“Oh.” She tugs at the hem of the shirt and laughs. “Yeah. It’s a radio interview. Those fuckers can pay if they want to see me naked.”
Can’t argue with that logic.
I grab the keys to one the club’s extra trucks and head outside. Anya hurries to catch up to me, her sneakers grinding over the gravel and sending little rocks skittering out in front of us. I point the remote at the line of trucks and hit the unlock button. A black Ford F-150 beeps and flashes its lights.
After a quick check that the lights and everything seem to be working—fuck knows so many arrests could be avoided if people bothered to check their damn tail lights—I motion for Anya to get in on the passenger side.
“Thanks for doing this.” She hands me her phone with the address for the radio station so I can plug it into the GPS.
“Are you nervous?” I ask.
“A little.” She laughs. “I’ve only done one or two other interviews and the guys were gross.”
I grin at her. “Maybe don’t say that in the interview.”
“I won’t.”
“You know not to get into specifics about who bankrolls you, hosts your site, or anything like that, right?”
“Oh yeah. Ice was clear I shouldn’t ever mention the club.”
“Good.” This isn’t technically illegal. Still, the whole Lost Kings organization prefers to stay out of as many mouths and off as many radars as possible.
I pull into the parking garage and back the truck into a spot near the stairs. Anya blinks at me when I follow her into the stairwell.
“You’re coming in with me?”
“That was the whole point, wasn’t it? Otherwise, I could’ve just called you an Uber.”
“Oh, well.” She tips her head toward my cut. “Your patches. You said you didn’t want the club connected…”
Aw, ain’t that sweet? “Nah, financially the club doesn’t want to be linked. Don’t really care who knows you have the club’s protection.”
“Thank you.” Her tense smile fades. “I mean it.”
“No problem.” I gesture toward the stairs. “Let’s go.”
An hour later, I’m thoroughly bored and reconsidering my love for our Virginia brothers. One of those motherfuckers could’ve played chauffer today. I glance at my phone. I can’t wait to be done with Mission Porno, VA edition.
I’ve only been half-listening to the interview. Every time I glance up, Anya has an attentive look on her face, or she’s laughing and twirling her hair around her finger.
My phone buzzes.
Shelby: Miss you. Driver says we’ll be there around one a.m.
Shit, that’s later than I expected.
Me: I’ll be there.
Shelby: You don’t have to. It’s so late.
Me: I’m not exactly an early-to-bed guy. Send me the address.
She doesn’t answer right away, so I assume she’s finding the info for me. Greg’s probably planning to have them sleep in the van. I’ll either take Shelby back to the clubhouse or go to a hotel.
“So, you’re into the bad boys?” one of the interviewers asks.
I snap my head up.
Anya lets out a flirty giggle. “Of course.”
The other interviewer leers at her. “You ever give nice guys a chance?”
I snort. Nice guy. That’s usually code for a passive-aggressive dude who feels entitled to a woman’s attention—or more—because he’s so “nice.” This guy has jerk written all over him.
“I mean, it depends.” Anya giggles again. A fake, bubbly sound that’s more grating than cute. “A truly nice guy, sure. But someone who’s pretending to be nice just to get in my panties? Hell no.”
Good answer, Anya. I chuckle and go back to my phone.
“—biker boyfriend?”
What now?
I narrow my eyes. The jerk interviewer’s watching me with a smirk that’s about to get punched off his face.
“No, that’s my bodyguard,” Anya says.
Jerk opens his mouth and the other interviewer cuts him off. Guess he carries the common sense for the pair.
“That’s all we have time for today. Anya, you want to give out your website or any other info?” the sensible one asks.
“Sure.” She rattles off the website and a code for people to use that will rope them into a recurring subscription.
“Tune in tomorrow morning. We’ll be interviewing country music’s newest sweetheart, Shelby Morgan.”
Wait, what?
“Oh, she’s hot,” Jerk interviewer groans into the microphone. “Now there’s a girl who should be in porn.”
Motherfucker. I stand up, ready to crack open his skull.
My phone buzzes again and I check to find an address from Shelby.
Me: Are you doing some radio interview tomorrow?
No response.
She’s mentioned Greg setting her up on surprise interviews before. Maybe she doesn’t even know about it yet.