheets, her silky hair spilled over her white pillows. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly when she slept, and that little grin had made it nearly impossible to leave.

But I didn’t spend the night with women. Waking up with them gave them ideas about commitment. Rings. Babies. None of which was for me.

I left Bryce smiling on her pillow, even though there was temptation there. The urge to pull her into my arms and hold her until sunrise.

It was a damn good thing I went home. Fuck temptation. I rode home, fell into my own bed and stared at the ceiling for a few hours wondering when exactly I’d been cast under her spell. The hell of it was, it always came back to the first day.