Page 26 of What He Wants

“I know why you’re here,” was the first thing out of his mustached mouth when he reached our table.

I glared with dislike into his beady little eyes. “That’s what I like and dislike about you, Talbot. You have no loyalty.”

He shrugged. “Pays not to take sides,” he defended.

“You’ve always been all about the money, asshole,” Clay sniggered. “Least you’re fucking consistent.”

Jumper snorted, but said nothing.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” I growled impatiently. I didn’t want to waste any more time than I had to talking to this sleaze ball. “Why are we here?” I wasn’t about to put words into his fucking mouth.

He chuckled. “Three words: Shooter, Demo, Whistler.”

I crossed my arms and glared at him, when what I really wanted to do was reach up, grab him around the throat, and squeeze the information out of him. When he realized that I wasn’t going to play his game, he lost his smile and began to look at the three of us nervously. He should have known better than to fuck with us.

He cleared his throat. “Well, they were here, last night. Had a few beers and took a couple of the girls with them when they left.” So, they were close. I remained silent, my gut telling me that there was more. Talbot liked to drag shit out for effect. “Said they were looking for an old friend they had some unfinished business with.”

“He name that friend?” Jumper inquired gruffly.

Whenever Talbot shifted his eyes, I knew he was about to tell a lie. I’d known him long enough to pick up on some of his telling quirks. And he was afraid. Swallowing hard meant that he was petrified, which he just did.

“Do we need to take this back to your office?”

His eyes got big at my question, and he stuttered, “No! No, that’s not necessary.” I grinned. “Shooter named you.” His gaze rested on me. “Said you two went way back but lost touch when he went to prison. Said he owed you something.”

Yeah. A bullet between the eyes, if he seriously thought that I’d ratted him and the club out. “Where are they?”

“I don’t know where, I swear, Big John.”

He was holding out for money. “You said they took a couple of girls with them, regulars?” Clay wanted to know. Talbot nodded. Clay leaned forward. “So, who are the girls?”

“They haven’t shown up for work yet.”

Clay made an impatient sound. “Then where do they live?”

Talbot hesitated, glancing around as if looking for help or a way out. I followed the direction of his search, grinning when his bouncers remained standing at the exits with their arms crossed, their interest clearly on the strippers.

“Cut the shit, Talbot.” I tossed a couple of hundreds at him. “You know us. We’re not going to hurt them,” I said. “Unless they give us reason to.”

He took a breath. “Mindy and Jezzie share a small house. I’ll need to check their file in my office for the address.”

“You do that,” I demanded. “And make sure that’s all you do when you’re in there.”

With a nervous smile, he took off.

“Think he’ll tip them off that we’re coming?”

“We’ll know soon enough,” I replied to Jumper’s question. “The thing with Talbot is, he’s a two-faced fuck. Likes to think he’s friends with everyone, but no one trusts or respects him. He’ll take your money, but he’ll screw you over if someone else pays more.”

The address Talbot gave us was for a house on Baker Pond. Most likely it had been a camp cottage at one time that had been converted for living year-round. The good news was that it would probably be isolated enough so that any neighbors close by wouldn’t see what was going on. The bad news was that the sound of our bikes would alert Shooter and his men long before we arrived. That meant that we’d be forced to abandon our bikes and make our way to the house on foot.

I was surprised to find that the road leading to the pond had been plowed, realizing why as we passed several new homes. Since it was an old camp road, the property owners had probably paid for it themselves. It was easy to tell which houses had occupants because their driveways had also been shoveled. The small house we were looking for came into view, tucked close to the bank of the pond, surrounded by snow-capped trees. We kept low, halting a safe distance away once a car and a bike came into view.

Jumper stated the obvious. “Two are missing.”

“Maybe they’re parked around the back.”

I snorted at Clay’s suggestion. “There is no back, asshole.” I squinted at the sides of the house, looking to see if two other bikes were stashed there in the bushes. If they were, they were hidden well.