I exhaled slowly before chugging half of my beer. “Once again, I can’t tell you all the reasons behind why it happened. All I can say is people within our organization—the Raiders—aren’t happy that we don’t want to live as gangbangers anymore, and they took that out on us.”
“I see,” she murmured.
Reaching across the table, I took her hand in mine. “I wish I could be more honest with you, and tell you everything you want to know. But I can’t.”
“I get it—I understand.” At what must’ve been my doubtful expression, she added, “I swear.”
“I’m glad.” I squeezed her hand before releasing it. “And I’m really glad you came to see me, Sam.”
“Me, too.”
“You know, you don’t have to be as alone as you think you are.”
Her eyes widened.
“Even though Marley wasn’t a patched member or even a prospect, the Raiders look out for their own, especially wives and girlfriends. You don’t have to go through Marley’s loss . . . the grief . . . all on your own.”
“Who said I was?”
I shrugged. “No one. It’s just a feeling I have.” When she continued looking skeptically at me, I sighed. “Deep down, I think we’re a lot alike. So I just thought if you were handling things like I was, then you could use a friend to talk to.”
A confused look came over her face. “Why?”
“Because.”
“You’re right about me feeling alone . . . even isolated.” Sam dropped her head to stare at the rim of her beer. “Guess it just wigged me out to hear you offering me a shoulder to cry on, because I just didn’t imagine bikers could ever be so honorable.”
“After what you’ve experienced, I can’t say I blame you for thinking we’re all soulless bastards.”
Her dark eyes jerked up to gaze into mine. “Excuse me?”
“You know, with Marley being killed by bikers.”
She exhaled a long breath. “Right. Yeah, I guess it is easy to paint you all as being bad.”
“The truth is we’re really not, especially not my chapter brothers.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
“Good. And no more being a stranger, okay?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“First way to remedy that is to give me your cell number.”
I wasn’t too surprised when she was a little hesitant. Besides hiding her emotions like me, Sam had this whole aura about her that was like a feral cat—skittish and untrusting. Finally, she took a pen out of her purse and grabbed one of the napkins on the table. After she scribbled down her number, she handed it to me. “I hope that doesn’t end up on some MC bathroom wall to call for a good time,” she teased.
Chuckling, I shook my head at her. “You can rest assured that won’t happen.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said as she rose out of her chair. I think we were both shocked as hell at her next move. As she leaned over me, her long black hair covered me like a shroud, filling my nose with the sweet smell of her perfume. The moment her lips touched my cheek, it felt like an electric shock through my body. Samantha quickly jerked away. “Good-bye, Bishop.”
“Bye, Sam.”
While she practically sprinted out the door, I remained dumbfounded in my chair by both her reaction and mine to the kiss. I didn’t think I could ever remember a time when a woman had given me a chaste kiss. Racking my brain came up with no one outside my family.
A small voice within me railed at me to toss Samantha’s number in the trash. It reasoned that there was something about her that was trouble . . . even dangerous. But as with so many times in my life, I chose to ignore that voice.
TEN
SAMANTHA
I initially thought Bishop was bullshitting me about the Raiders watching out for their own. Frankly, I didn’t want anything they could offer me unless it came in the form of justice for Gavin. But Bishop was constantly surprising me, and I learned very quickly that he was truly a man of his word. Over the next week, he called or texted me every day. At first, it was just to ask how I was and if I needed anything. Then we started talking on the phone for an hour or two a night. We never really discussed anything of substance because in the end, we both had too much to hide. Most of the time, we talked about movies we had enjoyed, or the music we liked to listen to. Sometimes there were stories from our childhood—stories that didn’t reveal too much of who we really were. We seemed to spend a lot of the time laughing, which was something I desperately needed.
Regardless of the subject matter, I started to look forward to our calls more than I should have. When I tried telling myself it was for the case I was building on my own, I knew I was the one doing the bullshitting. Although it went against every fiber of my being, I enjoyed talking with Bishop. He was so much more than the guy I had originally thought he was. He was so much more than a lot of the men I had dated in the past, although I didn’t like admitting that to myself.
After two weeks of texts, phone calls, and two dinners, I was growing antsy for more MC information. More than anything, I was intrigued about what he had told me at the bar about the club going legitimate. I couldn’t imagine how a deal with a drug cartel fit into that picture, but I knew I had to find out. I had even more time at work to stew about it because Peterson kept me chained to a desk. Each time I broached the subject of going back out in the field, he would shake his head sadly. “Not until you get your head on straight, Vargas.”