“Yeah, it certainly helped.” He leaned forward in the booth and lowered his voice. “Apparently, there’s a big powwow coming up between the Southeast chapters of the Raiders. Louisiana all the way to the Carolinas are meeting at the chapter headquarters in Virginia.”

“When?”

“The end of the month. The prospect was a little vague on the actual date.”

“We need you at that meeting. Think you can work on Bishop in the next few weeks for an invitation?”

Gavin nodded. “From what Joe was saying, the other guy that’s also prospecting really isn’t working out. He fucks up one more time, and he’s out. Joe was bitching about the fact that if this dude gets kicked out before the meeting in Virginia, he’ll be running his ass off for everyone as the lone prospect. They’ll need someone reliable to go along. I’m thinking it might be me.”

“Good. You keep working that angle.” Peterson then looked at me. “You’ll be along for this one, too, Vargas.”

“I figured as much.”

“We need you front and center with Bishop. If we can have him rattled, we’re likely to get more information about what’s going on at the meeting.”

“So more revealing clothes and whorish behavior?” I questioned humorlessly.

“Not entirely.”

Intrigued, I asked, “What exactly do you need me to do?”

Before he answered me, Peterson downed the rest of his coffee and then waved the waitress over. Once we were alone again, he said, “Ideally, you need to be his shadow. More than anything, we need you on the back of that bike. As a hang-around, Gavin won’t be allowed in the inner circle for any briefings before or after the meeting. If we have you there, you can pick up everything—from each time they stop to take a piss to before they meet up with the other Raiders.”

“Jesus, Peterson, from the way you talk you want me standing beside them in the urinals.”

“I would totally be down for that,” Peterson replied with a wink.

“I’ll try my best, but you can forget me being anywhere near germ-infested urinals.”

Gavin glanced between us. “While that sounds great in theory, just how do we get Sam on the back of Bishop’s bike? I mean, do I suddenly have a malfunction with the bitch seat on mine?”

I shook my head. “As a hang-around, you won’t be taking your bike.”

“Huh?” Gavin asked.

Leaning forward in my seat, I replied, “Prospects and hang-arounds don’t get to ride their bikes on a run. Because they haven’t earned full privileges yet, they end up driving a truck or car, which inevitably makes them stand out even more.” At both Gavin’s and Peterson’s surprised looks, I rolled my eyes. “Don’t tell me you guys didn’t read up on that part?”

“I’m sure I read it—I just forgot it,” Gavin mumbled.

“Do you mean to tell me the mighty McTavish actually forgot something?” I teased. He responded by maturely throwing a wadded-up napkin at me.

“So if Gavin is driving or riding with Joe, we just need a way to get you onto that bike,” Peterson said.

“No need to worry about it. I’ll get on that bike.”

“How?” Gavin asked.

“I don’t know exactly at the moment, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think this fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants attitude is good. We need a plan.”

“The plan is simple. I use my assets and our newfound friendship. It needs to happen in the moment. Anything too rehearsed will look suspicious.”

“I guess you’re right.”

I grinned. “Oh, I know I’m right.” I turned to Peterson. “Now, how about the bureau footing the bill for some waffles? Being a femme fatale has made me work up quite an appetite.”

Peterson chuckled before turning to Gavin. “When it comes to Vargas, I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

“Damn straight,” I muttered.

SIX

BISHOP

There were a lot of things that brought me pleasure in life—sex, boxing, time with my family—but none of them quite compared to the feeling of taking my bike out on the open road. The sheer exhilaration of the wind rippling your clothes, the way the world melted into a blur of colors, and the freeing isolation of there being nothing but you and the road. Those were the reasons that called to all types of men, from the weekend warrior with his nine-to-five office job to the upstart desperate to stick it to the man. Preacher Man had called it a balm for his soul, and I couldn’t have agreed with him more.

I didn’t have to glance at my watch to know we were making good time. Since we made the trek yearly, I knew the route to the Virginia headquarters of the Raiders by heart. Each of the Southeast chapters was summoned to meet once a year to take care of necessary club business. While the actual meeting lasted an hour at best, the better part of the weekend was spent hanging out, getting drunk, and catching up with our other brothers. And fucking. Lots of fucking fresh ass.

But this year’s trip had a different feel than usual. It was because of what our chapter planned to discuss at the meeting. While we might have already been unofficially legitimate, we needed to have the approval of the board to make it official. For the most part, what we were doing was uncharted territory, so we weren’t sure how our other brothers were going to take it.

There had certainly been a tense feeling in the air as we packed up this morning. The blinding glare of gleaming chrome filled the Raiders parking lot when I stepped out of the clubhouse. Raiders from all over north Georgia had come out for the run. I spoke to a few of the out-of-town guys as I made my way to the bike.