Page 51 of Ridin’ Dirty

Something was wrong.

I’d known Pistol for four days—which wasn’t saying much. Yet, in those four days, Reaper was always close by. Always.

Her, here, without him didn’t make sense.

“Hey there, pretty girl,” I murmured as I knelt down to her level.

I’d never touched her before, but I reached out hesitantly and stroked her back, wanting her to know I heard her. I wasn’t yet sure what she was trying to tell me, but I was sure she was trying to communicate something.

“Where’s Pistol, Reaper? Hmm? Where’s your dad?”

She lifted a single foot and pawed at my leg insistently.

I was at a loss, but my gut told me I couldn’t just wait for Pistol to show up. Not merely because I didn’t think Reaper would think kindly of me if I ignored her, but also because whatever separated these two couldn’t be good.

“Okay. How about we go find some help, yeah?”

Reaper barked and trotted around in a circle, evidently communicating she was thrilled I was finally catching on.

“Right. Okay. I’ll grab some shoes, and we’ll go.”

I was still dressed in hardly more than a pair of jean shorts and an oversized tank top, but I was in too much of a rush to care. I grabbed the first shoes I could find—my favorite cowgirl boots—and shoved my feet inside. After I had my purse and my keys, Reaper and I were out the door. She didn’t hesitate when I invited her to climb into my Mustang, and we were pulling onto the compound three minutes later.

It was a random Tuesday night, and I wasn’t sure who I’d find inside the clubhouse, but I knew I’d find someone. The place was rarely empty.

Sure enough, when Reaper and I burst through the doors, a handful of Stallions were there—a couple at the bar, and a few more at the poker table. I spotted Cobra, and for the first time ever, I was actually relieved to see him.

“Hey. Something’s wrong. Reaper showed up a few minutes ago, but she was all alone.”

“What do you mean she showed up?”

“I mean⁠—”

I didn’t get the chance to explain what I meant before the shepherd started barking. This time, there was a distinct aggression in her tone that wasn’t there before.

When the door opened behind me, I realized it was a warning.

A woman walked in. A woman I’d never seen before. She was in a shiny, pink bodycon dress that barely covered her ass, and ugly, clear platform stilettos. She was skinny. Too skinny. And while I could tell she tried to do something with her hair, the thin, bottle-blonde strands broadcasted the sad truth she was not in a good way.

Drugs. Prostitution. You name it, it looked like she’d done it.

“Who the fuck are you?”

I recognized Spurs’ voice, but it was the scraping of his chair across the floor that made me look back at him as he stood. Cobra, Buff, and Crow all followed suit.

“Doesn’t matter who I am. I’m here to deliver a message,” she said, sounding more lucid than she appeared.

“Out with it then,” demanded Cobra.

“One of the Kings has gone missing. Now, one of yours is missing too. They’re willing to make a trade. Yours for theirs. No harm, no foul.”

“We don’t know dick about a missing King.”

She shrugged, like it didn’t matter to her. “They said you’d say that. But if you want your guy back, they want theirs.”

The woman turned to leave, but Spurs crossed the distance between them in two strides, grabbing hold of her elbow before she could so much as reach for the door handle.

“Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”