Inked Fighter: Complete Collection (MMA MC New Adult Romance) by E. E. Griffin Read Free Book Online Page A

past. I hadn’t touched anything illegal since leaving my dad’s. I had a good life until Black Blades MC broke into my apartment one night and threatened to have me sent to jail.
    The blackmail had worked to get me to give up my job and put all my things in storage. I believed them well enough to follow them to northern California to bide my time. I wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, so I stayed. I wanted to know what they were really up to. Sure, I gave world-class tattoos, but why keep an outsider so close? There had to be other reasons for me to be there. I planned to find out why.
    I put down the sketch of Claire’s tattoo and jogged upstairs to test the doors along the first floor. Every door was unlocked. I peered inside the first-floor bedrooms. They were just messy dudes’ rooms. I didn’t even want to go through them. I doubted they had any evidence. Most of the people around here weren’t even full members of the club. They had no idea what was going on.
    I went upstairs and tested the second-floor doors. They all opened easily, except one. It had a standard, cheap household lock. I pulled out a credit card and slipped it through the doorframe. The lock came open in one swipe.
    Inside was an office. Papers were stacked up on the desk, and one drawer in the filing cabinet was open. I slipped inside, shuffled through papers, and opened drawers. Nothing interesting jumped out at me. There was a small utilitarian desk in front of the window with a comfortable-looking office chair. 
    Business ledgers were piled on the desk. The gang owned several businesses in town — a mechanic shop, a gas station with a quickie mart, a hair salon, a pizza restaurant, the bar across the street. I sat behind the desk and flipped through a few of the ledgers. I didn’t know what I was looking for. I closed the books and leaned back in the office chair.
    I tapped my finger on the arm of the chair and looked around. The desk drawer caught my eye. I tried it; it was locked. I slid the credit card through the opening and pulled. Nothing.  I didn’t like to fail, not at anything. Failing to get the drawer open made me more determined. I found a paper clip and bent it. Then I shoved one end into the lock and twisted until it clicked.
    Triumphant, I pulled the drawer open. There was a handgun inside. I considered taking it but didn’t.  I shuffled through the contents —stacks of cash, pens, post-it notes, and note cards. Intermixed with the junk I noticed the back of an old photograph. I grabbed it and flipped it over.
    It was a picture of Martel and my dad, from a long time ago. My dad was thin and his beard was short and black. He still had hair. I smiled at the picture, remembering the old bastard. Martel looked just as young. His hair was black instead of salt-and-pepper gray. They both wore the same motorcycle club vest, but it wasn’t Black Blades.
    I squinted at the picture, trying to make out the club logo, but I couldn’t. The picture was too old and too faded. When were my dad and Martel in the same club? My dad always rode a Harley, but as far as I knew, he didn’t have any affiliations.
    My father pretended to be a mechanic. Well, he was a mechanic, but he sure as hell wasn’t a law-abiding citizen.

Chapter Seven: Claire
    On the way home, I stopped at the grocery store. When I got home, I took Rose, the groceries, and my fabric inside. I flung my purse on the table and realized I’d forgotten to put the rest of my cash in the bank. I still had over three hundred dollars. After I put the food away and Rose down for a nap, I stored my cash in the top drawer of my dresser. Having that much cash on me made me nervous. I didn’t want to carry it around.
    I stared at my fabric on the table and thought about the dying process. My big dying tub sat on the front porch, ready for me to get to work. But I couldn’t think about work. All I could think about was Damien Cruz.
    All through lunch, I’d been staring