12. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
Reeve
When I walk out of the kitchen and into the fresh, salty air outside, I sigh, shaking my head in disappointment.
I practically just bit her head off for no good reason.
"You good, Reeve?" Slate shouts from the wonky wooden shed a few feet away. He's always hiding there, fixing our bikes.
I nod and tread lightly through the long grass, toward the metal doors buried into a mound of dirt off the side of the clubhouse.
Leaning over, I turn the numbers on the padlock until it unlocks, then I unloop it from the chain that's wrapped around the handles.
Once the chain is off, I swing open the doors, then pull my phone from my pocket, turn on my flashlight and let it illuminate the concrete stairs in front of me.
Walking down the steps, I find the switch on the wall and jab my thumb against it, waiting for the lights to flicker on. When they do, it casts the vast room in a dull light.
Workout equipment takes up the right side of the basement. Weights are scattered across the floor from where half the guys here don't know how to tidy up after themselves, and the left side is filled with boxes, all of which are filled with bottles of alcohol or cans of soda.
Moving to the boxes, I look for the bourbon Trix said she needed. Finding them, I take a couple bottles in each hand, place them into an empty box, then move back for the vodka.
Picking up three bottles of vodka, I take them over to the half empty box, when my eyes flick toward the shadowed part of the basement, hidden around the side of the steps.
Wooden crates are stacked as high as the ceiling with scraps of black tarp haphazardly thrown over them.
That's the exact reason I didn't want her coming down here.
I probably would've allowed it if we didn't store our drinks in the same place we store our guns, but I know we very rarely hide the crates well whenever we get a new shipment come in.
We've never had to be secretive about what's down here before, but for all we know, Trix could be the type of person to snoop around when she has the chance.
I know she'll learn exactly what we do here sooner or later, but I don't need her finding out just yet. Not until I know more about her and can figure out if we can trust her or not.
We've had moles try to infiltrate our organization in the past. They may have never been women before, but who knows what new tricks that dirty detective has up his sleeve this time.
The thought of her being here to try and get information about the club and what we do makes me feel nauseous.
And as the Enforcer of the Steel Devils, I'm the one who's dealt with the previous few people who tried to worm their way into the club with ill intentions.
If it turns out she is here for the wrong reasons, and I'm ordered to get rid of her, I'm not sure I'd be able to do it.
Not only is she a woman, but she's also my brother's best friend.
Plus, after two days of her in my vicinity, I feel an unwelcome sense of protectiveness over her.
Maybe it's because Liam said she's in trouble. Or it might be the way she acts around people—polite, but cautious, watching their every move like she's trying to decipher what their aim is.
I may still be suspicious of her and her motives, but I do believe I can trust she's here of her own accord, and not because someone else sent her.
"Are you going to stand down there all day, son? Or are you going to bring the drinks up so those two beautiful ladies behind the bar can serve us?"
Glancing up the stairs, I spot Mackie at the top, his meaty hands placed on his hips as he stares down at me with amusement.
Grumbling under my breath, I grab the box, heft it into my arms, then lift another box filled with beers for the fridge.
"Come down here and grab some sodas, you old bastard," I call out to him, not wanting to have to take a second trip myself.
Milo joins me in the booth, sliding in next to me with a tablet in his hands and a frown marring his face.
"You got a second? Or are you too busy watching the woman you claim not to be interested in?"
Rolling my eyes, I drag my eyes away from Trix, who's busy restocking the drinks.
"Seemed like that was a really hard chore for you," Milo grumbles, an irritating smirk on his face.
"Shut up and just tell me what you want."
Chuckling, he hands me the tablet and swipes his thumb across the screen.
"A new club wants to do business with us," he says, tapping the screen and highlighting the name of the club. "Ghost did some digging and gave them the green light."
Scanning the information, I nod.
"Vegas," I muse, glancing at him. "That's bound to be interesting."
"We'd have to keep a tight leash on everyone, that's for sure."
Sometimes when we're travelling, some of the guys let loose and take the time to enjoy themselves a little too much, so thinking about going to Vegas fills my stomach with dread.
Wherever we go, trouble seems to follow, and luckily for me, I'm the sucker that has to clean up everyone's messes.
"When do we go?"
He shrugs, taking the tablet back.
"Need to talk to Slate and Cruz to arrange everything, but with how many guns they want, I think we're gonna need the shit box you drive to transport it all under the radar."
Glaring at him, I shake my head.
"We'll hire a car. I'll be using the bike."
He frowns.
"Why?"
My eyes travel to Trix involuntarily, watching as she pours a drink for Chad, who's leaning on the bar, a little too close to her.
"Does it have something to do with the new bartender?"
I shrug, then stand up without giving him an answer.
When he doesn't move, I dig my knee into his leg, my eyes slicing over to him.
"Move," I grunt.
A satisfied grin takes over his face as he scoots across the leather bench.
"I hope you know your silence answers my question better than your words ever could."