Page 115 of Ridin’ Dirty

The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk as he spoke the German words to me again, slower this time.

“Hübsches mädchen,” I tried once more, laughing a little at how awful I knew I sounded.

“We’ll work on it,” he said, the amusement in his tone matching the laughter I read in his eyes. He then reached for the back of my neck, applying enough pressure for me to understand what he wanted. I straightened, leaning against his chest as I tilted my head back, offering him my mouth.

He took it—generously—leaving me weak in the knees.

When he was finished, he pulled away only enough to give his lips space to move, his breath still mingling with mine as he asked, “How was work?”

“Good. Well—mostly good. We had a table of Kings all night. And by all night I mean all night. They sat there for at least five hours.”

He grunted, and I tried not to let it show how pleased I was I could understand what he was thinking from that one noise.

“They give you grief?”

“Actually…” I sobered a little, pulling away so I could really look at him. “It wasn’t me they were messing with. It was Max. One of them—Joker was the name on his kutte—he kept calling her princess. And the way he looked at her…” I shook my head then huffed out a sigh. “Maybe it was nothing. Max shrugged it off, but I don’t know. It felt weird.”

He cursed under his breath and let me go, taking a step back as he extracted his phone from his pocket. With a frown, I watched as he initiated a call. It didn’t ring for long before whoever was on the other end of the line answered.

“Heard you had company tonight.”

Max.

He called Max.

I couldn’t hear her reply, but I could tell by the look on Pistol’s face he wasn’t buying it.

“We’re not takin’ that risk. Way things are heatin’ up? It’s time to come out with it.”

I heard her muffled yet adamant disagreement before Pistol interjected, “If anything happens to you, it’s on me. I’m not stupid enough to keep your old man out of this. Clubhouse. Fifteen minutes.”

He paused a second before repeating louder, “Clubhouse. Fifteen minutes.”

This time, he didn’t give her a chance to argue before disconnecting the call. As his thumb continued to tap at his screen, he demanded, “Put some clothes on, angel. You’re comin’, too.”

I was smart enough not to argue.

Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting at the round table in the back room, all the ranked members of the club accounted for—Max and Viv there, too. Pistol didn’t bother to sit, and Max was anxiously chewing at her fingernails as she paced the length of the room.

“Alright. What are we doin’ here?” asked Nighthawk.

Pistol raised his eyebrows, looking to Max with an obvious question in his eyes. I watched as she glanced between Pistol and Nighthawk before settling her gaze on my man and shaking her head no.

“Have it your way,” he muttered before addressing the president. “The night I was arrested, I was here, shootin’ the shit when I got a call.” He jerked his head in Max’s direction, and I was sure everyone understood. “She wouldn’t tell me where she was until I promised to keep my mouth shut. Found her in Copper King territory at a fuckin’ chophouse. There were five other girls there. Lucky for both of us, there were only two Kings there keepin’ watch. My guess was there were more comin’ with more girls. The way they had them locked up, it was obvious they were planning to ship each one off to the highest bidder.

“I was there for Max, but I raised enough ruckus they had to let all the girls go. It was a neighbor who called the cops. The sirens forced their hand. The girls fled, probably scared shitless. Fang pressed charges out of revenge—not for what I did to his face, but what I did to their operation. Rumor was, that place got burned. I didn’t mess up one night of business, they had to start over.”

“Let me get this straight,” Nighthawk began slowly. “My daughter was almost trafficked and I’m just now fuckin’ hearin’ about this?”

“There’s more,” said Viv, resting a hand on her husband’s shoulder.

Her voice was calm and steady, but the quiet ferocity housed in her eyes could not be missed.

“Maxine,” she demanded.

And it was a demand, there was no questioning that.

Max finally stopped pacing as she looked over at her parents. Her chin wobbled, and I was sure I’d never seen her look so young.