Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
SAMMIE
I listen at the door with every fiber of my body—my spine rigid, my heart pounding.
When his fist bangs the door, I gasp, then my heart leaps hard against my ribs.
I keep my eyes riveted on the door, praying with everything in my soul that Deuce doesn’t just boot the flimsy splintered wood because if he came back, it would be all over.
No way could I resist him again, and then everything would fall to shit.
We’d have crazy, out-of-control, sheet-ripping sex, then, when he demanded to know the truth, I’d be too weak to resist him. A truth I wasn’t about to divulge, least of all to an outlaw biker with the same code and mentality as the guy who got me into this mess.
After a long few seconds, his boots crunch over the pitted lot and fade away, then there’s the rev and throttle of his Harley.
I run to the slatted wood over the front window just in time to see him wheel out of the lot.
My breath catches in a way it shouldn’t, and I curse myself for my moment of weakness.
The way he handled Viper impressed me in a way I hadn’t expected. Not since my mother died had I felt protected, and even then, she’d been so sick, I ended up being her advocate, her main source of support.
Deuce’s presence exuded authority and control that came from within.
I sensed it immediately, and Viper definitely got the message.
No false bravado, no fronting. Deuce was the real deal, which made him impossible to resist. All the past men in my life, from my father, to my traitorous boyfriend, Bullet, never had my back.
Yet, a man who didn’t even know my name came to my rescue and, yes, dumb move to have sex with this outlaw, but being constantly strong is exhausting.
I’d realized my mistake too late, but hopefully, I’d hurt his male pride, and he wouldn’t be back. I knew men like him all too well, and they didn’t like to be told no. They also didn’t like their ego damaged. I’d pray he’d tell himself I was a bitch not worth his time, and in a way, he’d be right.
When I’m sure Deuce is gone and not coming back, I move away from the window and busy myself cleaning up the broken glass from our .
. . sex? Such a bland word for what I experienced.
I try to lose myself in the mechanical chore of sweeping, but my mind won’t let me rest or make sense out of what just happened.
Then I congratulate myself on not telling him my name.
Which makes today’s incredible stupidity all the more dangerous.
My life and my secrets have to be kept under wraps.
My not selling The End has nothing to do with pride or sentiment, and everything to do with my survival.
Finding the flash drive my father hid in this dump would give me leverage against Viper.
Concealing the information and using it as a tool to keep him in his place.
Until then, I’m a prisoner, and The End is my jail in more ways than one.
DEUCE
My head pounded from all the bourbon I slugged earlier, then that headache joined my sex hangover. The fact I didn’t get a second go with my mystery woman had my dick throbbing along with my head. Bottom line, I felt like absolute shit.
“Here.” Maggie shoves four Advil and a bottle of beer in front of me.
“Thanks.” I wash them down with the beer and hope for the best.
“I still don’t understand how you think this plan of yours will work.” She joins me at her kitchen table and uncaps her own beer.
“I take my tools out of your garage, then drive your pickup over to Home Depot, and buy the shit I need to start fixing up The End.”
“Without her selling you the place?”
“Once we get the place fixed up, she’s not gonna have a choice unless she wants to share her space with a bunch of rowdy bikers.” I put the beer bottle to my lips. “She’s gonna have two choices. Don’t sell to us, and we take over for free, or sell it to us and walk away with a profit.”
“What if she calls the cops for trespassing or some shit, and they haul your ass back to jail?”
“Not gonna happen.” I shake my head. “She’s hiding something for sure. I don’t know what, but that bitch is definitely hiding something. Plus, when I got there earlier, Viper was there giving her shit. So, if she knows Viper, she’s no innocent and definitely not gonna involve any cops.”
“Viper?” Maggie’s eyes widen. “What the hell was he doin’ there?”
“The Dogs are trying to stir shit up, and her and him were fighting about her selling the club to him.”
“And that’s when you stepped in?”
“Yeah, I was pissed about that, but when he put hands on her, I stepped up and threw his ass out.”
“And then you screwed her.” Maggie ends with an annoying smirk.
“What?” Maybe I can play this off.
“You gonna tell me you played knight in shining armor without getting her to ride your dick?”
“First of all, I’m no knight in shining armor, and secondly, the woman is the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever met. She’s ballsy and annoying, and for some reason, she won’t tell me her name.”
“So, from now on, you’re gonna stick to the strippers at the Royal Flush?” Maggie shrugs. “They’re probably better in the sack anyway.”
“Fuck no, are you kidding? Those used-up cunts at the Royal Flush are fine for wilding out, but the chick at The End had my dick on fire. The way she—”
“Didn’t screw her, huh?”
“Shit!” I push my beer aside and lean into the table. “But that’s between you and me. I ain’t telling the brothers. Fuck, they’d have my ass in a sling if they ever found out after what happened five years ago.”
“Don’t worry,” Maggie laughs, “your secret’s safe with me.”
I knew I could trust Maggie. She’d held way bigger secrets for me and Storm. Me screwing some random snatch was hardly big news. Except I didn’t want to lose the shaky trust I recently developed with my brothers. Even if I wasn’t sure my nameless beauty fell into the random category.
“How’d you figure it out?” Women’s intuition baffles me constantly.
“Whenever a man calls a woman a bitchy pain in the ass, I know. It’s like you all have to justify feeling something, so you do that deflecting thing.”
“You listening to Dr. Phil again?”
“Don’t need no Dr. Phil to figure out the workings of a man. You’re all easy as shit when it comes to a woman.
“You think all women feel that way?”
“If they even have half a brain, they can figure out the workings of a man.”
My brunette beauty has way more than half a brain, so maybe her coming on to me was part of some deep, dark plan. Then my shaky brain spirals. Maybe the fight between her and Viper was fake. A way to reel me in. Come to think of it, Viper backed down quicker than I expected.
Maggie points her beer bottle at me. “I don’t like that look.”
“Just sorting shit out.”
“Make sure you sort it out without landing your ass back in lock-up.”
“Don’t worry, I got it all under control.”
Maggie shakes her head. “I really wish you hadn’t said that.”
“Here’s to the Kings, and keeping my ass outta the joint.” I clink my bottle against hers. “Still gotta connect with Scratch and Fist. I picked up some useful carpentry skills the last five years, but when it comes to electrical and plumbing, I’m gonna need their input.”
“Good luck. Scratch spends most of his time at the craps tables at the Ocean Casino, and Fist’s working the valet at the Hard Rock.”
“That sounds pretty calm.”
“Sure, except Scratch is blacklisted from most of the casinos for counting cards, which is why he’s spending his time at a dump like the Ocean, and Fist has worked as a valet at almost every casino in AC over the last five years—and been fired from almost every casino in AC.
Seems he has this habit of hijacking high-end cars for a joyride while the owners are losing money at the tables. ”
“Same old Fist.”
“Normally, no one would know, but the stupid fucker sometimes doesn’t return them for a few days.”
“Fuckin’ Fist, he was a wilder ass than me.”
“Which is a huge plus in the outlaw world,” Maggie adds. “Not so much with civilians.”
I finish off my beer, and miraculously, my headache and my dick have stopped pounding. I push away from the table and pitch my bottle into the recycling bin.
“Might as well get this plan of mine going.”
“Good luck.” Maggie tosses me the keys to her pickup, and I head out to the garage.
After making a mental inventory of everything I’ll need, I head to Home Depot. A half hour later, I corral a flatbed with two-by-fours, assorted tools and cleaning supplies up to the register. I unload the smaller shit onto the checkout counter, dig my hand into my jeans for my money and freeze.
“Scratch?”
“Deuce?” Scratch stands across the counter in the orange apron with Donald, his legal name, written across the top.
“What the fuck? You’re working here?”
He spreads his arms wide, and I laugh.
“What the hell?”
“Got a little behind with my bills.”
I lean over the counter. “In other words, your bookie is up your ass.”
“The bastard’s so fuckin’ impatient.” He shrugs. “I heard you were out.” He waves his hand over the tools and two-by-fours. “What’s all this? You starting up a construction company?”
“No, wiseass.” I cock my head. “I was gonna look you up later.” I jerk my chin at his lame apron. “Looks like I’m too late.”
He points to a star pinned to his apron. “Last month I was employee of the week.”
“Shit,” I hiss. “Fuckin’ Speed was delivering pizzas, and you’re a checker at Home Depot.”
“Time’s been tough the last five years.” Scratch begins ringing up my order.
“So I heard.” I hadn’t realized how tough. “I’m getting the Kings back together.”
“How’s that working out?”
I glance from Scratch to the register. “What the hell are you doin’?”
“I’m giving my prez a discount.”
“Discount?” He’s ringing a zero balance for every item. “Discounts like this will get your ass fired.”
Scratch continues to ring up my items for free, packs the smaller things in a sack, then unties his apron, pulls it over his head and walks around the counter. “Let’s go.”
I push the flatbed toward the exit, and Scratch balls up his apron.
“Where you going?” the manager by the door asks.
Scratch pitches the apron at the manager. “On a permanent break, asshole.”
I laugh my ass off all the way to Maggie’s pickup. “That was un-fuckin-believable.”
“Let’s get this shit loaded before they realize I just shorted them over five hundred bucks.” Scratch lifts the two-by-fours. “Then let’s get the Kings riding again.”
We barrel out of the parking lot, and Scratch bangs his fists on the dashboard. “This is the most fun I’ve had in a long fuckin’ time.”
“That’s pathetic on so many levels.” I shoot Scratch a look. “How long you been working there?”
“A little over a year.” He shrugs. “Fuckin’ customers are assholes, and the boss sucks, but it gives me enough to keep my bookie from breaking my legs.”
“Nobody’s gonna break my treasurer’s legs.” I offer him my fist, and he returns the gesture.
“What’s the plan?”
“Funny you should ask…”