Chapter 7
Buse, Nevada
Bishop
I knocked on my Brother Pipe’s bedroom door and the man shouted for me to enter.
As I stepped into the dim space, I glanced around at all the whirring and flashing lights that came from his mountain of computer equipment.
When he saw me, the enigmatic biker smiled and leaned back in his ergonomic chair. “Look who it is. The man of the hour. You looking forward to your party tonight, stud?”
“Yeah,” I lied, running a hand through my still-damp hair.
Pipe chuckled. “I hope you lied to the Feds better than you lied to me just now, Bishop.”
I let out a sigh. “Is it that obvious?”
Pipe shrugged. “I’ve done time myself. I know what you’re going through. It gets better,” he offered. “But I’m not going to lie to you, man, you never totally forget it.”
That wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but I could tell it was also the truth. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Pipe studied me as I lowered myself into the empty seat beside him. “What’s up?”
Nervously, I fiddled with a flash drive disguised as a highlighter that was resting on his desk. “I need to find someone.”
I wasn’t one to share much about myself and I thought my Brother could relate. Hell, I knew next to nothing about the man and I’d been in the same Club as him for years.
“I thought you might be able to help me,” I ended succinctly.
Plucking the flash drive out of my hands, Pipe transferred it out of my anxious reach. “Who are you looking for?”
I cleared my throat. “A girl. Her name’s Evelyn Wild.”
Pipe’s brow corked up with interest. “You want her number? Or something more?”
I thought about it. “What can you get?”
“For starters, her address, what she does online, her financial statements, medical history, family history, and the list goes on and on. How deep a dive are you looking for?”
Jesus Christ. Pipe seemed like a relatively harmless guy, but given his skills with a computer, he just might be the most dangerous motherfucker of us all. “Not that deep. Let’s start with her name and address for now.”
“Sure,” he easily agreed. “With how much people live online these days, it shouldn’t take me more than a minute or so to find.”
We sat in comfortable silence as Pipe worked his magic. Finally, I asked, “Aren’t you interested in why I want her number?”
Pipe shrugged. “That’s your business, Brother.”
“She worked at the jail,” I confessed, though I didn’t know why I felt the need to. “I think she’s a volunteer there or something along those lines.”
Pipe grinned and shook his head. “Shit, man! You can find women anywhere. You’re like a fucking magnet for the female species. Even in a maximum-security prison full of dicks, you’re able to pull pussy. Impressive.”
I laughed and shook my head. “It’s not like that.”
Turning back to his computer, Pipe typed in Evie’s full name and immediately pulled up a picture of her. She looked gorgeous, just like I remembered. Long chestnut hair spilling over her shoulders. Her alabaster skin glowing like she’d just been to the beach and caught some sun. And, of course, those big mossy green eyes staring into my very soul, begging me to come inside and play awhile. Just the image of her in front of me now was enough to make my dick twitch at the mere promise of more.
The image was from a website she’d created for a catering company she owned. Leaning forward, I hungrily read the paragraph on the screen that introduced her to the audience and what her business offered.
Angling the screen towards me, Pipe whistled. “She can cook, owns her own business, and looks like that! Well, if you’re not interested in her, Brother, I certainly am.”
I guess he had me there. “Okay, I lied. I am interested. Stay the fuck away from her.”
Pipe barked out a laugh. “That’s what I thought. Lucky for you, her number is right here. And you didn’t even need me to do any digging to find it.”
I guess I should have looked first. It would have taken me under a minute to locate the woman and I wouldn’t have involved anyone from the Club.
I took a screenshot of her number with my phone and tucked it back into my pocket. “Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”
Pipe grinned. “Any time, Brother. Any time.”
* * *
Evie
I don’t know why I was so nervous. I’d set food up for a hundred different parties before this. But Angel was right. This party was different. That’s because these men were different.
To start with, they had a presence about them that left me feeling intimidated. They were all so tall and muscular. Not to mention that they were hot. I mean, really hot! I didn’t know tattoos and leather were my thing until today, but now it was clear. I had a thing for tough men who rode Harleys and lived hard. I mean, it was a vibe my girly parts and I could absolutely get behind.
When I entered the Clubhouse, a few of the bikers were hanging around and drinking. When they saw me, they’d unabashedly looked their fill.
A Brother named Hammer, a big redheaded guy with a thick beard and a physique to match his road name, asked, “Who’s your friend, Angel? Wouldn’t mind you bringing her over here so I can get to know her better.”
She’d told the interested group of men my name and what I was doing here before sweeping me into the kitchen and blocking them from any follow-up questions. Even now, my face flamed red with embarrassment just thinking about it.
Angel must have seen the high color streaking across my cheeks because she paused in her task to ask, “You doing okay, Evie?” She waited for a reply, her hand hovering over the half-filled tray of pigs in a blanket. I’d made over a thousand of them from scratch, and they had been just one of four appetizers I’d assembled.
I nodded. “I’m good. Just want to make sure everyone is happy with the food, is all.”
“It’s a lot,” Angel plainly stated, accurately reading how overwhelmed I was. Walking over to the oven, she placed a tray of appetizers into it to warm them through. “The Clubhouse is an intense place, for sure. The first time I came here, I’d been shocked, disgusted, and amazed all at once. Give it a chance though,” she sagely suggested. “You’ll get used to it, and maybe even learn to love it. I promise.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant but I nodded my agreement anyway. “The guys here are, um, kind of a different breed.”
Angel giggled. “That’s putting it mildly. Don’t worry, they’ll grow on you. The Devils seem scary at first, but with a little time and a handful of drinks, you’ll see that most of them are just big, old softies.”
I guess I was going to have to take her word on that. I couldn’t see a single “softie” amongst this entire group of hard men. Only strength and raw power. A shiver of excitement coursed through me as I wondered what it would be like to date one of them. Kiss them. Lose my V-card to one of them. The thought nearly made me giggle out loud at how ridiculous it was, but I was able to swallow it down before I appeared like a total loon.
“How does this look?” Angel asked, having arranged a pile of veggies neatly onto one of the many trays we had set out.
My mouth full with a bite of fresh pineapple I’d snuck from one of the platters, I made a circle with my thumb and index finger to indicate that it was exactly what I was looking for.
After working for a few minutes in companionable silence, I took a deep breath and said, “I really appreciate the job, Angel. Thank you for taking a chance on me. You don’t know how badly I needed the money. Things haven’t gone as smoothly as I would have liked since taking over the business, and your hiring me got me through a really difficult financial time in my life.”
Angel stopped what she was doing to walk over and give me a bolstering hug. “I’m so glad I could help you, Evie! That’s what friends are for. To help each other up whenever life gets us down. Right?”
Not wanting to tear up at the kind gesture, I nodded and kept my head down as I assembled the meat platter. Several older women walked into the kitchen then, instantly filling the room with loads of positive energy.
“How can we help?” A dark-haired woman named Trish asked me enthusiastically.
“You can take these trays of food out to our hungry boys,” Angel said, handing over an assortment of deep-fried appetizers.
“They smell great!” Trish popped one of the mini mozzarella balls into her mouth. “And they taste even better!”
I smiled with satisfaction. “Thanks. They’re really easy to make but always seem to be a crowd pleaser.”
The women took turns sampling, then complimenting, the appetizers before bringing them out to the ravenous men. Thankfully, Angel, who knew the Clubhouse inside and out, directed the women to the appropriate stations. It seemed like I’d only just blinked when I checked my phone and saw that two hours and three courses had passed by.
Trish came in with a pile of empty trays as I was washing dishes and said, “Those meatball sliders went fast, girl! I don’t know what you put in them, but the men practically came to blows over the last few bites.”
I laughed. “My friend Bobby gave me the recipe. The secret ingredient is onion soup mix.”
Trish grinned. “You and I are going to need to talk later. I’m a real fan of the way you cook, hun. My old man is, too. He wants me to learn how you made that taco meat so soft and spicy.”
“A touch of quinoa and a butt-load of spices,” I confessed with a grin.
“I’m going to need your number before you leave here tonight,” the exuberant woman told me, before grabbing the last tray of steaks resting on the counter to be tossed on the grill.
“Sure thing,” I called after her, starting to collect the empty trays to start washing those next.
Once I’d cleaned the kitchen inside and out, I retrieved the desserts from the fridge and began loading the cake with sparklers. Though it wasn’t anyone’s birthday, Angel had thought it would be nice for her husband’s buddy to be able to blow out candles spelling out the words, “Welcome Home Bishop”, in bold, black piping, and I’d agreed. It was a sweet touch and gave the enormous strawberry cream cake a whimsical feel.
A series of little images such as handcuffs, jail keys, and nail files, were meticulously piped along the cake’s edges in frosting. The background of the cake had black lines running through it like prison bars, a suggestion Bishop’s sister contributed. Though I didn’t do a lot of confectionery work in my catering business, I was impressed with the final product and thought I’d gone above and beyond anything I’d done in the past.
Because there were so many people to feed, I’d decided to make the main strawberry cake for Bishop to cut into and dozens of cupcakes for everyone else to grab and go. There was an assortment of flavors to choose from including strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, and peanut butter. There was something for everyone, and enough to feed an army.
“Are you ready to bring out the cake?” Angel queried, as she swept into the room, her hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail.
“Almost there,” I told her, lighting the last few sticks.
Angel ran her hands together in excitement. “Bishop’s going to love this cake. His sister told me it’s his absolute favorite! You haven’t met Amelia yet, have you? You’ve been cooped up in this kitchen all night. Not to worry. I’ll introduce you later. Everyone’s raving about the food by the way.”
I smiled. “That’s good to hear. I was so worried they’d think the menu was too basic.”
Angel scoffed. “If by basic you mean Bishop’s favorites, then yes.”
“You’re too nice, Angel,” I told her.
“No way. I’m just honest. Now, after Bishop cuts the cake, you need to mingle a bit. Meet my friends and some of the guys,” she concluded with a mischievous wink. “Several of them have asked me about you and are threatening to storm the kitchen if you don’t present yourself after dinner.”
Carefully lifting the cake onto the rolling cart Reaper had provided me, I chuckled. “No need to do that. I’d love to meet your friends. I can relax now that I know all the food prep has been taken care of and the kitchen is cleaned up.”
I followed Angel out into what she told me was once a restaurant in this converted hotel the MC had renovated. The room was filled with boisterous bikers and women who were every bit as colorful as the men. It looked like a pinata had vomited its contents into the large space. It was filled floor to ceiling with balloons, streamers, and confetti of all shapes and colors.
As the cake came into view, everyone began to cheer. The enthusiasm was contagious as the crowd started to chant the party boy’s name.
“Bishop! Bishop! Bishop!” the mob cried out in unison.
Everyone was glancing around the room, looking for the elusive biker. Suddenly, the place exploded with catcalls and hollering.
Into the center of the room strolled Bishop. A beautiful, scantily clad, nearly identical blonde woman hanging off each of his well-sculpted biceps. The arm candy to his right reached between his legs and gave his crotch a familiar squeeze before giving him a kiss that involved more tongue than a dog licking his own balls.
My heart stopped and the room began to spin as the pieces of this twilight-zone jig-saw puzzle fell into place. That’s when our eyes met. Recognition, and shock, registered across his face in a twin expression of my own.
Stumbling backward, I blurted out to Angel, “I left something running in the kitchen. Can you take over for a minute? I’ll be right back,” though I knew I was lying. I was going to grab my purse, escape out the back door, and discreetly Irish-goodbye to my car while no one was looking.
Spinning around, I moved into the adjoining kitchen as fast as my short legs could carry me. My goal was a simple one; elude the man in front of me and my overwhelming embarrassment for being such a total idiot.