The probie and his biker chick (Iron vipers book 3)

Unexpected

*Tommy*

The cold bite of the wind nips at my face as I ride my bike, the roar of the engine drowning out the chaos in my head. I’m trying to focus on the mission at hand, but all I can think about is Dylan and how she will soon come home. She answered me but that text… Stupid. Why did I think that was a good idea? I shake my head, trying to clear the thoughts, but they cling like the chill in the air.

We pull up to a guy named Blinky’s house, the paint peeling and the lawn overgrown. It feels like a fitting backdrop for the kind of guy who would screw over the Iron Vipers. Tom steps off his bike first, his demeanor serious. Zac follows, his eyes scanning the area. LZ and I hop off next, weapons of choice… our fists, for now… ready to be used if necessary. Nick parks beside us, his expression as grim as the weather.

“Let’s keep it tight, boys,” Tom says, his voice low but commanding. “Blinky’s a slippery bastard, and he knows we’re looking for him. We don’t want to scare him off.”

We march up to the front door, LZ and I flanking Tom and Zac as they knock. Nick is taking a look around back, to make sure he is not getting away through a back door.

The door swings open, and there stands Blinky’s wife, a force of nature wrapped in a floral apron, her hair a wild halo around her head. She glares at us, hands on her hips, wielding a large wooden spoon like a weapon.

“What do you want?” she snaps, her voice laced with the kind of fire that makes you think twice about stepping forward. “If you’re here for that deadbeat, he ain’t home.”

“Ma’am, we’re looking for Blinky,” Tom states, his tone steady but firm. “We need to talk to him about some unfinished business.”

“Talk?” She scoffs, swatting at Zac with the spoon as if he’s a pesky fly. “What makes you think I’m going to let you in here? You want to talk, you can talk to me. And I don’t want to hear a damn word about Blinky’s so-called ‘business.’ He’s a loser, and I’ve had it up to here with his s**t!”

“Ma’am, it’s important…” Zac tries to interject, but she cuts him off, swinging the spoon menacingly.

“Important? You think I care? You think he gives a rat’s ass about you or your little club? He’s probably off drinking himself stupid while I’m stuck here cleaning up his mess!”

“Look, lady, we’re not here to cause trouble,” LZ says, stepping forward, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. “We just want to find him. If he’s done something, we’re going to make it right.”

She narrows her eyes, her hands still gripping the spoon like it’s a sword. “You think you can just waltz in here and demand my husband? He’s a coward! And you lot are no better, coming here like you own the place.”

Before we can respond, she starts yelling again, swatting at us with the spoon. “Get out! Get out of my house before I call the cops!”

Tom raises his hands in surrender, and we back away slowly. “Fine, we’ll go,” he says, his voice calm, but I can see the irritation simmering beneath the surface. “But if you see Blinky, tell him we’re looking for him. He can’t run forever.”

As we walk back to our bikes, LZ chuckles, still shaking his head. “I didn’t know whether to laugh or run. That woman could take down a bull with that spoon.”

“Yeah, just be glad it wasn’t a frying pan,” I reply, mounting my bike. “Let’s check his favorite bar. He’s probably drowning his sorrows there.”

We roar off to the bar, the wind whipping through my hair, but my mind is still clouded with thoughts of Dylan. Damn it, focus, Tommy. This is club business.

When we arrive at the bar, it’s a rundown place, the kind where the neon lights are more flicker than glow. The smell of stale beer hangs in the air, and I can already see a few familiar faces… other deadbeats and the kind of patrons who’ve clearly made this their second home. Blinky’s not to be seen, but I know he frequents this place.

“LZ, you and Tommy check the back, just in case he tries to run,” Tom orders, and LZ and I exchange a quick nod before slipping around the side of the bar, the murmur of voices fading as we step into the dimly lit alleyway.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” I say, scanning our surroundings. “If he sees us, he might bolt.”

“Yeah, just hope he doesn’t have backup,” LZ replies, glancing over his shoulder.

But then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of something moving. I turn, and my heart drops like a stone. A young woman is crouched against the wall, her face bloodied and her clothes in tatters. I rush toward her, LZ right behind me.

“Hey! Are you okay?” I call out, kneeling beside her. She flinches at my voice, eyes wide with fear, but when she sees me, her expression shifts to desperation.

“Help me, please,” she whimpers, tears streaming down her dirty cheeks. “He… he was going to kill me…”

LZ pulls out his phone, his expression shifting to all business as he dials for an ambulance. My heart races as I focus on the girl, who’s now trembling uncontrollably.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” I say, trying to keep her attention. “You’re safe now. We’re going to get you help. Just stay with me.”

“Please,” she sobs, her voice breaking. “I didn’t want to be part of this. I didn’t know what he was doing… I just wanted to get away.”

“Just hold on,” I reassure her, hoping my words can soothe her panic. “You’re going to be okay. Just hold on for a little longer.”

LZ finishes the call, his eyes locked on me, filled with urgency. “Ambulance is on the way. Can you stay with her? I will run up to the street and show them the way.”

“Yeah, I’ve got her,” I reply, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on my shoulders.

LZ sprints off, and the girl, closes her eyes, looking like she is almost drifting off.

“Stay with me,” I whisper to her, her eyes fluttering open looking at me like a deer in headlights. “You’re not alone anymore. We’re going to make sure you’re safe.”

Muted from the inside, I can hear the sounds of the bar, laughter and clinking glasses, entirely unaware of the turmoil unfolding just a few feet away. Now I also hear the ambulance approaching.

“What happened?” I ask the girl, my voice gentle but urgent. “Who did this to you?”

“Sinclair,” she gasps, her breath hitching. “It was Sinclair!”