Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(8)

Bastard. He wasn’t going to scare me away. This was my story. I was telling it, whether he liked it or not. I spun around, meeting his level gaze with my own.

“See you soon, King.”





Chapter Three





Dash





What the fuck just happened?

As Bryce’s white Audi streaked off the lot, I shook my head and replayed the last five minutes.

After a hot cup of coffee with Dad in the office, I’d come out to the garage, ready to get to work on the red ’68 Mustang GT I’d been restoring. My morning had been shaping up pretty damn great when a hot, leggy brunette with a nice rack came in for an oil change. Got even better when she flirted back and flashed me that showstopper smile. Then I hit the jackpot because she turned out to be witty too, and the heat between us was practically blue flame.

I should have known something was up. Women too good to be true were always out for trouble. This one was only baiting me for a story.

And damn, I’d taken that bait. Hook, line and sinker.

How the hell had Bryce known Dad was going to be arrested for murder even before the cops had shown up? Better question. How the hell hadn’t I?

Because I was out of touch.

Not long ago, when the club was still going strong, I would have been the first to know if the cops were moving in my or my family’s direction. Sure, living on the right side of the law had its advantages. Mostly, it was nice to live a life without the gnawing, constant fear I’d wake up and be either killed or sent to prison for the rest of my life.

I’d become content. Lazy. Ignorant. I’d let my guard down.

And now Dad was headed for a jail cell. Fuck.

“Dash.” Presley punched me in the arm, getting my attention.

I shook myself and looked down at her, squinting as her white hair reflected the sunlight. “What?”

“What?” she mimicked. “What are you going to do about your dad? Did you know about this?”

“Yeah. I let him go about drinking his morning coffee, bullshitting with you, knowing he’d get arrested soon,” I barked. “No, I didn’t know about this.”

Presley scowled but stayed quiet.

“She said murder.” Emmett swept a long strand of hair out of his face. “Did I hear that right?”

Yeah. “She said murder.”

Murder, spoken in Bryce’s sultry voice I’d thought was so smooth when it had first hit my ears. Dad had been arrested and I’d been bested by a goddamn nosy reporter. My lip curled. I avoided the press nearly as much as I avoided cops and lawyers. Until we got this shit figured out, I’d be stuck dealing with all three.

“Call Jim,” I ordered Emmett. “Tell him what happened.”

He nodded, walking to the garage with his phone pressed to his ear as he called our lawyer.

Emmett had been my vice president, and though the Tin Gypsy Motorcycle Club might be extinct, he was still by my side. Always had been.

We’d grown up in the club together. As kids, we’d played at family functions. He was three years younger, but we’d been friends all through school. Then brothers in the club, like our fathers had been.

The pair of us had broken countless laws. We’d done things that would never see the light of day. We’d joked last week over a beer at The Betsy about how quiet our lives had become.

Guess we should have knocked on wood.

“Isaiah, back to work,” I ordered. “Act like it’s any other day. If someone comes around and asks a question about Dad, you don’t know shit.”

He nodded. “Got it. Anything else?”

“You’ll probably be covering for the rest of us. You good with that?”

“I’m good.” Isaiah turned and went in the garage, a wrench still in his hand. We’d only hired him a couple of weeks ago, but my gut said he’d handle the extra work just fine.

Isaiah was quiet—friendly enough. He wasn’t social. He didn’t join us for beers after work or bullshit with me and the guys for hours in the garage. But he was a good mechanic and showed up on time. Whatever demons he was battling, he kept them to himself.

I’d taken Dad’s title as manager of the garage when he’d retired years ago, but since I hated anything to do with human resources or accounting and Dad hated to sit home alone all day, he came in and helped often. When I’d tasked him with finding me another mechanic, he’d found Isaiah.

I hadn’t even bothered interviewing Isaiah because when Draven Slater approved of someone, you trusted his instincts.

“What do you want me to do?” Presley asked.

“Where the fuck is Leo?”

“My guess?” She rolled her eyes. “His bed.”

“Call him and wake his ass up. Go to his house if you have to. When I get back from the police station, I expect to see him working. Then we’ll all talk.”

She nodded and headed for the office.

“Pres,” I called, stopping her. “Make some other calls too. See if anyone in town has heard anything. Discreetly.”

“Okay.” With another nod, she hurried to the office as I strode to my bike.

Along the way to the police station, a white car streaked past going the opposite direction, and my mind immediately jumped to Bryce.