lia

cool against my skin. Marty Hayes, the burly owner and an old friend of my father's, slid a plate of fries onto the table. He was a man who understood the meaning

man of spreadsheets and tax codes, completely out of his element in this world of

lt the paper trail. Every dime Douglas skimmed from the Vipers' pension fu

e neat columns and highlighted line ite

t deliberately on top of the property deed for the Buckeye house. The evidenc

liot," I said, my voice low and firm. "Be ready to walk

ngly entering an MC clubhouse terrified him. But he nodded. "You kept my fami

ne and dialed. Victoria a

'creditors' bookkeeper' has been added to my personal guest lis

rain-streaked diner window looking back at me. The woman st

weekly drop-off for the bar's supplies, a routine so familiar no one would question it. I unloaded crate

Two patched members, loyalists to Dougla

is short fifty grand. Prez is gon

crack in the blinds, I saw her. Cindy. She was handing a thi

riumphant hiss. "When Prez finds the 'stolen' cash there during t

n't rush out. I forced my breathing to slow, a dark, intricate plan forming in my mind. Moving the money now w

my movements mechanical, and d

s pacing the living room, nerv

my keys onto the counter. "Just in case.

he scale of what I was about to do. This

d marker and circled the transfer for a diamond necklace, cross-referencing it with the date Cindy had supposedly

ing at the web of documents. "The club wi

rvival in this world, Paige," I said, my voice

o my closet and pulled out the dress I'd bought for the party. It was a sleek,

med. A message from

the blast

lips. Wreck was coming to wat