Chapter 8
Ace
Naomi is full of surprises. Just when I think I have her figured out, she does the total opposite of what I expected.
Watching her ride is a beautiful thing. I figured she’d be competent, but a weekend rider, someone who drives a bike for convenience, or perhaps to make a statement.
She is neither of those. She rides like the bike is an extension of her body, like she could ride all day with no destination in mind, just for the joy of it.
She rides like me, and I respect that enormously.
For a while, I forget where we’re going and why we’re headed there.
I forget everything but Naomi and the open road.
I feel a stirring in my groin as I look at her pert ass in those tight leather pants, her thighs gripping the seat as she leans forward, moving as one with her motorcycle.
Snap out of it, I scold myself. You’re the one who said Naomi is off-limits, so start acting like it.
We eventually reach an abandoned mill, obscured from view from the road, hidden by trees.
Riding slowly on the rough ground, we head down a long dirt track, the mill growing larger as we near.
We kill our engines, and heavy silence envelops us.
Faintly, in the distance, there’s the steady sound of traffic on the highway.
A crow squawks at us, offended by our intrusion.
“This way,” Naomi says, her boots crunching on the gravel as she strides with purpose toward the mill.
I take a couple of longer strides to catch up, falling into step beside her. “Where’d you learn to ride like that?”
Naomi’s gaze darts to me before returning to the ground. “Why, are you surprised that a woman can ride?”
“Not at all.”
Is that really the impression I’ve given her? That I’m some sexist asshole who thinks women can’t ride motorcycles?
Naomi again gives me that measured look, as if she’s still trying to figure me out. “My dad started to teach me just before he died. Afterward, it felt like a way to keep him close, to remember him by. Eli taught me what he knew, and the rest I just kinda figured out on my own.”
“Impressive.”
Naomi studies me, as if she thinks I might be joking.
After determining I’m serious, she inclines her head in acknowledgment.
“The bike was my dad’s,” she volunteers.
“He had a few, but Eli sold them all.” She doesn’t need to say why.
“I know it’s probably too big for me, but I like it.
It sounds dumb, but I feel like my Indian is an extension of me at this point.
” She says this as if she’s used to people judging her or commenting on her and the bike.
“It doesn’t sound dumb at all. I feel the same about my Harley. For what it’s worth, I think the Indian is the perfect bike for you,” I offer—an olive branch of sorts.
She narrows her eyes, still skeptical of me. “So do I.”
We reach a door with a padlock and chain and she turns back and says, “I’m afraid it’s going to be a tight squeeze for you guys to get inside,” She pushes it to its limit to reveal a small gap big enough for her to squeeze through.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Cash says, echoing my thoughts.
“Naomi, there’s no way any of us is small enough to fit in that gap.” I silently curse myself for not bringing anything to help us break in.
“I might be able to,” Gage offers hopefully, no doubt angling for some alone time with Naomi.
He’s the smallest of us, but at just under six feet, he’s not exactly small, and there’s no way his stocky build is fitting either.
I simply raise my eyebrows at him in response, wordlessly expressing my disbelief.
Naomi looks at us, as if only now realizing there’s no way we can get inside. “Shit,” she mutters, pacing. All of the windows are boarded up; there’s no other obvious way inside. “I guess I’ll just have to go get them alone.”
“No,” I snap, unsure why exactly I don’t want her going inside alone.
It’s not like there’s anywhere else she could go, but I still don’t like it.
It could be a trap. For all we know, there’s another exit, and she’s devised this elaborate plot to escape.
Either that or she comes back armed to the teeth to hold us at gunpoint.
Naomi seems sweet and genuine, but she’s a stranger that the guys found in the hands of the Rusted Scythes.
Her brother works for them, and for all we know, so does she.
“Come on, Prez, how else are we supposed to get the guns?” Gage asks. “We can trust Naomi,” he adds, no doubt sensing what I’m thinking. However, he’s compromised, given his obvious obsession with Naomi.
“Either we all go inside or none of us do,” I growl, stalking away from the door in search of another way in.
“There’s no other way in, trust me,” Naomi says, trotting behind.
“Forgive me if I want to see that for myself.” I eventually come across a side door that seems promising.
“It’s locked, I already tried it,” Naomi says.
The door is constructed from heavy wood. However, years of misuse and exposure to the elements have taken their toll, and the wood has started to rot. I examine the hinges, which have become rusted and bent. “We can break it down,” I state confidently.
“It’s solid wood, there’s no way,” Naomi replies, rapping her knuckles on the door to punctuate her point.
“Step back,” I reply, preparing to kick it down.
Naomi rolls her eyes, muttering, “Boys,” but she does as I ask.
My first attempt is unsuccessful. The door groans and splinters, but remains stubbornly intact. Undeterred, I glance back at Cash and Gage. “Little help, guys?” They eagerly step forward to help.
“On the count of three,” I say, looking to Gage and Cash, who nod. “One, two, three.” This time, the door’s hinges creak and finally collapse, the door falling to the ground in a cloud of dust with a dull thud.
Naomi looks begrudgingly impressed for a second before hiding it behind a mask of indifference. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she says, gesturing to the open doorway. Inside, the room is dark, obscuring what lies ahead.
“Ladies first,” I reply, still unwilling to risk walking into a trap.
Again, she does a frustrated eye roll to let me know exactly how stupid she thinks I am. “Fine. Follow me,” she says with a sigh, marching inside.
The door leads to a dark hallway, the only light coming through the chinks in the wooden boards on the windows.
Dust motes dance in the shafts of daylight as we disturb the dirt on the floor.
At the end of the corridor, there’s a second door.
Thankfully, this one isn’t locked. It leads into the mill’s main floor, where the large machines sit, gathering dust. From there, Naomi confidently strides toward the wooden staircase in the corner, stepping over the obstacles of splintered wood and cardboard boxes.
The stairs lead up to what I presume to be the office area. They’re rotting with age, a leak somewhere hastening their erosion. Naomi walks up them with practiced ease, knowing exactly where to step. As I place my foot on the first rung, the stairs creak in protest.
“Are you sure this thing can hold our weight?” I ask uncertainly.
Naomi shrugs. “Only one way to find out.”
With the challenge laid down, I can’t back out now without seeming cowardly. Determined, I follow, trying to use the same path Naomi took. I’m worried that the stairs will break, but they hold. Sensibly, Cash and Gage wait until I reach the top before they follow one at a time.
“What’s next?” Gage asks with a grin. “A giant boulder we have to outrun?”
Naomi’s laugh is free and natural; it fills the room as it echoes off the walls.
I feel a tinge of jealousy that the only reactions I seem to elicit from her are frustration and anger.
At the next door, she hesitates, seemingly reluctant for us to enter.
“I hid the weapons in here,” she says, but she makes no move to open the door.
“Well? What are we waiting for?” I ask. “Or is there actually some other pitfall we need to watch out for?” I half expect the room to be booby-trapped to keep out intruders, something I wouldn’t put past Naomi.
She shakes her head. “No. No, it’s fine.” She places a hand on the handle, biting her lip nervously before taking a deep breath and opening the door.
Inside, my breath is taken away by what I see, and I realize why Naomi was reluctant to open the door, to let us in, and share this sacred space. The walls are covered in elaborate, stunning murals, each one more beautiful than the last. It must have taken hours of work.
“These are yours?” Gage breathes in awe, stepping closer as he studies one wall.
Naomi shyly nods. “Yes,” she admits.
For the second time today, I’m floored by this woman. I didn’t expect to see this. It’s clear from Naomi’s discomfort that she never expected anyone else to see it either. I feel guilty and honored to get this glimpse of her world, a window into her soul.
“They’re amazing,” Gage says, giving voice to my feelings.
Cash strolls around, taking it in. “They really are good, Naomi. Do you do this professionally?”
Naomi flushes pink with pride. “No, this is just for me. For fun.”
“Well, you’ve got the talent to do it for money,” Cash remarks.
“Yep, I’m definitely getting you to design my next tattoo,” Gage says. I get the impression he’s referring back to some earlier conversation between them.
She tucks her hair behind her ear, looking at the floor. Bashfulness isn’t something I thought she possessed. “Thanks, guys.”
“Where are the weapons?” I ask gruffly, not wanting them to see how much her art has affected me, how deeply I’m touched by it as I gaze upon it.
I see the sting of rejection and hurt in Naomi’s eyes before she quickly replaces it with the neutral expression she seems to be adopting around me. She hates me. Well, so be it. I just need to keep her and my club alive and well. She doesn’t need to like me for that.
She doesn’t bother to reply to me. The only indication I have that I’ve offended her is the heavy clomp of her boots as she stomps over to where she’s hidden the guns.
She bends down and wrestles with the loose floorboards before she reveals the concealed space under the floor.
Inside is a wooden crate filled with weapons and ammo.
There’s even more here than what we intended to buy at the auction.
“Jackpot!” Cash breathes as he leans over the hole.