Outlaw's Promise(50)

“I know,” growled Mac. “We won’t claim.”

Shit. This could bankrupt the club.

“This ain’t good,” said Sheriff Harris, looking at the gathering crowd. “Everybody’s still freaked out about what happened at the diner. I got questions from the State boys about what happened on the highway. I’ll keep looking into this Volos asshole for you, but you guys gotta stay off the radar or I can’t protect you.”

Mac slapped him on the shoulder and walked off. I really felt for him. Carrick carried the weight of all the bad shit he’d done but Mac had the future of the whole club on his shoulders.

Carrick slipped an arm around me. “You did good,” he told me. “You helped us save a lot of stuff.”

But none of it would have been burned if it hadn’t been for me. If Carrick hadn’t rescued me, if the club hadn’t protected me…

I looked around at the Prospects, at the members, at the teenagers who worked there. Mac was reassuring them he’d cover their wages until they reopened, but now their parents were beginning to arrive, angrily pulling their kids into their cars. They’d never let them work for the club again. The club’s reputation was in tatters: no one believed the fire was an accident, not when an MC was involved. And it felt like they were all looking at me: the MC, the civilians, even the firefighters. Was I imagining it, or did they know this was somehow my fault?

Carrick must have picked up on my mood. For a guy who pretended to be gruff and unfeeling, he was scary good at reading me. “C’mon,” he said, pulling me away. He showed me over to where Mom was standing next to an ancient blue station wagon that matched her trailer. “I got to stay for a while. You get out of here. I’ll see you later.” He looked at Mom. “Can you run her back to the club?”

Mom nodded quickly. “Come on. You can help me fix a meal for when everyone gets home.”

I bit my lip. I didn’t want to run off when everyone else was helping but I could feel people’s eyes on me. Maybe some of it was my imagination, but not all of it. They’d volunteered to help me, but they couldn’t have known this would be the cost. I figured I should make myself scarce. I hugged Carrick and the feel of his hard, warm chest against my cheek was fantastic. “Don’t be long,” I begged.

He squeezed me tight, his chin resting on the top of my head. ‘I won’t,” he whispered.

I got into Mom’s station wagon and he slammed the door. I’ll see him in a few hours, I told myself. It’ll be okay.

I was wrong. I was so, so wrong.





29





Carrick





It took hours to clean up, even with everyone helping. We had to separate the clean stock from the fire-damaged stuff and then we had to move everything. I love bikes like nothing else but one thing they’re useless for is moving loads. We had to get the van from the compound before we could start ferrying stuff back.

The mood was somber. We’d completely underestimated this Volos guy. No one was making any noises about giving Annabelle up, not for a second. But everyone was pissed off. Losing the warehouse would really hurt the club. And I brought this to our door. I had to find a way to make this right, to protect both Annabelle and the MC. But where do you even start looking for a guy like Volos?#p#分页标题#e#

On the way back to the clubhouse, I was thinking on it so hard that I didn’t notice the big red SUV at first, not until it was six feet from my rear wheel. Some guy in a suit was at the wheel. I could have easily outrun him but I wasn’t in the mood. I waited for him to overtake but he didn’t, just sat there on my tail. What the fuck?

Then he pulled alongside me and sat there next to my shoulder until I looked. That’s when I saw the badge he was holding up to the window and its three blocky blue letters. FBI.

Oh fuck.

I throttled back and pulled over. But I kept my bike running.

The guy got out and sauntered over. He was in his thirties and well dressed for a fed, with a sharp suit. I figured he was some trust fund kid who’d disappointed his parents and wound up working for the government. He walked around in front of my bike. “Carrick O’Harra,” he said with great satisfaction as he took off his sunglasses. “Been waiting a while to meet you. Thought we could have a nice quiet chat.”

I looked around. We were on a quiet country road that led into Haywood Falls: I’d taken the scenic route to give me some thinking time. There wasn’t much traffic. No one would see us. But if he thought I was going to keep this from Mac and the club, he was crazy. If any of us get approached by a fed, the first thing we do is tell the others. Otherwise, people think you might be cooperating.