CHAPTER 11
SHADOW
Last night was a late one, but here I am again, turning into the Steel Graces’ clubhouse. Since it’s daylight, I’m riding my motorcycle, which should make Wiz happy.
Though I’m dragging, last night did me good. Spending time with my sisters at the club helped me forget Margot and her bullshit for a while.
I pull my bike to a stop next to the others and kill my engine. This is the last meeting before next weekend’s poker run. Until I joined the Graces, I’d heard of poker runs, but I never knew what they were.
When I enter the clubhouse, all the action is in the café area.
The girls are seated at bistro tables, sipping coffee and eating pastries.
It’s much different from last night. Kinda.
It’s not like the Steel Graces are huge partiers.
Sure, we have a drink or two, but nobody gets stupid drunk like what happens in some clubs.
Wiz wouldn’t allow it. And nobody rides impaired.
It wouldn’t play well in Saratoga. The community has accepted us because we keep it clean, and Wiz isn’t about to let anything tarnish our reputation.
I’ve only just sat down with my coffee when Wiz raises her voice. “Hey, since we’re all here, let’s get the meeting started early. My granddaughter wants me to take her to the new Disney movie this afternoon.”
People believe bikers are hardass rebels when the majority are regular people who love to ride.
Most Steel Graces are college grads and professionals; I’m neither.
Before I met Margot, I had plans, but now I scrape by working as many shifts as possible at the nursing home.
But since they brought in part-timers to cut overtime, money’s been tight.
The group files up the narrow iron staircase while those not on the poker run committee remain in the café.
The loft is a wide platform at the top of the stairs, offering my favorite view of the old building.
Light from the wrought-iron lamps bounce off the brick walls, which are sprinkled with club memorabilia.
The polished floors glisten, courtesy of the prospects who are continuously mopping them.
I’m surprised when Wiz walks past the large solid oak table where we conduct most of our meetings and unlocks the thick wooden door.
I frown as I enter. Why are we meeting in the private room? I shiver. Is it just the chill in the air or something else?
“Jesus,” Edge says, “I thought you said the prospects were getting the room ready. Why didn’t you tell them to crank up the heat?”
Wiz snorts. “I thought it was a given.” She twists the thermostat and then takes her seat at the head of the table.
Edge sits to her right. The other officers at the meeting—Teeter, the road captain, and Sloth, the sergeant-at-arms—take their seats before the rest. Eleven patch sisters in total are at the table.
“All right,” Wiz says. “Our eighth annual poker run for the Hearth Haven Women’s Shelter is next weekend. I need a report from everyone.”
For the next half hour, each gives an update. I’m more confused. Why discuss this behind closed doors?
“Thank you all for your hard work,” Wiz says after the last report. “This might be our best yet. I’d love to deliver a huge check to Sharon at Hearth Haven on Monday morning.”
I begin gathering my papers, expecting Wiz to end the meeting on this note. Instead, Wiz folds her hands, and her gaze slowly circles the table.
“I want to ensure that everything comes off without a hitch,” Wiz says. “But the Iron Thorns are planning on crashing our party.”
While I’m not a fan of the Iron Thorns, I’d hardly call it party crashing since Dimples, their road captain, reached out over a month ago.
Hearing no outcry, Wiz holds up her hand. “Okay, maybe they’re not crashing. Still, they’re coming whether we want them there or not. The last thing we need is them tearing through town and creating a ruckus. We’ve built a wonderful reputation in Saratoga, and I won’t let them screw it up.”
Wiz glances at Edge, who gives her the slightest nod. If I hadn’t been looking directly at Edge, I would’ve missed it.
“We’re meeting in here because I expect complete confidentiality concerning what I’m about to discuss,” Wiz says. “I’d like a verbal agreement from each of you.”
What the hell? This is getting bizarre.
Wiz circles the table, getting confirmation from each of us before she continues.
“Last night at the Iron Thorns’ church meeting, Frost, their VP, threw down a challenge to Storm, their president.
The Thorns are volatile enough without being in the midst of a coup.
If it blows up, we don’t want it dampening our event.
That’s why we’ve been reluctant to share our plans with them. ”
My mind whirls. This happened last night, but Wiz has refused to share the Hearth Haven run details with Dimples for a month. Something isn’t adding up. I consider asking how we know this, but true to my name, I say nothing.
Teeter doesn’t have the same reservations. “Are you sure this isn’t just grist for the gossip mill?”
Wiz shoots a withering glance at Teeter. “Our source is good.”
Source? Alarm bells ring in my head. How the hell does Wiz know what happened at the Thorns’ private meeting?
Especially one that just happened last night.
And why would she have a source? The Thorns aren’t a club we should mess with.
My stomach churns. I have enough disharmony in my life, so I don’t want more.
“Can’t we just tell them to stay home?” Sloth asks.
Edge laughs. “Sure, a club like the Thorns will graciously listen.”
“But aren’t there rules that an outlaw club can’t take part in a legit club’s event?” one of our newest patch sisters asks.
Edge holds up two fingers. “There are two problems with that statement. First, as badass as they think they are, they’re not one-percenters.
But they don’t stay within the law, fancying themselves as modern-day Robin Hoods on two wheels.
And two, do you really think they’ll comply with our polite request? ”
“Can’t Sheriff Clark put heat on them?” Teeter asks.
“Not until they do something wrong,” Wiz answers.
Teeter scowls. “Well, can’t Sheriff Clark talk to the sheriff in Cinder Ridge?”
“Things are different up north,” Edge says. “The community embraces them—protects them.”
“Aren’t they like two hours away? Why would they want to attend our event anyway?” the newest patch sister asks.
“Because they can,” Sloth says. “They’re assholes, and they’re slinging their dicks—or should I say their straps—around. Can’t we—”
Wow, this meeting has taken a turn.
Wiz slams her fist on the table. “Enough. We need to finish up.”
The murmuring in the room quiets.
“As committee members, we’re relying on you to keep an eye on them. But we’re especially concerned about Storm and Frost.”
“I’ll stick close to Frost,” Edge says. “VP to VP. We’ll have a common bond.”
Sloth chuckles and looks at Wiz. “Then you’ll take Storm?”
Nobody has ever confirmed when the feud between the Thorns and Graces began. Rumor has it that it started between Aces, the Thorns founder, and Wiz. I’m not sure if Edge knows the truth. If she does, she’s not talking.
Wiz straightens the papers in front of her and looks to her right.
I wish Wiz and Edge would stop sharing not-so-subtle looks.
When I glance around the table, the other girls seem oblivious.
Maybe their exchanges aren’t the flashing neon signs I think they are.
Living with Margot for eight years has taught me to be alert for subtle shifts in gestures, looks, and moods. Self-preservation.
I feel Wiz and Edge’s eyes on me, but I don’t look directly at them. Another trick I learned from living with Margot. Never make eye contact. It didn’t save me from Margot’s razor-sharp tongue, but I knew if I mustered the nerve to look Margot in the eye, I’d pay.
“Shadow?” Edge says.
“Yes?” I lift my gaze from the table and stare at Edge’s chin, so it appears I’m looking at her.
“You got your name for a reason,” Edge says.
I swallow hard, not liking the direction this is going.
“With the history between the Thorns and Graces, no way can Wiz stick near Storm,” Edge says.
“I’ve never met her.” As soon as it comes out of my mouth, I know how ridiculous it sounds.
“That’s even better,” Wiz says.
“What do you want me to do?” I say with resignation. Club members don’t say no to the president and VP.
“Watch her. Stay close. Alert us if you sense any trouble,” Wiz says.
What the hell kind of trouble are they expecting? Something else I don’t ask.
“Okay.” I’ve been looking forward to the poker run, but shadowing another aggressive, power-hungry woman who’s likely worse than Margot makes my stomach turn. “I suppose you chose well since I just want to get through life without drawing attention.”
“It’s serving us now,” Wiz says. “But someday you’ll need to be seen…and heard.”
Heat crawls up my neck. Edge saves me from a response when she slides a manila envelope down the table. The other girls push it along until it’s in my hands.
I pull an eight-by-ten photo from the envelope, and my eyes widen.
The first thing I notice is Storm’s eyes—steady, hard to read.
A hint of a smirk tugs at her mouth, making me wonder what thoughts are swirling in her head.
Her dark, shoulder-length hair falls in loose, wild waves, giving her a softer appearance than I’d expected.
While her face holds a softness, there’s nothing soft about her body. Her tank top clings to her lean, powerful build, showcasing her well-defined muscles and broad shoulders, which I suspect comes from years of riding.
Ink covers most of the exposed skin on her arms. No doubt the black and blood-red lines tell many stories, especially the swirling crimson fire wrapped around her forearm.
Her faded denim jeans ride low on her hips, and a wide black belt keeps everything in place.
Nope, Storm is nothing like what I’d expected. I continue staring at her photo, blocking out the conversation around me.