Chapter Six
Goldie
The yellow envelope was back in Twister’s hand, folded carefully like it held something fragile instead of a stack of papers that had almost gotten me killed.
Men moved around the clubhouse with purpose now.
Not panic. Not confusion. Purpose. Chairs scraped, boots thudded, low voices passed orders and confirmations back and forth, and within minutes, everyone had something to do.
Everyone except me.
I stood near the table with my half-finished beer still sitting in front of me, feeling like the one loose screw left behind after everyone else had figured out where they belonged.
Hodge, Method, Sully, and Chewy headed toward the back hallway, already talking about the basement and what they were supposed to be looking for without tearing the place apart.
Podge and Gramps gathered the copied documents into neat stacks, though Gramps looked about as excited as a man being handed a root canal.
Rev and Magnum were discussing the library, old city records, and where they might find historical building maps.
Swift and Nugget stood near the door, both of them waiting for Twister to finish one last quiet word with Tempi before they left to track down Marv’s family.
I didn’t move.
For the first time since I had run from my apartment, I had stopped moving, and now I didn’t know what to do with myself.
Wheels did. Of course he did.
He stood beside me like he had been assigned to my shadow and intended to take the job seriously. His arms were crossed, his cut hanging open over a black T-shirt, and his eyes kept moving. Door. Windows. Front room. Back hallway. Me. Door again.
“You planning on standing there until your beer gets warm?” he asked.
I looked down at the bottle. “It’s already warm.”
“Then you’re wasting it.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve had enough.”
“You’ve had half.”
“I also slept until noon and woke up in a biker clubhouse after being chased through the dark by people who may or may not want me dead.” I tipped my head. “I’m trying to make smart choices.”
His mouth twitched. “That what we’re calling it?”
“That’s exactly what we’re calling it.”
He reached for my bottle and moved it a few inches away from the edge of the table like it had personally offended him. “You okay?”
That question again.
I looked around the room. Tempi was still by Twister, her hand tucked in his.
Britta stood near the kitchen, pretending she wasn’t watching Swift like she wanted to follow him out the door and maybe tie herself to his arm.
Men were leaving, coming back, opening drawers, grabbing keys, moving with the kind of coordination that said they’d done this before.
Was I okay? No.
But I wasn’t on the side of a highway anymore. I wasn’t in my car with headlights closing in behind me. I wasn’t alone in my apartment staring at a printer while documents spilled out and my hands shook.
So maybe okay was relative.
“I’m standing,” I said.
Wheels nodded like that was a perfectly acceptable answer. “Good enough.”
Twister called his name from near the bar. “Wheels.”
Wheels looked over. “Yeah?”
“Show her around. She needs to know where things are if she’s staying here.”
Staying here. The words hit harder than they probably should have.
I knew I couldn’t go home. I knew going to my sister’s place would be a terrible idea. I knew running wasn’t as simple as throwing my backpack over my shoulder and walking out the door.
Still, hearing Twister say it out loud made it real.
Wheels looked at me. “You up for that?”
“A tour?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
I glanced toward the door. Wheels noticed because he noticed everything.
“No one’s coming through that door without Swift ripping their head off first,” he said.
Swift looked over from the door. “I’d shoot them before I ripped anything off.”
Britta sighed. “That’s comforting.”
“It should be,” Swift said.
“It’s something,” I muttered.
Wheels chuckled low. “Come on.”
I grabbed my backpack from beside the table out of instinct, but Wheels reached out and caught the strap before I could sling it over my shoulder.
“You don’t need to carry that around.”
I tightened my hand around it. “I know.”
He didn’t pull.
He just held the strap, his fingers close to mine, his gaze steady on my face. “You sure?”
No, I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure about anything.
That bag had become my emergency plan. Clothes, phone charger, cash, a toothbrush, a granola bar smashed flat in the front pocket, and not much else. It was pathetic when I thought about it, but it was mine. The only thing I’d had with me when I left everything else behind.
“I don’t like not having it,” I admitted.
Wheels’ expression didn’t change. He didn’t make fun of me. Didn’t tell me I was being ridiculous. He just nodded once. “Then bring it.” He let go.
I slid the bag over my shoulder, and Wheels nodded toward the room. “This is the main room, obviously. Bar over there. Kitchen behind it. Pool table. Couches. TV. Everybody ends up here even when they say they’re going somewhere else.”
“That sounds accurate.”
“It’s annoying as hell.”
“You live with a dozen men. I feel like annoying is part of the lease.”
His mouth twitched again. “You’re not wrong.”
We started moving through the main room slowly. The place looked different now that I wasn’t stumbling through it half-dead in the middle of the night. It was rough around the edges, but not in a neglected way, more like it was still becoming what it was supposed to be.
The bar was long and old, scarred in places, but polished clean.
A few bottles lined the shelves behind it, mixed in with tools, a roll of duct tape, and what looked like three different jars of screws.
The floor had patches that looked newer than others.
One window was covered with plywood from the shooting, and a bucket sat beneath another where someone had apparently been washing glass out of the frame.
The walls were exposed brick, some of it freshly scrubbed, some still stained from years of whatever had happened here before the club bought it. A Saint’s Outlaws flag hung behind the table where Twister had sat, black and silver against the brick.
Britta leaned out of the kitchen as we passed. “You need anything, Goldie?”
I shook my head. “No, thank you.”
Tempi appeared behind her with a dish towel over one shoulder. “That means she needs something but doesn’t want to be a bother.”
I blinked.
Britta nodded like Tempi had just solved a case. “Definitely.”
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Sure,” Tempi replied. “Everybody says that five minutes before they pass out or cry in the bathroom.”
“I already slept for eleven hours.”
Tempi winked. “Then you’re due for the crying in the bathroom.”
Wheels glanced at me. “You planning on that?”
“Not currently.”
“Good. I don’t need Tempi dragging me away from you again because I was too close.”
Tempi pointed at him. “Because you were. The girl should be able to pee in peace.”
“I was guarding the door.”
“You were guarding her bladder.”
Britta laughed and disappeared back into the kitchen.
Wheels shook his head and guided me toward the hallway with a light touch at my elbow. It lasted maybe one second. Long enough to point me in the right direction. Short enough that I could pretend I didn’t notice.
I noticed.
The hallway off the main room stretched toward the back of the building. Wheels pointed as we walked. “Office is there. Twister uses it when he needs quiet, which means almost never because nobody here knows how to shut up.”
“Does he actually get quiet?”
“Twister?”
I nodded.
“Yeah. That’s when you pay attention.”
“I noticed.”
His gaze flicked to me. “You did?”
“When he moved earlier, everyone stopped talking.”
“Smart woman.”
“I inspect buildings for a living. I notice when the room shifts.”
“Fair.”
We passed the office, and I glanced inside.
It was small, with a desk, a chair, a filing cabinet, and stacks of papers that looked only slightly more organized than a controlled disaster.
A framed map of Wisconsin leaned against one wall.
I had a feeling my papers would be added to that mess before the day was over.
Past the office were more rooms. Some doors were open, others shut.
“Storage,” Wheels said, pointing to one. “Security room is next. Not fancy. Couple monitors, cameras, radios. Swift spends too much time in there.”
“Because he’s suspicious?”
“Because he’s Swift.”
“That explains nothing.”
“It explains everything once you know him.”
We kept walking until the hallway narrowed and the air changed.
Cooler. Damper. Dustier.
My steps slowed.
Wheels noticed immediately. “Basement’s down there.”
At the end of the hall was a heavy door. Plain. Old. Painted dark gray. It looked like any basement door in any old commercial building, except now I knew what might be under it.
My mouth went dry.
“We’re not going down there,” Wheels said.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.”
I looked at him. “Good?”
“You look like you might bolt if I open that door.”
“I might.”
“At least you’re honest.”
I stared at the door a second longer. Somewhere below us, Hodge and the others were probably already searching, looking for cracks, old brick, weird walls—anything that might prove the blueprint wasn’t just some forgotten piece of paper.
A few hours ago, I’d been the only one carrying that secret. Now four bikers were in the basement looking for it. I didn’t know if that made me feel better or worse.
“Do you think they’ll find it?” I asked.
Wheels leaned his shoulder against the wall. “The tunnel?”
“Yeah.”
“Eventually.”
“That confident?”
“Hodge likes hitting things. Method pays attention. Sully’s nosy, and Chewy doesn’t quit once he gets curious. If there’s something down there, they’ll find a sign of it.”
“And then what?”
“Then Twister decides what happens next.”
That answer was so simple. The kind of answer that came from someone who believed in the man giving the orders.
“You trust him,” I said.
Wheels didn’t hesitate. “With my life.”
“That easy?”
“Wasn’t easy. He earned it.”
“How?”