Chapter 4 - Dice
"Not humanity." I hold her gaze steadily. "Just you."
I didn't mean to say it out loud, but there's something about Maddie that bypasses my usual filters.
She looks away first, focusing on her coffee. "You don't know me well enough for that kind of faith."
"Maybe not." I stand and clear our plates. "But James does, and that's good enough for me."
She makes a noncommittal sound and changes the subject. "What time will you be back?"
"Around six, unless something comes up at the clubhouse." I rinse the dishes, conscious of her watching me. "Feel free to use whatever while I'm gone. TV, shower, whatever."
"Thanks." She sips her coffee, looking annoyingly gorgeous in her sleep shorts and hoodie, hair tousled from sleep. It's entirely unfair.
I force my gaze away, reminding myself firmly: brother's best friend. Off-limits. Forbidden territory. James would kick my ass six ways to Sunday if he even knew I was noticing how her sleep shorts ride up her thighs or how her hair falls across her shoulders.
I head to my bedroom to change, grateful for the moment alone to get my head straight. What the hell am I doing? Twenty-four hours ago, I'd never met Maddie Brooks. Now she's in my apartment, wearing practically nothing, and I'm cooking her breakfast like we're playing house.
Ghost would have a field day with this.
When I emerge in my work clothes—jeans, boots, and my prospect cut—she's still at the kitchen table, scrolling through her phone.
"Here," I say, placing a spare key on the table. "In case you want to come back. No pressure either way."
She picks it up, turning it over in her fingers. "Thanks."
"Just don't make copies and sell them to my enemies," I joke.
"That would be more lucrative than stealing your stuff," she counters with that wicked smile.
I grab my helmet from the hook by the door. "I've gotta run. Lock up if you leave?"
"Sure." She stands and follows me to the door. "Dice?"
"Yeah?"
She hesitates, something unreadable flickering across her face. "Thanks. For letting me stay. For breakfast."
"Anytime." I mean it more than I should.
The ride to the clubhouse clears my head somewhat. The morning is crisp, the roads empty, and I push the Dyna faster than necessary, letting the wind blast away thoughts of Maddie's legs and that damn smile. She's James's friend. Off-limits. Forbidden. I repeat it like a mantra.
By the time I pull into the clubhouse parking lot, I've almost convinced myself I can keep things strictly platonic. She's James's best friend. She might be sticking around Pine Haven. We can be friends. Just friends.
Wilder's already at the bar, setting up for the day. He nods when I walk in.
"Morning, prospect," he says, stocking glasses behind the bar. "Thought Knight was on today."
"Switched shifts. He's helping Reaper with some supply run or some shit."
Wilder nods, then gives me a once-over. "You look like hell. Late night?"
"Not really." I grab a clean bar towel. "Just didn't sleep great."
"That have anything to do with James's friend? Ghost said you took her home."
Word travels fast in the MC. "It's not like that. She needed a place to crash."
"Uh-huh." Wilder's skepticism is clear. "And you, being the gentleman you are, offered your spare room out of the goodness of your heart."
"Fuck off." I start wiping down tables. "She's practically family."
"If you say so." He continues stocking the bar. "But family or not, be careful. Ghost says she gives off serious trouble vibes."
I can't exactly argue with that assessment. Everything about Maddie screams danger, from her sly smile to the calculating look in her eyes when she thinks no one's watching. But it's not the kind of danger I'm afraid of.
The morning passes quickly with prep work and a delivery of beer kegs that need changing. Around noon, my phone buzzes with a text from Maddie.
*How do you feel about someone going through your underwear drawer? Asking for a friend.*
I nearly drop the glass I'm holding.
*Depends on who's asking.*
Three dots appear, disappear, then reappear.
*Just cataloging your assets. You know, for insurance purposes.*
I grin despite myself.
*Find anything worth stealing?*
*Just blackmail material. Nice Batman boxers, by the way.*
Jesus Christ. I'm about to type a reply when the clubhouse door opens and Ghost walks in. I quickly pocket my phone, but not before he notices my expression.
"What's got you looking like that?" he asks.
"Nothing."
He raises an eyebrow but doesn't press. "Need you to make a run to the warehouse after your shift. Reaper wants those parts inventoried by tonight."
"No problem." I start restocking napkins. "Everything okay?"
Ghost's expression tightens slightly. "Just some chatter about a new crew trying to move in. Probably nothing, but Reaper wants us ready."
"Vultures coming back?" I ask, surprised. We'd driven them out six months ago in a confrontation that left their leadership decimated.
"Nah, Vultures are history. This is someone new." Ghost heads toward the back office, then pauses. "By the way, your brother's friend..."
Here we go. "What about her?"
"Reaper ran her name. Came back clean."
I frown. "You ran a background check on her?"
"Standard procedure for strangers hanging around the clubhouse," Ghost says, unapologetic. "Especially ones with connections to ex-cons."
"And?"
"Like I said, clean. Too clean, maybe."
That catches my attention. "What does that mean?"
Ghost shrugs. "People leave traces, prospect. Parking tickets, credit reports, rental history. Your girl's got nothing but a driver's license from Nevada and a credit card that's only been active for three years."
"She's not my girl," I say, perhaps too defensively. "And maybe she's just careful with her info."
"Maybe." Ghost doesn't sound convinced. "Just keep your eyes open."
After he leaves, I pull out my phone again.
*Ghost says Reaper ran your background. Came back suspiciously clean.*
The response is immediate.
*Nothing suspicious about good habits. Some of us prefer not to leave digital breadcrumbs.*
I want to ask more questions, but the lunch crowd starts filing in, and I have to get back to work. The rest of the afternoon is busy enough that I don't have time to dwell on Maddie's cryptic messages or Ghost's warnings.
By the time I finish at the clubhouse and make the run to the warehouse, it's after seven. The inventory takes longer than expected. We've got parts for at least a dozen bikes in various states of "legitimacy", and it's nearly nine when I finally head home.
I'm not sure what to expect when I pull into my apartment complex. Part of me thinks Maddie will be long gone, off exploring Pine Haven or maybe even checked into that roach motel after all. Another part hopes she's still there, maybe waiting with some takeout and more of that razor-sharp banter.
But when I unlock the door, the apartment is dark and empty.
"Maddie?" I call out, flipping on lights as I go. No answer.
I check the spare room. Her overnight bag is gone, bed neatly made. She's left, then.
I shouldn't be disappointed. This is better, really. Safer. Simpler. No temptation, no complicated feelings, no risking my relationship with James.
So why does my chest feel tight?
I grab a beer from the fridge and flop onto the couch, turning on the TV without really seeing what's playing. I'm halfway through the beer when my phone buzzes with a text.
*Need your help. Town outskirts, old Miller Road. Come alone.*
It's from Maddie, followed by a dropped pin on a map. The location is about fifteen minutes outside town, in a wooded area with nothing but an abandoned paper mill nearby.
I stare at the message, unease crawling up my spine. Why would she be out there? And why does she need help?
I hit call, but it goes straight to voicemail.
I try again. Same result.
"Fuck." I grab my keys and cut, heading for the door.
The smart thing would be to call Ghost or Blade, let them know what's happening. But the message said to come alone, and something tells me Maddie had a reason for that.
The ride out to Miller Road takes longer than it should, the darkness and my own mounting anxiety stretching the minutes. What if she's hurt? What if she's in trouble with the law and I'm riding straight into a trap?
The abandoned mill looms ahead, a hulking shadow against the night sky. I kill my headlight and coast the last hundred yards, parking behind a cluster of trees. Better to approach cautiously until I know what I'm dealing with.
The area is quiet. Too quiet. No cars in sight, no lights, nothing to indicate anyone's here at all.
I pull out my phone and text: *I'm here. Where are you?*
No response.
A twig snaps to my left, and I whirl around, hand instinctively reaching for the knife at my belt.
"Little jumpy, aren't we?" Maddie steps out from behind a tree, looking perfectly unharmed. No signs of distress, no visible injuries. She's wearing black jeans and a dark jacket, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.
"What the hell, Maddie?" Relief and anger war for dominance. "I thought you were in trouble."
"Did I say I was in trouble?" She approaches slowly, something calculated in her movements. "I said I needed help. Different thing entirely."
"Help with what?" I look around the deserted area. "What are we doing out here?"
"Waiting." She checks her watch. "For about ten more minutes, if my intel is correct."
"Waiting for what?" Frustration builds. "Stop with the cryptic shit and tell me what's going on."
She studies me for a long moment, like she's making a decision. "I'm working a job. I could use an extra pair of hands."
"A job." I repeat the words flatly. "What kind of job requires meeting in the middle of nowhere at night?"
"The kind that pays very well." She pulls a small case from her pocket and removes what looks like a wireless earpiece. "Here. So we can communicate if we get separated."
I don't take it. "I'm not doing anything until you tell me what's happening."
She sighs. "Fine. Short version: A valuable package is being moved through Pine Haven tonight. I've been hired to intercept it. Simple grab and go, no one gets hurt."
"You're talking about stealing something."
"I prefer 'strategic asset redistribution.'" Her smile is quick and sharp. "Look, it's a cargo of luxury watches being moved without proper documentation. Insurance will cover the loss, and no one will look too hard because the whole shipment is off the books anyway."
"And you want me to help you steal it."
"I want you to be my lookout." She holds up the earpiece again. "That's all. You don't have to touch anything."
"This is insane." I rake a hand through my hair. "You set me up. Made me think you were in danger so I'd come running."
"Would you have come if I'd told you the truth?"
"Of course not!"
"Exactly." She doesn't look remotely apologetic. "But you're here now, and in about eight minutes, so is the truck. So, what's it going to be? Are you in or out?"
I should walk away. Get on my bike and ride straight back to the clubhouse, tell Reaper everything. That would be the smart play, the safe play.
But I've never been good at smart or safe.
"What exactly would I have to do?" I hear myself ask.
Her smile is triumphant. "Just keep watch. Signal me if anyone approaches. The driver will take a bathroom break at the old gas station two miles up. I'll have about three minutes to get in the truck, locate the package, and get out."
"And that's it? No one gets hurt?"
"Scout's honor." She raises three fingers in a mock salute.
"Were you even a scout?"
"God no. But the sentiment stands." She holds out the earpiece again. "So? Are you gambling with me tonight, Dice?"
There it is again, that uncanny ability to see right through me. She knows exactly what buttons to push, what words to use to get me on board.
I should say no. I'm a prospect for the Outlaw Order. I can't risk my standing in the club for some crazy heist with a woman I barely know.
But then she smiles that wicked smile, and I'm reaching for the earpiece before I can stop myself.
"If this goes south," I warn, "I was never here."
"Deal." She checks her watch again. "Now, let me explain exactly how this is going to work..."
As I listen to her outline the plan—precise, methodical, and clearly well-researched—I'm struck by the realization that James wasn't exaggerating about her. If anything, he might have undersold just how dangerous Maddie Brooks really is.
And as I follow her deeper into the woods, positioning myself at the vantage point she's selected, I can't help but wonder if this is what freedom feels like: making the wrong choice for all the right reasons.
Or maybe it's just the gamble I've been waiting for all along.