Risky and Wild(52)

I slap my palm on the table and stand up.

“No clue,” I admit as I roll my shoulders and reach up to rub at the back of my neck. “Guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.” I take a deep breath, crossing my arms over my chest as I let the facts roll over and through me. If the FBI decides that Brent's death is, in fact, a murder then they won't stop until they get their man. Now, I'm no snitch, but if the evidence was to point towards Mile Wide, well then, wouldn't that just be a shame? “As far as the FBI goes, I think we can encourage their investigation to move in a different direction.”

Something clicks in Smoky's face, and he smiles, ruffling up his red hair with a tattooed hand. He's got a trail of paw prints—wolf prints—trailing up his right arm and under his shirt. Have no idea where it goes, no hankering to find out either.

“This about that douche, Rentz?” His grin gets a little wider. “The other Rentz?”

I nod my head, mind already clicking away, gears turning.

Sully Rentz.

“The little fucker's already proven himself to have lips loose enough to sink ships, so why not simply turn his confessions in the right direction?”

Another nod from Dober. Thank Jesus. It's not that I need his approval, but hell, he's a friend, a brother, and I trust his judgment. Being at odds with a guy I trust as well as him, never a good thing.

“Get the little canary to sing his song for the agents? As long as you can convince him to keep his mouth shut about us.”

I feel a grin splitting my face, remembering the look on the man's face as I raised my hammer up for the first blow.

“Oh, no worries, mate. I don't think that'll be difficult at all.”



“You want my brother to get involved with the investigation?” Lyric asks, looking at me like I've grown a second head. She has a drink clutched in one hand and a raised brow that I don't quite like the look of. “Are you serious? He's already spoken with the feds, lied to them. For me. For you and the club. And now you want him to, what, confess?” She's already shaking her head, turning my smile into a frown. But dear God, she looks good.

Seeing Lyric perched on the leather stool in her black slacks, with that classy do, fresh gloss applied to her lips … it's enough to send my heart galloping, the blood rushing to my cock. I lean an elbow against the bar top, glad that there's nobody else around to see us arguing. Right now, that's about the last thing either of us needs.

“All he has to do is tell the truth,” I start, musing over the situation in my head. “Admit that he and Brent were working with Clayton Moore, and that they'd had a business disagreement.” I shrug my shoulders. “He can fill in the rest of the story however he likes.”

Lyric's still shaking her head at me, that gorgeous hair of hers sliding across her forehead with the motion.

“No.”

I raise my brows at her. Not used to hearing that word. Even less used to hearing it in reference to anything club related. Here, my word is law, and even if some of the old guys wish that weren't true, they follow orders. Because without them, we're just a bunch of assholes on motorcycles.

“Sorry, love? Come again?” I ask, stealing the whisky from her hand—apparently my little Pint-Size and Pretty has a thing for Johnnie Walker now—and finishing it off. I slam the glass down on the black marble of the bar.

“I said no,” Lyric replies, right as Dober walks in the through the cased archway in front of me and pauses to stare. “You're not involving my brother in any of this. Figure something else out.” And then she slides off the stool like that's the end of the conversation. “Sully isn't as ambitious as I am, but he has dreams. Goals.” Lyric bites her full lower lip for a second, flicking that perfect green gaze up to me. She looks almost apologetic. I manage to pull my eyes away from Dober's once again disapproving stare and turn my attention to Lyric's heart-shaped face. “This could destroy his entire future.” She pauses, frowning. “My father's. Mine.”

“Pint-Size,” I start, but I'm not really sure what to say, how to handle this.

“This could destroy my political career, Royal. I want to be in the state senate, maybe even … well, who knows. If the agents get even a small whisper of my brother's involvement in any of this, that'll be it for all of us.”

“And do you think,” I start, leaning down, getting close. She smells like wildflowers and honey, her skin smooth and even, those eyes the color of spring and living things. I want to give her the world, lift her up to wherever she wants to go, watch her star rise in whatever way makes her happiest but … that just isn't the reality of what I have to offer. Even if it was possible to just 'quit' the club and walk away—it's not—it'd still be part of my past. I'd still be tattooed and rough around the edges; I'd still be all wrong for the husband of a political powerhouse.