Roman - Lane Hart Page 0,33
leaving you outside alone until we catch those fuckers.”
“You think?” I reply as we climb off and I follow him inside the bar. Just like the times before, as soon as the guys see him, they all immediately stop what they’re doing and head into the meeting room.
I fully expect Roman to shut the door in my face, but he actually leaves it open just an inch or so, allowing me to listen in.
“So, what more do we know? Do we have any leads?” he asks.
The responses are mumbled, but I get the gist of it…they’re trying to track down the men but don’t have anything concrete just yet.
“What about a sketch artist?” a voice that sounds like Verek’s asks.
“What about one?” Roman replies.
“If we could find an artist to talk to the women, they might be able to give us a better description…”
“That’s not a good idea,” I open the door wider and interject. “I don’t think any of you understand what those women have been through. Asking them to remember all the details of the men who hurt them would be cruel.”
“Charlotte,” Roman grits out in warning.
“I’m sorry, but you know I’m right about this! Please don’t subject them to torture just so you can get some black and white images that look like a million other men.”
“For now, we’ll table the sketch artist as a last resort once we run out of leads,” Roman agrees. “We’re still hoping that Danny and his guys will find their faces on a camera, which would be a lot more helpful than a drawing; or better yet, track down their tattoo artist to get a name.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, relieved that he won’t ask something so difficult from Tessa and the other victims.
“Now, will you remove yourself from our meeting, or am I going to have to do it myself?” Roman asks, his words heated because he’s obviously angry at me for interrupting.
“I’ll leave,” I agree when I pull the door almost shut, leaving it like it was before.
“All the way, Charlotte!” comes Roman’s demanding voice from the other side. While I can be stubborn, I decide not to push him farther on this. I close the door completely and then sit down on a stool at the bar to wait.
Roman
Once I adjourn the meeting, I wait until all of the Kings file out before I flip off the lights and leave the chapel. Charlotte is sitting on a stool at the bar, her head lying on her crossed arms. “You look beat,” I observe. “Let’s get back to my place and eat something, then crash early tonight. We could both use a long sleep.”
Charlotte stands up and nods to me, pausing to stretch her arms over her head. The motion makes the thin cotton shirt she’s wearing pull tight over her breasts and exposes a few inches of her stomach over the button on her jeans. When she catches me staring at her, she breaks into a grin and says, “I’m ready. Thank you again for letting me stay with you. Do we need to pick up food on the way to your place, or do you actually keep anything stocked at your house?”
With a snort, I walk past her and lead the way outside to my bike. “I’ve got food,” I reassure her. “I’ll cook up something quick when we get there. I know it’s late in the afternoon, but how do you feel about breakfast for dinner? I didn’t get anything to eat this morning, and I’ve got a longing for some sausage and eggs.”
“That sounds perfect,” she agrees as she swings her leg over the back of my bike. While she straps on the helmet, I climb on and crank the engine, feeling a strange swelling of admiration for how easily this woman has gotten used to riding. She was awkward as a newborn foal just yesterday getting on, but now she rides like an old pro.
The ride to my place from the clubhouse usually only takes about ten minutes; but once Charlotte wraps her arms around my waist and presses herself into my back, I decide to take a slightly more scenic route up Ocean Boulevard. We’re both exhausted, but I’m enjoying having her with me too much to rush home. Weaving through all the beach traffic adds thirty minutes to the trip; and by the time we rumble into the gravel driveway of my beachfront home, I can feel her shifting behind me in