“Gil Travis.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him. Devil’s Barbarian, right?”
“Right.”
“Was he one of the guys who got informed on by that snitch a few years ago? What was his name? The snitch. Finnegan?”
“That’s the one.” She drained her drink then reached for the fresh one. “Thanks for this.”
He chinked the base of his bottle to hers. “Ain’t no one seen Finnegan since, or so I heard.”
“It’s what I’ve heard too.” Truth was, Rigor had said something to her recently about the informant riding out again. His witness protection scheme had obviously run out or he’d decided to try his luck. His information had put eight bikers from a variety of clubs behind bars, one of whom had been killed inside. Finnegan either had delusions of grandeur or a death wish.
“So should I have asked Rigor before I bought you a drink?” The right side of his mouth tilted into a half smile as he leaned in.
“No!” A presence loomed at Belle’s side—tall, dark, and very close. “But you should have asked me.”
Wyatt.
Her heart did a stupid little flip. He was so damn hot. Everything she remembered and more. He’d scraped his hair back with his shades and a few locks had fallen forward. His lips were a tight, flat line, and his eyes narrowed.
“And you are?” Malc asked, raising his eyebrows.
“She’s with me.” Wyatt slid his arm around Belle’s shoulders, tugging her flush against his hard body.
“No, I’m not.” She slapped her hand on his chest and shoved. “Get off me.”
Wyatt kept her close.
“You heard the lady.” The amused look in Malc’s eyes had quickly been replaced by irritation.
“Stay out of this, bro.” Wyatt flicked his head to the side. “And give us a minute.”
“She said she wasn’t anyone’s old lady.”
Wyatt turned to her. “She must have forgotten that she belongs to me.”
“You were AWOL, Wyatt, so yeah, I’d forgotten about you all right.” She folded her arms. All the burning anger from the last week was getting ready to spew out of her in a torrent of fury.
“AWOL?” Wyatt appeared confused.
“You said you’d call, asshole,” she hissed the last word. “Yet you’ve had your phone off all week. Dick move if ever there was one. Just turning the damn thing off entirely.”
“It wasn’t off, it’s fucked.” From his pocket, Wyatt pulled out a mangled cell with the screen smashed to bits. He held it to her face. “Goddamn Mexicans fired at me, that goatee son-of-a-bitch. Hit my phone.”
A sudden wave of panic went through her. “Did he hityou?”
“No, just the damn phone got wrecked, so give me a fucking break, woman. This is why I didn’t call.”
Malc jabbed a finger at Wyatt. “And this is why I’m single. Always a fucking drama with chicks.” He shook his head and retreated into the crowd with his beer.
Belle glared at Wyatt. He raised his eyebrows, a grin playing with his lips.
That just made her madder. “Get off me.” He’d put her emotions through hell. How could he just brush that aside and think his cute smile would win her over? “And you couldn’t have borrowed someone else’s to call?” she demanded.
“I didn’t know your number.” He shrugged. “It was on my phone.”
“You could have found it out. If you’d really wanted to, that is.” She slipped from the stool, grabbing her purse as her heels hit the floor. It was too hot.Shewas too hot. Sweat peppered her underarms, her sternum, and her scalp. “Get out of my way.”