28. Zoe
28
ZOE
“What’s your inventory looking like?” I ask.
“Decent,” Ozzie answers as we leave the club office. “We’ve got a better arsenal than most MC’s these days. I’ll let you check it out.”
“Who’s this and why was she in the back office?”
The moment Ozzie and I step out onto the bar floor of the Steel Saloon, a Black woman strides up to us with the same hostile energy that Mason had before storming out.
The rest of the barroom is full of old ladies—the wives and girlfriends of the bikers—and the bikers themselves drinking and engaged in conversation that bleeds together.
This woman that’s strode up to us is only a couple inches shorter than I am, with an hourglass figure that she emphasizes with hands on her waist. Honey-brown hair falls in layers around her face, her expression pinched in irritation. She’d be prettier if she smiled.
Immediately, I’m able to figure out who she is. While the Steel Kings are run by men like Silver and Mason, on the other side is the hierarchy of their wives and girlfriends. Something tells me they run their group like their partners.
But I’m not intimidated in the slightest, and I’m not about to apologize for my presence.
I regard her slowly, looking her up and down. “You might want to get out of my way.”
Her eyes flash with challenge. “Or else what?”
Before I can respond and tell her just what, Ozzie inserts himself between us like some sort of referee. “Syd, this is Zoe. She’s helping us out.”
Disbelief flickers across Sydney’s face before she releases a short, humorless laugh. “Unbelievable, Ozzie! You’re bringing the girls you fuck into club business now? This is not the time or place for you to bring your randoms here! No wonder Mace stormed out of the office pissed.”
Ozzie’s jaw tightens. “Syd, chill. That’s not what’s happening.”
“This random ,” I snap, “is a federal agent who has been investigating Asa Boone for years. A lot longer than you were probably even aware he was alive. I’m here to help.”
“Help? A fed here to help?” Sydney laughs, the sound cold and derisive. “Oh well, that makes it so much better! What a fucking relief. The feds are here to take Boone and Wheels down… and our club too.”
“That’s not what’s happening. You’re speaking on something you have no clue about?—”
“I know about this club. I know you’re not here with good intentions!”
“We need to calm down!”
It’s a third female voice belonging to a woman who gets up from the table where Sydney had been seated earlier. She has a short, cropped pixie cut with side bangs that swoop across her brow and the kind of easy, jeans-and-a-t-shirt style that tells me she’s probably a lot more relaxed than her friend Sydney.
She and another woman—this one I recognize as a very pregnant Teysha—join our conversation.
“Raising our voices and getting in each other’s faces does nothing,” says the woman with the pixie cut. She grabs at Sydney’s arm. “Especially not with Teysha here. She doesn’t need the stress.”
Teysha palms her swollen belly that her flowy maternity top covers. “Let’s all just have a seat and have some drinks—non-alcoholic for me obviously,” she adds with a small smile. “We can get to know Zoe.”
Sydney rolls her eyes at the other two women. “Korine, she’s a fucking FBI agent. The club can’t trust her.”
“An FBI agent on an indefinite leave of absence here of my own volition,” I point out. “The bureau has no clue I’m here and I have no intention of letting them know anything about what’s going on. This is between all of us.”
“You say that now, but how can we be sure?” Sydney asks, stepping closer. “If I get even the slightest whiff you’re playing us, I will make sure you regret ever coming here. And I don’t need a badge or government agency to hide behind.”
I meet her glare with a smirk and arch of my brow. “Do whatever you feel you need to do, Sydney. This is your domain to protect, isn’t it? Maybe you’ll come to see that we’re on the same side.”
The tension in the air is still lingering when Teysha yelps. Her hands fly to her belly, eyes widening in alarm. Clear liquid splashes onto the floor beneath our feet. It takes everyone a second longer to process what’s just happened.
“Your water broke?” Korine gasps.
Sydney rushes toward the pregnant mom-to-be. “Alright, we need to get you to the hospital! Korine, get her bag—it’s on the table over there. Ozzie, go get Logan. He needs to take her to the hospital.”
People around the bar take notice, the atmosphere shifting from tense to urgent, voices overlapping in a flurry of motion. Chairs scrape against the floor as club members rise to their feet. Ozzie does as Sydney asks and rushes off to the back office. Korine gathers Teysha’s things from the table where they’d been seated. Some of the other men offer to escort them to the hospital, like some kind of protective guard.
It’s like a switch has been flipped, and suddenly, the Steel Kings aren’t just a motorcycle club anymore. They’re a well-oiled machine of efficiency, instinctively falling into their roles.
Logan bursts through the office door seconds later, his gaze locking on Teysha as if the rest of the world no longer exists. “You okay, baby? What’s the matter?”
“Logan, it’s time,” Teysha murmurs. “The baby’s coming!”
“You think you can make the drive to the hospital?”
She nods and clutches at his arm. “Just don’t leave my side.”
Silver’s emerged from the back office along with Cash. He steps forward and issues some commands. “Why don’t you ladies go with them? Cash, Big Eddie, Bush, you too. Just in case you need the cover.”
“I’ll keep you updated,” Logan says.
There’s more commotion as everybody named moves toward the front door. Part of me is even tempted to go with them, despite the fact that I know almost nothing about these people. But I can tell how deeply they care for each other, and it makes me want to be a part of this tight-knit group.
A warm arm slides around my shoulders, breaking me from my thoughts. Ozzie’s noticed I’m lost in them. “You good, Special Agent?”
“Just surprised by how well everyone comes together.”
“This club’s like a family. Which makes me embarrassed I ever tried pushing it away.”
“You didn’t mean it. I’m sure they know that.”
“We do,” Silver says, overhearing our exchange. “We know you’ve been battling demons, Oz. We’ve all got them. You’re not alone… and neither are you.”
He’s speaking to me now, his dark blue gaze shifting to me.
My face warms up at the sudden inclusion, and for once, I come up short on words. Ozzie seems to sense this, squeezing me closer against his side.
“You and the others will come to see Zoe for who she is. She’s… really something.”
Silver’s phone buzzes, prompting him to pull it out of his back jean pocket and check the screen.
“The ex-wife?” Ozzie guesses. “Or the kiddos?”
“Neither. The Road Rebels. This is Rollins’s number.”
Ozzie and I glance at each other as Silver answers. We aren’t privy to the words being spoken, but reading Silver’s ever-shifting expression tells us it’s nothing good. He holds his phone to his ear as he takes a couple steps back and forth.
“You know what the bylaws state,” he growls. “If you do break them, there will be consequences.”
More listening.
He pauses to let Rollins say whatever he needs to say on the other end, then clenches his jaw.
“We need some assurances you’ll keep your word. Neutral turf. You and your rank only.”
The conversation goes on for several more seconds until Silver hangs up hardly looking pleased. Ozzie’s arm disappears from where he’s kept it swathed over my shoulders. He’s too focused on Silver, edging forward out of curiosity.
“What’s up? What’d he say?”
Silver sighs, scrubbing a hand across his jaw. “Wheels wants to meet. Our club and his to talk out how we’re going to cohabitate the county. He says it’s a peace offering. Negotiations like the clubs used to do.”
“Yeah, how many decades ago? There might’ve been peace in your and Cutty’s day, but after all the shit that’s happened? All they pulled just last year with Velma and his nephew? They can’t be trusted!”
“Nate Rollins is probably the last person on this earth that I trust. But talks with other clubs are part of our existence. We’ll meet up with them… with some backup in case things go south. Tomorrow night.”
The next twenty-four hours pass in a blur, a strange mixture of routine and unpredictability. I spend the night with Ozzie in his trailer, calling back to our time together in Vegas. We fall into an effortless routine, like we’ve done this a dozen times before.
Our time together is full of late-night passion and then conversation in the dark as we lay in bed, voices low and bodies relaxed. Moments ago, we were ravenous, devouring each other for the first time in months.
But that’s how it happens with us—we explode and then collide.
I thought we’d break Ozzie’s bed as he contorted my long limbs into different shapes and his dick sunk deep. I rode him to climax and then he ate me out like my juicy pussy was the finest delicacy.
We sucked on each other’s tongue and moaned at how good we tasted.
As we fade off to sleep, I realize this kind of natural chemistry is what’s always been missing from my relationships and short trysts. This kind of simple ease from the rest of my life.
He’s warm and solid, stretching like a lazy cat when he wakes up, mumbling something half intelligible about how he likes the morning view. His gaze is set on me as he says this, the sleepy smile he gives making me laugh in a bashful way.
We make breakfast together—Ozzie handling the eggs while I brew the coffee—and the domesticity of it is unexpectedly soothing. It’s a slow start to the day that I could get used to.
The rest of the morning into the afternoon is spent at the armory, cleaning, inspecting, and rationing weapons in preparation for tonight’s meeting with the Road Rebels. Once again, Ozzie and I slip into a partnership that flows, complementing each other as if by design.
He makes the most mundane tasks entertaining, cracking jokes while we disassemble and reassemble assault rifles in order to clean and inspect them, making me laugh even when I try to stay focused. He asks about my time as an FBI agent, wanting to hear my craziest stories, and I give in, recounting a stakeout gone wrong that ended with me dressed as a caterer just to get out of a high-end gala undetected by the drug cartel members in attendance. He tells me how impressive I am, shaking his head like he can’t believe the things I’ve done.
As night falls, the rest of the Kings filter in to collect their weapons and ammo, each one checking and loading up for what’s to come. Silver gathers everyone around and lays out the plan. He and a small group—Cash, Tito, and a few others—will head out first for the peace negotiations with Rollins and the Road Rebels. Mason and another group will be lurking in the wings, armed and ready in case things go sideways. If the Rebels decide to go back on their word, they won’t make it out without consequences.
The atmosphere is tense but purposeful. Everyone knows their role. One by one, the bikes roar to life, headlights cutting through the night as the group disappears down the road. The only ones left behind at the club are me, Ozzie, Mick, and a couple of others, including a man nicknamed Mudd and another with sheets of greasy hair known as Johnny Flanagan. With the club feeling strangely empty, Ozzie and I decide to take a break from the armory and head to the bar for drinks and something to eat.
I settle at the counter, watching as the club owner, Mick, polishes a glass with slow, methodical movements. He’s an older man, reminding me of a grandpa of sorts, with heavy white brows and kind eyes. He casts me a sideways look from behind the counter.
“So, Ozzie finally pulled a catch like you,” he says, whistling. “I never thought I’d see the day—and at my age, I’ve seen a hell of a lot of days.”
I chuckle, caught off guard, warmth creeping up my neck. “Oh… uh… that’s one way to describe it.”
“Don’t gotta say nothing, darling. I’ve been at this club long enough to know a match when I see one.”
“Are you a member yourself?”
“You kidding? This old man?” he laughs. “The only value I could provide is keeping the beer and liquor flowing, which is exactly what I do. Here’s your Texas tea.”
He slides a tall glass of pale brown liquid across the counter at me, complete with straw and lemon.
Before I can respond, Ozzie strides back from the bathroom, rubbing his hands together.
“What are you two talking about?”
The heat in my face intensifies, and I look down, suddenly very interested in my drink. “Nothing. Just getting to know each other.”
Mick only smirks, winking at me. “She’s right. Just a little chitchat with this fine young woman you’ve brought to our establishment.”
Ozzie looks caught between curiosity and amusement as he slides onto the stool next to mine.
“Let me find out you two are already plotting against me?—”
His voice is drowned out by the sudden eruption of gunfire. Bullets fill the air, shattering the windows and bottles behind the bar.
The club is under attack.