CHAPTER TWO
– NORIE –
Woopsie. No wonder Uncle Swade said to call first before swinging by next time.
The only thing keeping me from freaking out is the fact these guys are wearing the same thingies as Uncle Swade.
Cuts. He calls them cuts. Though, Swade, and most of the others wear leather ones.
The menacing man in front of me? He’s wearing one made from the same denim as his pants.
I’ve known Swade all my life. I call him my uncle, but he isn’t really, not by blood anyway.
The reason why I call him Uncle Swade is due to my mother.
She was his housekeeper until she died. How did she die?
Classic case of being in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
I was two months away from my sixteenth birthday when it happened.
Long story short, Uncle Swade helped me petition the court to seek emancipation.
He offered me a stable living situation along with a contract as a housekeeper to show I had a steady income.
I owe him. If it wasn’t for Uncle Swade I would have been thrown into the system or on the street, who knows?
Anyway, I owe the man and he’s the reason why I was able to get my life on track. He might not be connected to me by blood, but I consider him the only family I have left. It’s why I always swing by every now and then to help him check the books.
His wife, Lace, is a bitch and messes with his company to steal from him. I have a key to this place, and every few months at random I go through the books and call Uncle Swade the next day if something’s wrong.
Something is definitely wrong now.
Slowly, I take out my lollipop and lie, “Uncle Swade lets me use his computer if I need to do homework.”
I could totally still be in college, even if I’m twenty-eight.
“Homework.” The hot bearded dude with nice hair raises an eyebrow and takes a menacing step forward. “Try again. This time give me the truth. If not your pink shit will become the same color as that lollipop you’re sucking on.”
Fuckety-fuck. My lollipop is red, crimson, the color of blood, he oh so obviously hinted at.
I lick my sticky lips, glance at my lollipop, and act as if I have no clue what he’s talking about. “It’s strawberry flavor. I don’t like pink lollipops, they taste funny. I have more lollipops, would you like one?”
My offer is definitely one I won’t be repeating when the hot guy suddenly points a gun in my face.
“Norie.” The hot guy’s voice is a rumble as he cocks his gun. “I was told not to trust you when you start to talk like an airhead.”
I huff in frustration and point the lollipop in the direction of the patch on his denim cut. “Great. Let me guess, Uncle Swade warned you.”
“Norie, behave,” Uncle Swade yells from the stairway.
Rolling my eyes, I mutter, “Speak of the devil.”
“Sorry, Prez,” Uncle Swade huffs, completely out of breath. “I told her to call the next time she came by. Clearly, she didn’t. My bad, though. I should have called her myself to explain it wasn’t necessary to check the books anymore, but she swings by randomly and I totally forgot.”
“She checks the books?” the hot guy grits, gun still aimed at my freaking head I might add.
Uncle Swade steps between us and holds his hands palm up. “Prez, I can explain. Put the gun down. Norie is harmless, I swear.”
Harmless? Hardly. I snort. Hot guy’s eyes collide with mine. Shit.
I shrug and grumble, “No one is completely harmless. Even serial killers are nice neighbors until the cops show up and find bodies buried in the basement, or in your patio foundation he helped build.”
“Not helping, Norie,” Uncle Swade hisses.
Huffing in frustration, I point out the obvious, “I wasn’t trying to help, Uncle Swade.
Hot guy with the gun is annoying. Oh, wait, now I get it.
They are the new silent partners who bought Bitchy Bitch’s share of the company for a scratch.
Wow, smart thinking. How did you get Bitchy Bitch to sign off on that? ”
More guns are now cocked and aimed at my head.
“Thanks for the visual. I get it now ’cause I’m about to ask what dotted line you’d like me to sign,” I mutter, and get the general idea how they got Bitchy Bitch, also known as Lace, her share.
Choosing the safest option, I shove my lollipop back in my mouth and plant my ass on the chair.
“Put your headphones back on and play loud music, Norie,” Uncle Swade orders.
I do as he says and keep my eyes locked with the hot guy. They all put their guns away. I could easily pretend to have music on and listen in but decide to trust Uncle Swade and turn the volume up.
Hot guy finally tears his gaze away from me and I reach for my lollipop to chew on the candy out of frustration. When I’m done, I throw the stick into the garbage can. I pull a new one from my skirt pocket and pull off the wrapper to throw it away.
I feel someone watching me, and when I look up, I notice the hot guy is giving me his full attention. Narrowing my eyes, I flip him off and shove the lollipop into my mouth. He might be hot, but he blew his chance to get a piece of candy from me.
Leaning back in my chair, I throw my feet up onto the desk and close my eyes to enjoy the music blasting through my headphones.
It doesn’t last long, though. A small tap on my shoulder makes me flutter my lashes and I notice Uncle Swade standing next to me.
Turning the music off, I pull the headphones down and give him my attention.
Uncle Sway looks as if he’s sorry.
For what? I have no clue until he says, “I hope you don’t have something planned the upcoming few weeks, kiddo.”
I swing my boots off the table and jolt to my feet. “Why? What’s going on?”
“We have some more books for you to check.” Hot guy is the one who answers with a creepy smirk on his face.
This time I’m the one saying, “Try again. This time give me the truth.”
He places his hands on his hips and throws me a glare. “You’re coming with me. I don’t know you and you just stuck your nose in business shit that doesn’t belong to you.”
“With you specifically?” I wonder. “Or is it a line to get me to come willingly so you don’t need to off me right here and clean up all the blood and carry my fat ass down the stairs?”
Laughter fills the room. Only Uncle Swade and hot guy are quiet and not even wearing a smile. I purse my lips. It sure doesn’t look good for me.
“Fine,” I huff and snatch my large bag off the floor. “I don’t have a new job lined up and just wrapped up a ten-week cruise. I’d be happy to accept your hospitality.”
“Heart, finish up here,” hot guy states and places a hand on my elbow. “Swade, lock everything up in the office. Church tomorrow morning.”
I’m guided out of the room and down the stairs. Once outside of the building he comes to a stop next to a motorcycle.
“Give me your bag,” he orders.
Taking off my headphones, I shove them into my bag and hand it over. He places it in one of his saddlebags and hands me a helmet.
There goes my hair. I fumble with the strap while he straddles the bike and it’s then I realize I’m about to get on behind him and have no clue what his name is.
“What do others call you besides Prez?” I wonder.
“Fatal,” he rumbles and fires up the bike.
A good thing too because it mutes my, “Like a heart attack,” reply. Who the hell is called Fatal? It’s probably a biker thing, right? Definitely not his real name.
“Get on, and hold tight,” Fatal barks over the rumble of the bike.
The only reason I follow his instructions is because I trust Uncle Swade.
Like I mentioned, if it wasn’t for that man I would have had a different past and future.
Besides, if Fatal wanted me dead I’d have a bullet in my head already.
He pulled and cocked the gun before he aimed it straight at my head.
The look in his eyes was enough for me to know he’d have no issues with pulling the trigger.
People who pull a gun rarely do. Though, the determination and utter control I saw in all the tiny facial details and his posture?
Yeah, this man has killed more than once and is as cool as a cucumber in the middle of havoc.
I have no clue where I should keep my legs. Suddenly I remember reading how you can burn your leg on the exhaust pipe. Just to be safe, I decide to cling to him like a baby monkey on the back of his momma.
A muted, “What the actual fuck,” is thrown into the wind, but the bike surges forward the next instant.
Holy fuck it’s cold. The wind slaps my skirt up high and I can feel the draft cooling my pussy.
Shit. I’m going to be royally pissed if I get sick.
I hate being sick. Seriously, I turn into a whiny mess of a female if I do.
Crying is a huge part of feeling sorry for myself, and I hate snot.
Plenty of related, non-existing drama flows through my head until the bike finally comes to a stop in front of a gate. Fatal places his feet on the ground and waits for the gate to open before we’re surging forward again.
This time he comes to a stop near a row of bikes and grunts, “Get off.”
Which makes me automatically reply, “Get off? Nope. I’m sure that won’t be happening any time soon because my pussy is freaking frozen to death.”
The asshole barks out a laugh.
“It wasn’t meant to be funny,” I grumble and barely manage to un-cling myself from him and get off the bike without faceplanting into the dirt.