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now Fox is involved, and he’s dangerous. Ruthless. Don't you remember what he did to that shithead police snitch in Modesto when he found out he was wearing a wire? When he walked back to his hotel room after a couple of drinks, Fox was waiting there with a socket wrench."
     
    Joe saw Wings' eyes go wide. "Then what?" Joe was going to have to remind Wings not to sound so eager all the time; it made him sound like a golden retriever puppy. Especially since Joe was the one responsible for bringing him into the club; they were the only two members left without a legacy connection. He knew Wings had nothing to fall back on if he lost the club. In fact, the two young men shared very similar backgrounds, and Joe felt protective of him.
     
    "Let's just say he'll be the last of his genetic line." Wings' face wrinkled as if he'd just eaten battery acid.
     
    "I can't believe you, Ryan." A.J. looked genuinely angry. "You think the Reapers are going to give us that same consideration? After what they did to Tony, and probably Kyle? They'll kill us just as soon as look at us. Unless we kill them first."
     
    Colt shifted in his chair, exhaled loudly. Everyone one else went silent at the signal that he was about to speak. "A.J., calm down and think about this for a second. You’re really suggesting we just waltz right in there, put a gun to this girl’s head and expect her to go where we tell her?" Colt, despite his fearsome appearance, did everything he could to avoid, bloodshed, violence, or unpleasantness of any kind. After all, he had a family. He had others to think about besides himself. But on the other hand, Colt would probably kidnap his own mother if he believed it was best for the club. "God only knows what bullshit Fox has fed to her about us. If we try to take her by force, she'll run the first chance she gets, and she’ll call Fox for help--and then we’ll have him to deal with."
     
    Joe smiled at him gratefully. Colt nodded imperceptibly, his hairy, tattooed arms crossed impassibly over the ancient leather covering his chest. He and Colt were almost always on the same page, and knowing the older man had his back was not a small reassurance when dealing with hotheads like A.J. and Tony.
     
    "I go tomorrow,” Joe sighed. “Alone. I'll try to make her see reason. If that doesn't work--"
     
    An evil grin spread over A.J.’s face. "We go to Plan B."

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    "If there's a better excuse to pop open that champagne a few minutes early," said Fox, “I haven't heard it."
     
    Ruby turned, surprised to be reminded of the party Fox had been planning for after they closed the store. Chace frowned, though he didn't hesitate to grab one of the blue Solo cups stacked on the file cabinet and grabbed the bottle of Moet from the ice bucket Fox had put it in. Chace was like a dog with a bone; his brows were still furrowed, fixated on how Ruby had made that sale. "I don't get it. Old-school bikers wear ponytails, too.”
     
    "But old-school bikers don't come in here. They buy old bikes and fix them up. They inherit them. They have other channels. But neophyte ex-hippies don't." She pointed to the ground beneath them, trying to remember not to look to Fox for approval again. She loved his praise, but sometimes she felt like a bunny rabbit, eating lettuce out of his hand.
     
    She turned around to see an older woman seated patiently at the reception desk, purse balanced on her lap. Heather Albright was a teacher at an inner city Oakland middle school, where she directed the Boys & Girls Club. Her frosted blond tips curled just above the shoulders of her powder-blue turtleneck and a gold angel pendant hanging neatly over it.
     
    "Damn, I forgot about Mrs. Albright," she said. "Chace, do you have the keys to the Sportster we’re donating?" Chace ducked into his office and tossed them to her. "Mrs. Albright--" When she spotted Ruby, the older woman leaped up from the chair and caught her in a motherly embrace, Ruby's cheek