“So what’s Femme Fatale?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Gentleman’s club; we own. Stilettos and Steele, I mean.”
His eyes narrowed at the name of the MC and I felt myself becoming a little uneasy. Come on, Tumbler. The big bad biker boy doesn’t seem to happy right now.
I watched in stunned silence as Swing struggled to get to his feet. Once he was up to his full height, I frantically tried to figure out on what side of me I had laid my gun on. This dude was big and I assumed that it was adrenalin that got him to his feet. Either way, this was not a good time to be alone with him.
“If you came to kill me because of what I did, you should know that you’ve lost the element of surprise,” he said, dangerously.
“I already told you that I’m here to help you, Swing,” I replied as calmly as I could.
“Bullshit, lady. If you’re in the club you say you are, then you know I put a bullet in your queen’s head,” he said, taking an unsteady step toward me.
Don’t let him know you’re scared of him.
I promptly hopped down onto my feet. His height and physique were staggering and I felt so small compared to him, but my Smith and Wesson would even the score if I needed it too.
“No, you didn’t,” I said, tossing my cigarette onto the ground and crushing it u
nder my foot.
He threw his head back and laughed in response. I turned quickly and saw my gun laying to the table on the left of me. I didn’t know if his laughter was a mental break so if I had to shoot to kill, then I would. But for now, I decided to wait it out and hope it didn’t come to that.
“You’re crazier than I am, right now,” he said, when he regained his composure. “I followed her. I learned her schedule and when the time was right, I put a bullet through her fucking brain.”
“You didn’t kill anyone that didn’t want to die,” I replied softly. “But I can honestly tell you that you did not kill Alaska.”
“You weren’t there,” he said through grit teeth, shaking his head.
“Exactly,” I replied, putting my hands on my hips.
His eyes clouded over in confusion, so I decided to just let the cat out of the bag and hope for the best. I walked over to the body on the ground and crouched down. Pulling back the mask, I turned her onto her back, and stood up again to look at Swing.
“Starla was my Lady of Death. She was my enforcer and the one that I went to when I needed things done. This is what happens when I’m crossed. Have I shot you yet?” I asked, glaring at him.
“Yet,” he echoed with a soft laugh.
“Well, you’re a little scary there, pal. Kind of like a modern day Goliath.” I watched as his eyes narrowed for a moment, before he sighed and turned his face. If I didn’t know any better, I could almost swear he looked spooked. “Anyway, there’s another reason I know that you didn’t kill Alaska.”
“How the fuck could you possibly know that?” he asked, rubbing his face irritably.
Outside I heard the sound of the truck door open and close. Just in time. I waited a few more moments until Tumbler walked back into the room we were in before I made the reveal that would either seal or damn this deal I wanted to make.
“Because I’m Alaska Winslow.”
Leon wasn't like anything I remembered, and he sure wasn't like what Pardon spoon-fed to the rest of the MC that never got the privilege of meeting him. He seemed tired more than anything else; almost as if he were given the opportunity to die, that he would take it in a heartbeat. But that Rader fire that I would see in Swing's eyes was burning bright and I knew he wouldn't lie down until we found his son. It had to have been a few weeks or so that we had been back in Bend looking for Swing, and still nothing.
"Any news?" he asked me when I walked into through his back door.
"Not yet. Red's still trying to see what he can pry out of Pardon," I replied, sitting down at the kitchen table with him. Leon nodded and got to his feet. He made his way to the refrigerator, pulled out two beers, and sat back down, sliding one across the table toward me.
"It's ten in the morning," I pointed out with a laugh. Leon looked up at me with his tired eyes and chuckled, before screwing the top off of his bottle.
"So it is."