The MC Hacker’s Stolen Princess

Taryn’s POV

By noon on our second day at Sturgis, Dad had disappeared into another meeting with Iron Mesa.

That made three.

The Arizona club had rolled in yesterday with six bikes and Kellan Stroud’s black touring rig. Since then, Kellan had spent more time around the Lost Coast Renegades’ RVs than his own, and every time I asked Dad what they were talking about, he gave me the same answer.

“Club business.”

I had grown up around club business. I knew what it looked like when nobody cared if I was nearby, what it looked like when somebody wanted me out of earshot, and what it looked like when half the men I had known since I could walk suddenly stopped talking when I came around.

This was the third one.

Dad came out of the RV with Cal behind him and headed straight for me.

“You eat?”

“That depends. Are you going to answer me if I say yes?”

“No.”

“Then no.”

Cal scratched his beard. “She had half a funnel cake.”

“That was breakfast.”

“That was powdered sugar holding hands.”

Dad kept walking.

I fell in beside him. “How long are they staying?”

“Who?”

I looked at him.

Cal laughed under his breath.

Dad shot him a look. “Don’t.”

“What? I didn’t say shit.”

We moved with the crowd toward the vendor rows. Bikes rumbled past on the road, music came from somewhere ahead of us, and a woman in silver boots was arguing with a man dressed like a Viking beside a booth selling leather holsters.

Sturgis made sense.

My father did not.

I tried again. “Why does Kellan keep meeting with you?”

“Asked and answered.”

“No, you keep saying club business like that magically becomes an answer.”

“It does when I’m president.”

“Cute.”

Cal coughed into his fist.

Dad pointed at him without looking. “You’re walking real close to pissing me off too.”

“Story of my life.”

Then I saw the jackalope.

I stopped so fast Cal nearly walked into me.

The thing was mounted on a slab of old wood, all stiff fur and glass eyes, with a crooked pair of antlers stuck on top of its head.

“I want him.”

Dad didn’t even slow down. “No.”

“You didn’t look.”

“I looked.”

“You barely glanced.”

“I saw enough dead rabbit.”

“He’s a jackalope.”

“He’s roadkill with accessories.”

I picked him up.

Dad turned around. “Put it back.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not riding home with that strapped to my bike.”

“Cal can carry it then.”

“You’re not making Cal carry it either.”

Cal took the jackalope from me and held it at arm’s length. “Needs goggles.”

“Yes.”

Dad stared at him. “Give it back.”

“To her?”

“To the vendor.”

Cal handed it over reluctantly. “I was helping.”

“You never help.”

“That hurts.”

I left the jackalope behind after Cal promised to remember the booth in case Dad died before we went home.

Dad flipped him off and headed toward the next row.

“Stay where one of us can find you,” he called.

“I’m twenty.”

“Congratulations.”

I veered away before I started another argument and wandered through the booths while two Renegades did a terrible job of pretending they were not following me.

That was new too.

I ignored them until I spotted a metal scorpion sitting on a folding table.

It was almost two feet long, welded together from old motorcycle parts. Chain made up part of the tail. Springs formed the legs. Its claws looked like pieces of sprocket, and the whole thing was ugly enough that I immediately reached for the price tag.

“You know it’s missing a leg, right?”

I looked over.

The guy standing beside me wore a Sons of Doom cut over a black T-shirt. Full patch. Dark hair. Probably my age. Maybe a little older.

“It has legs.”

“It has seven.”

I counted.

“Son of a bitch.”

His mouth twitched.

I looked at the scorpion again. “Maybe he lost it in a fight.”

“Could be.”

“Adds character.”

“Also knocks twenty bucks off if the vendor has any shame.”

The vendor, three feet away, said, “I can hear you.”

“Good,” the guy said.

I laughed and crouched beside the table. “What else is wrong with it?”

He crouched too and pointed. “Nothing wrong. That’s cam chain. Bearing races in the body. Valve springs there. Claws are probably cut sprockets.”

I looked at him.

“What?”

“You just made me want it more.”

“That wasn’t the goal.”

“Terrible salesman.”

“I don’t work here.”

“Even worse.”

I held out my hand. “Taryn.”

“Bobby.”

He shook it without trying to crush my fingers.

My eyes dropped to his cut again.

He caught me looking. “Something crooked?”

“You’re young.”

“So are you.”

“You’re wearing a full patch.”

“Yeah.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

I glanced at the patch again. “How long?”

“Not long.”

“What’d you do, blackmail somebody?”

“Would’ve saved time.”

The vendor came over, and Bobby pointed to the missing rear-left leg before I could say anything.

I got twenty dollars off.

I handed over the cash. “Useful.”

“Sometimes.”

The vendor started wrapping the scorpion in an old moving blanket.

“So how’d you earn it?” I asked.

Bobby leaned against the table. “Prospected. Did the work.”

“That’s the boring answer.”

“It’s the true one.”

“Nothing else?”

“Reyes was already becoming a problem. Club needed people they trusted.”

“El Paso Reyes?”

He nodded.

I had heard plenty about that fight. Most clubs had. The stories had reached California before half the men involved were even back in New Mexico.

“You were there?”

“For the last push, yeah.”

“Already patched?”

“Before we went in.”

He said it without leaning into the story or waiting for me to ask who he shot. Just answered the question.

I liked that.

The vendor fought with the blanket while Bobby reached over and tucked one corner under the tail.

“Your clubhouse full of metal bugs?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

“Starting a collection?”

“I tried to buy a jackalope ten minutes ago.”

He looked up. “Taxidermied?”

“Obviously.”

“Didn’t get it?”

“My father hates joy.”

“That serious?”

“Deeply.”

“Taryn.”

Dad’s voice carried over the crowd.

I looked past Bobby.

Rook was coming toward us with Cal behind him. Two more Renegades followed several steps back.

Dad didn’t look at the scorpion.

That alone told me the meeting was over.

I grabbed my end of the blanket. “Apparently I’m being summoned.”

Bobby picked up the other end. “Want me to pretend this is mine?”

“He’ll know.”

“Worth a shot.”

Dad stopped beside us and looked at Bobby’s cut.

“Come on, Taryn.”

“I’m in the middle of something.”

“Now.”

I took the blanket from Bobby. “Nice meeting you.”

“You too.”

Dad waited until we were clear of the booth before taking the scorpion from me and shoving it at Cal.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Keep walking.”

“No.”

He stopped between two parked bikes.

Cal moved several feet away with my scorpion tucked against his chest.

Dad looked toward the crowd, then back at me.

“Kellan came here to finish an agreement between Iron Mesa and Lost Coast.”

“What agreement?”

“The treaty is signed.”

I waited.

Dad didn’t.

“You marry him when we get home.”