Once he’d have been all too eager to jump in, but times had changed. Priest had exiled him, and that rejection, losing his place in the club, had almost killed him. But he’d risen above it. He’d adapted; he’d changed, learned to control his anger issues, and the new Travis didn’t believe in vigilante justice. He’d made a more than comfortable existence without it, and he wanted to return to that normalcy as soon as fucking possible.
With that thought as motivation, he yanked on his boots and headed out into the kitchen. A quick look inside Billie’s refrigerator and cupboards revealed nothing that appealed, so he decided to head next door to The Priory and grab something from the bar. He opened the door into the gallery and was immediately hit with the sickly sweet smell of incense and what sounded like whales fucking, fighting to be heard above the lapping water of the fountain. There were a surprising number of people strolling through the gallery, exclaiming cheerfully over the weird so-called art that adorned the walls.
They turned to look at him as he emerged but he ignored them, his gaze shooting straight to Billie right near the front gate, where she stood chatting animatedly with a trio of women. She wore a bright yellow sundress that accentuated every curve of her body, and for the first time in a long time he wished to hell he still looked like the big, bad biker whose presence would clear the gallery of everyone but her. He craved her attention; he wanted to ruffle her feathers and watch her get all flustered as she tried to pretend she wasn’t interested. A surefire way to get all that was to piss her off.
His carnal thoughts making him hard again, he sat down at her desk, leaned back in the seat and took a moment to take stock. Without thinking, his hands went to the mouse of her computer and he started clicking, wondering exactly how much money she made in a business like this. Sure, people were likely to wander through the courtyard and admire the produce, so to speak, but were they actually prepared to fork out hard-earned cash? He quickly located last month’s sales record.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Billie was next to him before he had the chance to take a good look.
He glanced up at her. “Just seeing what kind of profits you turn over.”
“That’s none of your business,” she hissed, clearly irate but not wanting to make a scene in front of potential customers.
He leaned back in her less-than-comfy seat and crossed his arms. “I think it is. You’re paying almost nothing in rent and I don’t like to be ripped off.”
“Nothing?” She held her chin high. “I’m not ripping anyone off. If you have a problem with my rent, why don’t you talk to your friends? You know…the others who also own this building. I’ve spoken to Ajax and he promised he won’t sell, so maybe you should stop acting like such a jerk and find some other hobby. I’ve heard knitting is good for the soul.”
Knitting? He raised his eyebrows. “You think I’m a jerk?” It was the lamest insult anyone had ever hit him with, yet somehow it irked.
“Oh, I don’t think, I know.” She perched her hands on her hips. “I just don’t understand why you’re picking on me.”
He half-chuckled. “This isn’t personal, honey. This is business. And just so you know, Ajax’s word means jack shit. At least to you. He doesn’t give a fuck about art or your livelihood any more than I do, but where I just want to sell this building and get out of town, he wants to turn it back into a biker’s lair.”
Her eyes widened, and for a moment he wondered if she was close to tears. Something inside him squeezed in the place where some people had a heart and he felt like the jerk she’d just accused him of being. Although he’d use a stronger word. Still, being a jerk was better than getting walked all over.
“Don’t call me ‘honey,’ ” she snapped, surprising him as she leaned across him to switch off the computer. Whether she meant them to or not, her breasts swished in his face. “And keep your nose out of my fucking business.”
He blinked, impressed and of course incredibly turned on by her bravado and language. It was in total opposition to the way she looked. As long as she didn’t talk to Ajax or Leon like that, she’d be safe.
“Well, since you asked nicely…” He smirked, palmed his hands on her desk and pushed himself into a stand. “Guess I’ll see you later.”
“Not if I’m lucky,” she called after him, obviously forgetting about keeping her voice down.
Grinning, he stalked through the courtyard and out onto the street, once again aroused by his interactions with Billie. Although she wasn’t his usual type, she was proving to be a fun distraction from the serious reason he was stuck in fucking New Orleans. His smile faded as he headed next door and inside The Priory, which had once been like a second home to him. The first being the clubhouse, because Lord knew wherever his mother shacked up had never felt like home.
For a second, he paused in the open doorway, glancing down Bourbon Street and wondering what had become of the woman whose name was printed on his birth certificate. Did she still trawl the streets at night? Sleep in gutters when she was too drug-fucked to make it home? Or had she finally succeeded in killing herself and made a permanent home in one of the local cemeteries? Whatever. He didn’t care, and he didn’t want to waste precious time thinking about her when he could be making leeway in the Priest investigation or even bantering some more with Billie.
“Afternoon,” Sophie said, setting a bottle of beer in front of him when he sidled up to the bar and claimed a stool. “Ajax says you and he are finally seeing eye-to-eye on the whole Dad thing.”
“Something like that.” His fingers closed around the cool glass. “Listen, Soph, do you have any idea who might have had a vendetta against Priest?”
She sighed. “I’ve already told Ajax that while I agree Dad’s death is suspicious, I can’t think who would suddenly have wanted to kill him. Things changed after Katrina, after you guys left. Dad cleaned the fuck up. As far as I know, he hadn’t been involved in anything shady for over a decade—the Ministry has the monopoly on criminal activity around here now.”
Travis’s fist clenched around the bottle at the mention of the bunch of bastards who had been the Deacons’ archenemies. Although he didn’t want to be part of this world anymore—he liked his freedom, thank you very much, he liked not feeling like he owed anyone—it irked him that the Ministry wreaked havoc in the French Quarter. “Could his death be on them?”
“Why?”
Travis snorted. “Since when did the Ministry need a reason to kill anyone?”
Sophie paused in polishing a glass and shrugged one shoulder. “True. As I said, I have no fucking clue about any of this.”
Travis took a swig of his beer, making a mental list of suspects. The Ministry was the most obvious possibility, but he got the feeling that something bigger was going on than their rival biker gang. Unfortunately, so far he didn’t have a whole host of other options.
“Do you know if he owed anyone any money?” he asked eventually.
Sophie shook her head. “Not as far as I know. But if he did, you guys should watch your backs, because the type of people he’d owe money to wouldn’t stop wanting it just because he’s six feet under.”
Great, as if Ajax and Leon wanting a piece of him weren’t bad enough. He sighed, drinking more beer while he worked out his game plan. “I’m going to need to take a look at the business records and Priest’s computers, bank statements, all that shit, to see if I can uncover anything suspicious. You okay with that?”
She shrugged. “Whatever it takes. You know where the office is, and Dad’s stuff is still upstairs as he left it. Fuck knows I haven’t had time to deal with it.”