Chapter 67 Kiera
KIERA
On the ride over to Lucky Strike, I tried weaseling more information out of my angels, but they weren’t going to spill. Eventually, I gave up the chase, watching the Valemont streets grow grungier with each block we drove toward downtown.
Fine, be like that. I’ve already seen plenty. It’s only a matter of time before one of you slips, anyway.
From the little I’d seen, I already learned a lot. They were quite cozy with the DA and her kid for a bunch of delinquents. According to Kennedy, they had matching tattoos to prove it.
But between The Hollow and all the extra time I’d been spending in the shop, I would have remembered seeing Kennedy. And if they weren’t Violence…
Their connection must be through The Oracle.
I doubted Veronica Burns took open meetings with charged criminals. If they weren’t in any trouble, then it was pretty clear to me that the DA was helping them cover something up.
Or maybe they were the ones helping her.
Either possibility sent a chill down my spine. Clearly, I’d underestimated how powerful and well-connected these bikers were. Which would only make regaining my freedom that much harder.
As if my messy feelings for my angels won’t make that hard enough.
When we finally pulled up to Lucky Strike, the garage door was already open, as if the Romeo was expected. Leo pulled through, parking her baby in the back of the shop far away from anything that might ding the car.
But while she took her time getting the car perfectly situated, my eyes drifted out the tinted window to Dom. She’d beaten us to the shop by a few minutes and was hovering beside a mud-crusted car in the center of the shop.
Just like everything else in the shop, it was definitely a luxury car. But I could hardly tell what kind through the thick coating of grime splashed over the hood and sides. What little of the navy paint showed beneath the dirt looked scratched to shit, and there was a huge dent in the rear bumper.
“God,” I muttered. “Did they take that thing mud wrestling?”
Grasping the back of Leo’s headrest, Spencer turned back to me with a wink. “If you think that’s bad, you should see the other guy.”
Dom nodded along thoughtfully as Sam, one of Lucky Strike’s most tenured mechanics, pointed toward a pile of muddy seats in the corner. Presumably they’d been pulled from the wreck before we got here.
It was rare to see Dom unguarded like this. Running the shop, she seemed totally in her element. But the second Sam walked away, Dom’s gaze shifted to the back of the car, locking on me through the tinted windows.
There goes that fucking snarl.
As Leo killed the engine, I tried to steel myself before I swung the door open for Hurricane Dom.
It’s fine. She’s all bark…
But that thought was swiftly corrected with memories of being carried up the stairs and pinned over the kitchen counter.
Okay, mostly bark.
I sucked in a deep breath and stepped out of the car, refusing to cow to her bad temper. It was like she could smell the challenge, though. As soon as my feet touched the pavement, she curled one finger, beckoning me over with a lethal glare.
“How am I already in trouble?” I muttered.
Spencer shrugged while Leo shook her head. “Just go. We’re going to be right here watching.”
Comforted that my guardians didn’t plan on leaving me totally alone with the beast, I rolled my shoulders back and strode across the shop with as much confidence as I could muster. Dom didn’t bother waiting for me. She was already digging through a tall cabinet beside the muddied car.
I came to a stop just a few feet away from her, forcing my chin up. “You wanted to see me?”
“Want is a strong word.” Dom grumbled, letting a wet-vaccuum clatter to the ground a few inches from my feet.
It took all of my effort not to roll my eyes. I couldn’t stop her from making bitchy comments, but I could deny her the satisfaction of my reaction.
“Did you need something?” I did my best to keep my tone level.
Finally whipping around from the cabinet, Dom shoved something hard into my hands: a bucket with a bottle of cleaning solution and a small drill brush tucked inside. “It’s time for your first initiation task. Get to work.”
My head swiveled between her scowl and the poor excuse for a car that was dripping mud all over the shop floor. “Are you joking?”
She crossed her arms, the tense line of her muscle visible even under her dark tattoos. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
I had the urge to throw the bucket at her head, but I gripped the sides of it instead, my knuckles whitening as I imagined it was her beefy neck they were wrapped around.
“This is so fucking stupid. This has nothing to do with Violence.”
“What would you know about it?” Dom raised an eyebrow.
“I know I’ve never seen you doing something like this.” I spat back.
“I don’t know why you’re bitching. The seats are out, half the work is already done for you. Would you rather start from scratch?”
“Depends. Are you just going to sit on your ass while I do your dirty work? Does that make you feel tough?”
Her blue eyes iced over with a lethal edge.
“Someone has to watch to make sure you don’t fuck anything up.
So how about instead of worrying about what I’m doing, you worry about doing as your told for once in your fucking life.
I am in charge, whether you like it or not.
And I am telling you to get cleaning. Don’t make me repeat myself. ”
Throwing the bucket against the cement with a groan, I grabbed the hair tie from my wrist and pulled my hair from my face. I had half a mind to ask for a smock, or at least some fucking gloves, but the idea of asking Dom for anything at this point pissed me off.
“Any day now, Cinderella.” Dom yawned, pulling up a folding chair and kicking up her feet against a work stool.
After shooting her a glare, I assessed the car, trying to figure out where to even start.
Maybe the inside? They pulled the seats, which feels like as good an indicator as anything.
I forced confidence into my movements as I strode over to the front seat and yanked open the passenger door.
Thick, muddy bootprints still stained the footwell, dragging in twigs and bits of leaves with them.
But considering the state of the exterior, the interior was relatively clean. Must have had another detail recently.
Dom’s voice carried over from her seat. “Grab any shit you see and toss it in the bucket. Carpet needs to be clear for the vacuum.”
Rolling my eyes, I leaned into the car, straining for the little bits of sticks that had rolled toward the center.
“Get in there, Viper. I want it fucking pristine.”
Biting my tongue, I did as she bid, mindful to keep out of the mud. Once I was in the cabin, I noticed a faint, musky smell that made my nose wrinkle, but for the life of me, I couldn’t find the source.
Holding my breath, I crawled through the cabin, trying to ignore the way my kneecaps pinched with each movement as I combed for any muck or garbage big enough to grab by hand.
Despite how awkward it was to maneuver the bucket, I was meticulous.
The last thing I wanted was for Dom to send me back in another round.
This is some rich asshole shit for sure. Who else would take a car like this offroading? And what kind of idiot am I for cleaning up after them?
I shoved the thought down before rage could overcome me. This was a means to an end. If I ever wanted to get out of here, I was going to have to play along with some of their bullshit.
My brow furrowed as my hand closed around an offcut of black nylon rope that had gotten wedged beneath the plastic panel of the wall. “That’s….fucking weird.”
It had blended right in against the black interior, but as I pulled on the frayed end, it came loose. Studying it for a moment, I wondered how the fuck it even got there before dropping it in with the rest of the garbage. It was probably some rock climbing lead. Rich people had weird hobbies.
Once the bucket was full, I scooted through the back passenger seat, balancing the pail carefully as I hopped out of the car. My legs were already cramping, but when I moved to stretch them out, Dom was up, breathing down my neck. “Did I say you could take a break?”
“Dom.” I glared up at her as I tried to release my hamstring. “I—”
“Get the vacuum.”
“Oh my fucking god, if you’re so obsessed with how this goes—”
“We don’t have time for your mouthing off. Get the vacuum, or I’ll have someone else finish the job. But fail this initiation, and I promise, you won’t like the punishment.”
The threat was enough to kick up my adrenaline. I had no idea what a punishment from Dom would look like, but after the couple of close calls we’d already had, I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.
So I grabbed a vacuum from the corner of the shop, unhooked the extension wand, and ran it over each and every inch of the interior.
Leo and Spencer said they would be around the shop, but I couldn’t see them as I fought against the awkward angles of the hose.
And that made Dom’s pacing all the more chilling.
Growing restless, Dom didn’t return to her chair. Instead, she circled the car like a hungry lion. It was hard not to feel like she might snap at any second and turn me into her prey.
Perhaps it was the adrenaline of our fight, or perhaps it was the desire to prove my competence to the beast circling around me, but the work moved faster as she drew closer to the car.
Once the dry vac was done, she had me spray cleaning solution over the carpets, drill at the mud with the electric scrub brush, and use the wet vacuum to suck up the rehydrated mud.
The cleaning solution had a fairly strong scent, but it was hardly a match for the rancid, earthy smell that came from water mixing with whatever the fuck was splattered around the car.
I repeated the cycle over and over and over again until well after the reddish-brown water had turned clear.
My neck and shoulders were aching straight through the bone by the time Dom relented. “Good enough for now. We can worry about detailing later.”
I balked. “Two hours of scrubbing isn’t detailed enough for you?”
“We don’t do things halfway.” Those glacial blue eyes sent a chill straight through my core as they locked onto me. “Finish the trunk, and I’ll let you take a break.”
I wanted to mouth off, but the promise of a break — some relief for my aching body — was too tempting to turn down. So I stood from the backseat, trying to ignore the way her body filled the doorway and made it impossible to stand without touching.
Squeezing past her, I circled to the back of the car, pressed in the handle, and tried not to gag as an oppressive wave of rotten, earthy smell slammed into me. “What the fuck?”
The rest of the car had been lightwork. The trunk was where the real mess — and the source of that toe-curling smell — was hidden.
In addition to the mud and debris that had littered the cabin, there were crumpled tarps, lengths of nylon rope, and an armory’s worth of knives chucked into the back of the car. The trunk’s carpet was splattered with dark stains and smelled as if it had been soaking in blood for days now.
And as that smell stung at my nose, I realized exactly what this had to do with Violence. This was a murder vehicle. And my prints were all over the clean-up.