When he answered, she blurted out, “There isn’t an ammo box on the table in the pre-raid photographs! I’ve got this.”
“Way to go, Cara. That’s awesome news. Badass Biker will be happy, if that word can ever be used to describe him. Does he ever get rid of his scowl?”
Cara chuckled. “Yeah, he does, and he will be pleased. I think I’ll go over to the clubhouse tonight after dinner and tell him.”
“Why don’t you call him?”
“He deserves to get this news in person. I’m filing a motion to dismiss on Tuesday and requesting a hearing. This is great.”
“Do you think it’s wise to go alone to a biker clubhouse on a Saturday night? I think you should pass and go tomorrow. Sunday is probably tamer.”
“I’m not worried. I know Hawk and a few of the guys. I’ll just be there for a few minutes. It’ll be cool.”
“I’m not so sure. You want me to come with you?”
“Don’t be silly. You’re going to Aspen tonight. Have a good time and don’t worry about me.”
“Okay, be careful.”
“Sure. Have fun, and I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
Realizing she had a ton of things to do before she met Sherrie for dinner, Cara made herself go into the house. She couldn’t wait to see Hawk, and this was the perfect excuse for her to seek him out. Disappointed that he hadn’t contacted her, she could still tell him the good news about the recent discovery of what the pre-raid photos contained and see him without losing any pride. This worked out in her favor all the way around. She was going to see Hawk, and a delicious shudder heated her body.
Chapter Eleven
“Where the hell is this damn place?” Cara muttered. She must have gone up and down Highway 295 several times, and she had yet to see the clubhouse. It didn’t help that it was pitch-black out, either. The clubhouse was twenty-five miles out of town and she figured it would be inconspicuous, but this was ridiculous. She could call Hawk, but she wanted to surprise him, which meant finding this on her own.
After the fifth time driving south on the highway, she spotted five motorcycles ahead of her and had a hunch they were going to the Insurgents’ clubhouse. She followed them, and sure enough, they turned left down a small dirt road she never would’ve found. After following them for about two miles, Cara’s brows knit and a quiver rippled in her stomach. Asher might have been right about the foolishness of her idea.
Just as she was ready to turn around, a three-story, brick building set back among the trees with a tall, chain-link fence surrounding it came into view. The Harleys she followed turned into the enormous parking lot, and she veered her sports car into the area, parking to the far-left side. As she switched off her ignition, her doubts intensified. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Looking over at the gate, she saw a group of men wearing leather jackets with the Insurgents MC patch on the back, and with bottom rockers stating “Nebraska,” “Wyoming,” and “Colorado.” The men were sitting on their Harleys, drinking beers and laughing as they talked.
After taking in a few deep breaths, Cara opened the car door and walked toward the gate. Noticing her, the bikers yelled, “Hey, sweetness, come over here and give us some of that tasty pussy.” Their hoots and whistles were deafening, but Cara ignored them, opened the gate, and headed toward the clubhouse door, hoping to see someone familiar. As she walked through the opening, a large hand grabbed her waist and pulled her back outside. Rancid breath burned her nostrils as one of the bikers leaned in close and sneered, “Where the fuck are ya goin’, whore? Ya got brothers out here who need your pussy.”
“What a hot piece of ass,” said one of the bikers who wore the bottom rocker “Wyoming.”
Cara swiveled away from the big guy, her blood pumping and her heart beating wildly as the horror stories about gang rapes with outlaw bikers flooded her mind. This was very stupid, Cara. Thoughts of kneeing the big goon right in his swollen balls came to her, but she decided that wouldn’t be a smart thing to do considering the men outnumbered her twenty to one.
“I’m not part of the club. I’m a lawyer representing one of your brothers. I’ve come to give him some papers,” she explained.
“Fuck, we got ourselves a lawyer whore. Shit, we’re movin’ up, brothers,” a young, handsome biker said.
“We need you to help us, too, sweet butt,” someone yelled.
Realizing she was fair game like all the other women at the clubhouse, Cara tried to run back to her car, but the group started up their bikes. Twenty engines rumbled like exploding bombs. The Harleys’ headlights blinded her and she squinted, placing her hand in front of her face to block out the beams. The men formed a tight circle with their bikes around her. Looking like a deer caught in the headlights, Cara blinked rapidly, a cold sweat covering her body. Images of what-could-be flashed through her mind as her adrenaline spiked and her leg muscles tightened, readying to run. Moving her head sideways, Cara looked for a way to break free, but the bikers closed in tighter, hollering and hooting, pushing her back to the center. She had no way out.