Chapter 7
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Brew
“You know no shit goes down we don’t know about,” Diamond informs me. “If I’d heard about The Grid, I would’ve called you.”
I don’t doubt it, but I needed to see for myself.
She may be the prez of the Stiletto Riders, but she sure as shit makes sure everyone knows she’s the boss of Texas. What these ladies do is nothing short of impressive. So far, they’ve kept the territory safe far better than any law enforcement.
I swallow hard.
Three months ago, I was led to Oklahoma; I found Valencia’s remains.
Those sewer rats buried her in a shallow grave, like she was a piece of scum on the bottom of their shoes.
It gave me little comfort to have found her, though her family finally had closure and we were able to give her a proper burial.
They say closure is a thing, but sometimes I don’t know if I’ll ever have peace.
Not when I know how horrifically she suffered and how scared she would have been.
I killed a lot of men that night. Every single one of them in the warehouse who were involved died, too; even being associated with these trafficking monsters is a death sentence. In my book anyway. They only got what they deserved.
“Glad you’ve got a handle on things, but we follow up every lead,” I say. “People slip through the cracks, new networks poppin’ up all the time. Every time we shut one down, a new one pops up in its place.”
“Trafficking is a big business. We’re not well liked around these parts; every last one of us has been threatened, but we’ll never stop fighting.” Diamond has her own demons, and I get the feeling this is a little too close to home.
Some time ago, Star, Nevada’s ol’ lady, tracked down her sister who’d gone missing.
Tilly went out with friends one night, her drink was spiked, and she was snatched.
It took Star a while to track her down, but she managed to get her back.
Tilly was one of the lucky ones. I’ve got a lot of respect for what she went through in order to make that happen, now Tilly is a member of the Stiletto Riders because they were the ones who found her and took her in.
Diamond, however? Even I wouldn’t mess with her.
“I respect that, and I know the stats, but somethin’ tells me this was a wild goose chase and maybe we need to backtrack.”
Sawyer is rarely wrong about these things, but maybe with us and the Stiletto’s sniffing around, it scared The Grid away. Fuck know’s where they’ll pop up next.
I’m more annoyed I didn’t get the opportunity to knock some skulls together, but every single bead on these organizations is one we have to check out.
As frustrating as it is, it’s a long game.
Haze knows the drill, sometimes he’ll come with us, but usually he’ll stay behind to deal with the business.
Besides, now we have Erica, his time in the office is cut in half.
“That may be so, but next time you can just call.”
I snort. “Got it. Sawyer and I don’t mind the open road, anythin’ to get the city grit out of our hair.”
She thumbs behind her. “You’re welcome to stay at the clubhouse tonight, but fair warning, I can’t guarantee your safety, pretty boys.”
Sawyer, always a flirt, crosses his arms over his chest. “Who says we’re a bunch of pushovers? Maybe I’m savin’ myself for marriage.” He winks at Diamond.
“Make eyes like that at me, I’ll make you into pot roast,” Diamond fires back.
I slap Sawyer on the back. “Looks like it may be safer to check in at the motel.”
“Not scared of a bunch of girls, are you?” Diamond mocks.
“You make border protection look like Strawberry Shortcake,” Sawyer chuckles.
I give her a chin lift. “Thanks for the offer, we might wash up and rest before headin’ back.”
Diamond grins. “Someone’s optimistic,”
The Stiletto’s clubhouse is nothing like ours.
For one, most of the women work day jobs, and they aren’t partying at all hours of the day and night.
Their MC is based on charity work and the occasional vigilante justice; like catching criminals.
What is life in a motorcycle club without a little mayhem?
Diamond runs a tight ship, and while her pioneering efforts at the helm of this club may be a little unorthodox, they seem to do just fine.
“Have much to do with the cops around here?” I ask, switching the subject.
“If you’re asking if we’re in anyone’s pockets, the answer is no, but the same can’t be said about the Saddle PD being in ours.” Her eyes dance with humor. “Ruby is an excellent hacker, you’d be surprised what she can find in a small town.”
The club members are named after precious and semi-precious stones: Diamond, Ruby, Pearl, Sapphire, Garnet, Topaz, Jade.
“I’ll bet you have everyone around here walking on a tightrope,” I say. “Not a bad thing, long as you keep ‘em all in line.”
“You lookin’ for a job?” she tosses back.
“Got enough on my plate as it is, so that’s a hard pass.”
We head to the Stiletto’s clubhouse. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen; the sweeping landscape expands over a huge property owned by Diamond with a restored farmhouse.
We’re definitely not in Kansas anymore. This is nothing like New Orleans.
Where we have concrete floors, they have polished wooden oak.
Where we have a long, free standing bar and pool tables, they have a decorative open room with a long meeting table and a saloon behind.
On the walls, there’s all kinds of photos and trinkets.
Clearly, Diamond loves her horses because there’s practically a horse museum on one wall, including a giant copper mural of two horses running. It’s impressive.
“You ride?” Diamond asks when she sees me eyeing the artwork.
“Only thing I ride is a Harley,” I reply.
Sawyer slaps me on the back. “That’s not what I heard.”
I shove him off. “Asshole.”
“Clubhouse is pretty quiet during the week. Most of the members are at their day jobs, or runnin’ errands. Meetings happen on the weekend, Sunday is a day we get together and eat as one big family.”
“Who does all the cookin’?” Sawyer asks.
“Well, we don’t have a Manny,” Diamond says matter-of-factly, she’s referring to the Rebels’ chef. “But Pearl is an excellent cook, and she and her Momma usually cook up a feast.”
“Pity it’s not Sunday,” I mutter.
“Well, make yourselves at home. There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall, and several rooms with bunks.”
“Nice of you to be so accommodatin’.” Sawyer tips his non-existent hat.
“I just hope you get some intel on The Grid soon,” she says. “Whatever I hear, I’ll pass onto you.” She hesitates, choosing her next words carefully. “You know how deep this runs, don’t you?”
I pique a brow. “Lawyers. Doctors. Politicians. Cops. Entertainers? Everyday people? I can safely say nothing ever surprises me anymore.”
“I think I stopped being surprised by anything years ago,” she admits, her gaze shifting away. “But that’s a story for another day. Bar is open, just don’t make a mess. Food is in the fridge, just clean up after yourselves. I’ve gotta run some errands.”
“Appreciate it,” I say.
“Yeah, thanks, D, whenever we’re back in Texas, we’ll be sure to stop by.”
She rolls her eyes, then takes off.
Gotta hand it to her, leaving two bikers alone in her clubhouse is a test of loyalty. Not that we’d ever do anything or mess the place up, I’m a neat freak as it is, being a Beret for all those years. Some habits just don’t die hard.
“Nice place,” Sawyer says, looking around. “Bet these walls have some stories to tell.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Not sure that the Stilettos are wild party animals, judgin’ by how clean everything is.”
“Chicks tend to be way more clean,” Sawyer states.
“I guess.”
“Except you, Mister germaphobe.”
He’s not wrong. I’m not that extreme, but I like things the way I like them. Things have to be neat and tidy and clean. To shower here? I’d have to make sure the shower is clean, or I won’t be going near it.
“She’s nice,” Sawyer goes on.
“Don’t even go there,” I warn. “Like seriously.”
“Didn’t she and Bane have a thing?” Bane Adler is the Prez of our ally club in Mississippi; Ridgehaven Hellions.
“That’s ancient history.”
“Like Haze and Willow?”
I shoot him a look. “You need a hobby, you’re way too invested in other people’s relationships.”
“Not really. I’m a pretty good matchmaker. Speakin’ of which, you hit Erica up for a date yet?”
Hearing her name out of his mouth makes my jaw tick. “She’s an employee, fuckface. Don’t know how many times I have to get that through your thick skull.”
“Your defenses are crumblin’, bro. Just sayin’.”
I ignore him because the last thing Sawyer needs is any kind of encouragement.
Erica was sweet last night, thanking me for the food.
At first I thought I fucked up. I don’t do nice.
But despite what some people think, I can be thoughtful on occasion.
I knew what a shitty day she’d had, and the panic that struck her when she thought she’d be late to get to school.
I don’t give a fuck she drove my truck, in fact, it’s kinda hot.
The sheer size of the thing dwarfed her.
She has curves in all the right places, but she’s not a tall woman; the exact opposite.
And I like that even more. I like that I could scoop her up in one arm with ease if I wanted.
That she’d be dominated by me if I crowded her space against the wall.
Fuck, what I’d give to see that fast, labored breath like I did the other day when we accidentally touched.
This woman has no clue what she does to me.
None. I’d go as far to say that she’s a little clueless.
Maybe I was a little harsh when I said I didn’t like her shorter haircut, but I was just being honest. A man needs something to hold when he’s going to town, and I personally like to wrap my hand around a ponytail… And now I’m fantasizing about her again.
Sawyer makes us a turkey sandwich with homemade cranberry sauce on rye bread that appears to be freshly baked.
I could seriously get used to this, but all it reminds me of is Erica bringing her baked goods to work.
She’s always spoiling us. If it isn’t pigs in a blanket, fresh jelly donuts and pastries that melt in your mouth, she’s reinventing cookies in all flavors.
Then there’s the sourdough. Erica does something to hers that I can’t put my finger on. The texture is melt in your mouth soft…
“We gonna stay here tonight?” Sawyer asks, filling our glasses with a pitcher of water as we sit at the countertop facing the kitchen. It’s kinda weird being in another clubhouse where there’s no activity.
“I think we should head out. Could check out that lead you got about Shreveport on the way home.”
“Could be an idea, plenty of activity in the past. Big Papa has his ear to the ground, but swingin’ by couldn’t hurt. Plus, one of the assholes who was involved in Valencia’s murder was from Shreveport, so it’s a place of interest I always have my eye on.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
The good thing about Sawyer — as annoying as he can be — is he always goes along with the plan. He can take orders. He’ll do what has to be done; and usually it’s some crazy scheme that one or both of us cooked up.
“You don’t make a bad sandwich,” I add. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”
“It’s not as good as Erica’s bread.”
“Shut the fuck up and eat.”