She and I headed toward a side door that circumvented the garage and kitchen areas. Leading me into a small foyer, she made a grand sweeping gesture. “Ta-da, welcome to the home away from home for Steel Saints and company.”
I looked around—there was a small table with a few magazines on it, plus a couple of cushy armchairs, a water cooler, and Diesel, who was in the middle of a big stretch. He ambled his way over, his fat orange belly swinging, and then head-butted Maria’s leg, looking for pats.
“He likes you?”
She gave me an odd look and scratched the cat under the chin. “Of course. Diesel’s a big lover boy.”
I frowned. “Dalton told me the opposite. He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”
She murmured something to Diesel and turned to me. “Dalton is a big, fat liar. Sorrychica, but I think he was just trying to make you feel better. I’m sure Diesel will warm up to you.” She headed out, leaving the cat and me alone for a moment. We stared at each other until he made a low, rumbling, angry sound, so I flipped him off and head after Maria. It was my first week, and I already had beef with the cat.
Maria led me down a hallway to a small living area that branched off in several directions. She pointed to our right and said, “That’s the hallway you’ll find yourself in on the way to and from the kitchen or garage.”
I nodded. “The one with all the motel rooms.”
“An odd but fitting description. So, yeah.” She pointed to two other hallways. “Those also have motel rooms. They’ll usually be empty. Dalton told me to tell you that all you’ll have to do is vacuum, dust, and whatnot in there. Just general upkeep—don’t worry about making the beds unless you’re told by Bossy Pants One or Two.”
I assumed she meant Mac or Dalton, and I laughed.
In the corner was the set of stairs I’d seen last night. Maria noticed me looking at them. “Don’t go up, but down is kind of a hangout spot for whoever.”
“Bossy Pants is an interesting choice of nickname for my second-in-command, Mrs. Gonzales.”
A hulking shape rose from one of the recliners that had its back to us. The darkness had kept him completely obscured. Maria yelped in surprise, and I looked from her to the mystery man and back.
“You must be Nicole Moore. The newest thorn in my side.”
The man stepped into the light, giving me my first in-person look at the club president. Silas Greyson was shorter than Mac, but built like a bull. His salt-and-pepper crew cut had a little more salt than pepper, and stubble lined his jaw. He looks me over, his dark eyes hard and unwelcoming.
“So sorry, sir, I didn’t see you there.”
To break the tension, I said, “Nice to meet you—I’m Nicky.”
He hummed. “Hiring you isn’t exactly what I would’ve done if I had been the one to catch you setting bikes on fire. Lucky for you, Maverick was there and not me.”
I cleared my throat awkwardly. He stood there for a minute before nodding to Maria, who led us out the way we came.
I turned back to her. “Holy crap, that dude is intense with a capital I.”
She giggled nervously. “Yeah, Mr. Greyson is a bit…”
I raised my eyebrows. “Terrifying? Intimidating? Asshole-y?”
I offered up a few other choice adjectives,and she giggled again. “Don’t let him hear you say that.” Just then, her phone dinged with an incoming text, and she glanced at it with a grimace. “I hate to ditch, Nicky, but I gotta get home to the kids. Hey, you know what? We should go on a girls’ date. Shopping, mani-pedis, drink too much and spill dirty secrets—” She wiggled her eyebrows at me suggestively, and I smiled in response.
“I would love that. You let me know when, but go on. Get home to your family. Thank you for showing me around.”
She surprised me with a hug, and then headed out towards the kitchen.
I sighed and looked around, not really sure where to start. I decided that I wasn’t going to get anywhere until I found some cleaning supplies, so I made my way to the kitchen. Sure enough, under the sink, I find what I need. I grabbed a bucket, a clean washcloth, some Pledge, and a few other odds and ends, and headed back to the motel rooms. I cleaned like my life depended on it for the next couple of hours. Singing along to Nickelback, I tried to force myself to find some sort of enjoyment in a task that felt utterly mundane compared to the job I was used to.
I nearly dropped the bucket when I turned and found Mr. Greyson lurking in the doorway. Pulling my earbuds out, I shove them in my pocket.
“You sure do have a habit of sneaking up on people.”
He started towards me, and I had to stop myself from backing up or spraying him with the Windex. I realized that now may be a good time to get some answers, so I said, “I haven’t seen you around the club for the past couple of days. Were you out of town?”
He stopped less than a foot from me. “What I do is none of your business, girl.”
