To Roarke’s surprise, there was not a booby trap waiting for them, the longer down the road they went. It was smooth riding and he couldn’t help be feel put on edge about it. Perhaps Isabelle hadn’t foreseen something like this. Maybe the one time she’d been careless was here. She assumed, he figured, that no one knew about the child and he would never be able to piece it together. He’d give her that much, she was right. He wouldn’t be able to figure it out on his own. The one she’d really been underestimating was Hanna. She thought her Roarke whore, a passing fling.
He smirked to himself at how wrong she was. He looked over at her, admiring her features. She eventually must have felt his eyes because she turned to look at him and raised a brow. He just kept watching. Eventually, she signaled for him to pull off the road and he followed, killing his bike after she did the same.
“I think we need to go on foot from here,” Hanna said, removing her helmet.
“You want to ditch the bikes?” he asked, taking his helmet off as well.
“They’ll be safe stored behind that shed over there,” she said pointing to a small building with a for-rent sign in front of it and an old sign proclaiming it once as a produce stand.
“Why are we doing this?” he asked, popping out his kickstand and getting off his bike.
“Because they’re loud as fuck,” she said, bluntly. “You bikers love your theatrics, but fuck you guys are not sneaky. How do you think we find you every time?”
She was teasing him now and he narrowed his eyes. “It’s part of the lifestyle. Psychological warfare. We want our enemies knowing that we’re coming.”
“Well there’s only two of us and who knows how many of them waiting for us at that house. The psych warfare is not on our side. We need to find a stealthier way in. To take Isabelle on we have to think like her,” she said.
She had several points, Roarke couldn’t argue that. He marveled that she’d always be infinitely smarter than him. He hoped their kid had just a fraction of her brain and absolutely none of his. He followed her, pushing their bikes off the road and setting them up behind the shed. They positioned them close together and found a tarp laying over the roof of the shed. They pulled it down and set it over the bikes, covering them. As they moved back towards the road they brushed their feet over the bike tracks, hiding them. Hanna wanted to leave no evidence for a Caracal to find.
Then they started walking, the house coming into sight.
Roarke had to hand it to Isaiah, he was an obnoxious fuck when it came to his house. It was gaudy, to think about and to look at. Most bikers lived in shithole apartments, even when they could afford better. It was part of the lifestyle, hiding away in some crummy place, surrounded by alcohol and money that was kept in bags as cash and far away from any traceable bank account. But here was Isaiah Clark, showing off his wealth like he was asking for someone to rob him.
The house was big and white. It had fucking gardens in it. He actually paid a gardener to come in and trim his hedges like some kind of country club asshole. His lawn was trimmed and manicured and there was even a goddamn fountain in it. He’d do better as a mobster in the city where showing off pinkie rings and thousand dollar suits suited him. Here things were gritty and real and the only badges of honor you had were scars and dirt, not fancy clothes and expensive things.
He wouldn’t mind trashing the hell out of the place when all this was over, taking him down a peg the way he used to do as a kid, with toilet paper and spray paint.
“There’s two guys up there,” Hanna said, quietly, pointing.
He followed her gaze and saw to Caracals sitting in front of bikes. They would be impossible to get passed, even to get to the back or a side entrance.
“I can keep them occupied,” she said. He immediately opened his mouth to protest but she shot him a look, silencing him. “I fooled you for months didn’t I? I’ll pretend to be some lost tourist, you find a way in somewhere else.”
“I don’t like this,” he warned.
“Then you shouldn’t have brought me along. Just go with it and don’t fuck up,” she said.
She gave him a quick kiss in the corner of his mouth for luck and moved away. He watched, feeling his heart pound as she approached the men.
***
Despite what the last few months would suggest, Hanna was actually very skilled at undercover work. She’d done it on a small scale, busting drug deals when she walked up to a dealer on a street corner and pretended to be a customer or walked into a store, pretending to want to see the room in the back where the weed was kept.
This was no different. It was a bit of one-off undercover work. Besides, they looked like idiots. She was exceptionally good at profiling intelligence and there wasn’t much here to work with, she was sure. As she got closer she heard them exchange conversations about the best way to position a girl to make sure she came during sex and she rolled her eyes, thinking about how the girls they were talking about most certainly faked it based on what they were doing.
When she got close enough, she stumbled, making a loud noise to get their attention. If she took them off guard it would hurt her chances of convincing them. She remembered all her training, her cues for this.
“Excuse me, sorry to bother you guys--”
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
She feigned offense. “Excuse me. I’m a bit lost and my car is broken down.”
“Not our problem lady, fuck off.”
She couldn’t appeal to any better nature in them, there likely wasn’t. But there was always a perfect backup plan when you were a woman. Luckily she’d worn a low neckline shirt. She wanted to wear them as much as possible before her swelling stomach was going to make it impossible to fit in her tight shirts. She stepped closer to the men, subtly clasping her hands together, pressing her breasts in, creating a hard line of cleavage on her chest. She gave them a pout for good measure.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to trespass. I just really need help. I just broke up with my boyfriend and I’m a little bit emotional and didn’t notice my car was on empty,” she said, throwing in some glassy eyes.
She flit her gaze across the yard, watching Roarke keep an eye on them. His eyes were narrowed and he was glaring. She found his jealousy endearing most of the time but right now she needed him to hustle. She wasn’t about to fuck these two idiots. She turned her gaze back to them and she could see from the tight bounce of their Adam’s apples as they swallowed and the way they were shifting a little more in their seats that they suddenly had a renewed interest in her plight. She smiled.
“Alright lady, don’t cry,” the one said. “We can help you out.”
She shot Roarke a glance and he took it and ran, moving towards the back of the house.