Free Biker Justice: A Skull Kings MC Novella by Sage L. Morgan Page A

around in my mind, each one of them embarrassingly ridiculous. Father Alan circled around a cluttered desk, removing his chef’s coat as he went.
    I directed my eyes to a motivational poster, blushing fiercely. He wore a plain white tee shirt under the coat, but it still felt wrong to sit idly in a room while a man of God undressed himself.
    “So, what do you do here?” I asked.
    “I mediate the support group, mostly.”
    I dared to probe further. “Is the support group for just a certain type of person?”
    Father Alan opened a squeaky cabinet. “In theory, yes. Female heroin addicts. But we have a wide variety of women. Mothers, widows, doctors, postal workers. Even prostitutes.”
    My mind instantly drew up an image of Lisbeth. I recognized pieces of her in this place, in Father Alan, like a bloodhound picking up scent notes scattered throughout the environment. True North. Heroin. Prostitutes. But I struggled to piece them all together. I peeked back at Father Alan just in time to see him holding a black shirt by its collar.
    I gasped.
    Father Alan looked at me in surprise. “Pardon?”
    I stood up. “I should go,” I said quickly.
    “But the meeting—”
    I rushed out of the office. At least I didn’t have to worry about finding an excuse to leave. I discovered that a handful of women had already arrived as I passed through the meeting room. They watched me curiously as I whipped toward the exit.
    I pushed at the door and heard a cry of alarm as it hit someone on the other side.
    “Oh, god, I’m sorry!” I said quickly. I stepped out to get a good look at the person I’d hit. “Lisbeth?”
    “Carmen?”
    Her expression told me that she was equally as surprised to see me as I was, only her surprise was also mixed with the sheer terror of being caught. So much blood drained from her face that even her lips turned white.
    “What are you doing here?”
    “I—well—I mean—”
    I narrowed my eyes. “I know this place is connected to the gang you’re running from, Lisbeth.”
    Lisbeth took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This is a support group.”
    I snatched her arm. “Then, why does the mediator have this same exact tattoo?”
    Her long sleeves covered the compass on her arm, but at this point I knew exactly what it looked like. I stared pointedly at the spot where her tattoo should have been and could easily recall the image of its twin on Father Alan.
    Lisbeth’s head jerked back. “You...you met Father Alan?”
    Several car doors slammed in succession in the parking lot. My eyes snapped away from Lisbeth’s face just long enough to watch a few more women making their way toward the meeting.
    I dropped my voice to a whisper. “I was with him in his office when he changed into his clergy shirt. I saw it on his arm.”
    Lisbeth’s eyes widened, flicking back and forth between mine. I knew she was trying to come up with an explanation, and I knew she was failing miserably.
    “He’s not really a minister, is he? What is this place, Lisbeth? Is there really a support group happening here?”
    “Yes, there really is!” Lisbeth said. Her eyes shone with desperation. She flashed a quick smile at the three women who edged past us to get inside, but it disappeared just as quickly once the door shut behind them. “Okay, you caught me. I didn’t tell you the full truth, but you cannot stay.”
    “Why can’t I?”
    “Because it’s dangerous for you here!”
    “Then, it’s dangerous for you, too.”
    Lisbeth shook her head. “You don’t know anything, Carmen.” She said it firmly, defiantly. All of her guilt over being caught was gone. “You have to go.”
    My hand finally fell away from her arm. I tried to soften myself. “How can I leave you here, Lisbeth?”
    Lisbeth’s glare flickered. “I’ll tell you everything once I get back to town, okay? But you have to go now.”
    My gaze passed over her shoulder to the bulletin