Ironhand (Riders Of Tyr #5 - MC Romance)

3. Plans

Chiara

I vaguely hear my voice in the background and I am sure the wet t-shirt contest is up on KWSC news but I don't even look at the screen. I am just focused on the wall and the papers I have pinned on it. It's Friday night and I know most people my age are out, having fun, flirting, having sex, dancing. I am 28-years old for crying out loud!

Still, I am here looking at a wall with red thread joining random pieces of information. And in the middle of it, a picture. Daultrey. I have been hunting this whale for almost a year. Literally a whale. The man must be weighing as much as the containers he moves do.

Dirty ex-cop, smuggler, killer and many other things ending in -er, Daultery was the king of the Cisco docks. Till he fell off the face of the Earth. Word on the streets is that he crossed the Chuen Yatt and paid the price. 

Still, Daultrey was a big fish and always had a way to deal with threats against him. He must have stepped on the wrong toes this time and danced on them. There's been a shift in the underground dynamics in San Francisco and there is one link to it all: Riders of Tyr. The Berkeley-based MC is more than meets the eye, my gut is sure of it.

I look at the file box on the floor and sigh. It took almost half my salary, all my persuasion, a few threats and a hell lot of favors but I got the files on the Riders. I asked only for the files of the current members and to my surprise, they are thinner than expected. 

Word is that the new King, as the Riders call their President, has steered the MC into legit businesses. They own two porn studios and one escort, both enterprises quite successful, making them the wealthiest ROT chapter in the U.S. along with other businesses, enough to provide for their own. Too good to be true.

The feds have been hunting them for ages. There may have never been an open prosecution but even kids in Berkeley knew that the Riders moved guns. Imported from their contacts in Europe, the Riders were a quality supplier of firearms and a fierce defender of their small uni town.

Lately, they cut a deal with the ATF, giving up the former King, Haf Stenson that was charged with selling those guns. He was also burdened with several murders and other crimes but none other was dragged down with him. Haf died in prison. Either this new King has made a very good deal with the Bureau or someone pulled some serious influence on them.

"OK, here we go," I mutter to myself and pick up the box.

I clear another wall in my apartment and I sit on a chair across it with the box by my side, a glass of wine on the floor and my head in a bun held by a pencil. Friday night...Yay!

***

Hours after I am still halfway through the files. I picked up the King's first. Tor Larsson had an arrest for a bar fight when he was about 19 years old but other than that nothing. The photo in his file looks nothing like a mugshot. He is smiling straight into the camera with cute dimples on his cheeks and a twinkle in his eyes. Good looking boy. I find it hard to believe that there is a criminal mastermind behind those sky-blue eyes.

Daniel Garlton, his VP/ Earl is an older man that has done time for assault and illegal use of firearms but has been quiet for years. Then, Vincent Thompson, the Sergeant-at-arms, the Herre of the Riders, was charged with counts of assault, never got to trial. He has a long scar on his face but that makes him just more attractive. Next up on the wall is Bjorn Engström. Arson, two years. Tall, good-looking man. Scorching hot - pun intended. What the hell? Do the Riders hold a beauty contest to admit members?

I shift through the files more, pinning those I find relevant to the wall and then read through. I need more wine, I decide and head to the kitchen I pour some, sit on the floor and take a few sips. Without even noticing, I keep the liquid in my mouth, circulating around, letting all the flavors sink in like my mother taught me at an age I was only supposed to drink milk. Not bad, I judge and dig into the next file. I open the first page and glance at the picture. And almost choke on wine for the first time in my life.

I can't take my eyes off that little, photocopied mugshot. There's a man on it alright. Man? Try god. He is freakishly tall if I read the lines behind him right. He stares straight into the camera with a sharp dark look delivered by a pair of almond-shaped eyes crowned by a set of straight thick eyebrows. He has full, fleshy lips and a tightened square jaw. His black long hair goes further down than the picture shows. Native American, I know. Bless the Sacred Spirits, this man can have my scalp anytime.

With great effort, I dispatch my eyes from his picture and read further down. Piwapisk "Ironhand" Girard, Canadian of the Cree nation. He was charged with assault occasioning bodily harm. I read the report. The man that placed charges was a Berkeley resident. He claimed that Girard showed up at work and simply beat him to the point of unconsciousness. After a while, the charges were dropped. The Riders have either the best lawyer in the state or the best intimidation tactics. I am leaning towards the latter.

I take my wine and Girard's picture and lie back on the couch. I look straight into those eyes and I am snared, unable to turn away. Control yourself, it's just a picture. Of a criminal. My mind completely agrees but my body has gone down the rabbit hole of fantasies. Hot, steamy, undeniable sexy fantasies. And it's a nice place, filled with a dark, huge man, with olive skin, with wet lips on my skin, hands on my thighs and...

"No, no, no!" I jump up throwing all the wine on the carpet.

Sex may not have been high on my priority the last year but that doesn't mean that I need to get off by a stranger that his idea of fun is sending people to the hospital. He is a case file. Nothing more. I put the lid on the treacherous path my mind has taken and I focus on the carpet.

And as I clean the carpet before it is stained permanently, I conceive a plan. A plan that will get me the answers I want, a hot piece for the news channel and most importantly the priceless look on Clarence's face when he'll see what a "cute girl" can do.

I throw one last look at Girard's picture, I take one deep breath and I grab my laptop. What I am about to do needs research, preparation and pure grit. And a loose screw. I got all three covered. Along with the loose screw.

"Now, let's see what we can dig up about the Riders," I say to myself and focus on the screen.