“Don’t. I’m serious. For once, just listen. For whatever fucking reason, you’re on his shit list, so, for once, just… be a good girl and keep your head down.” With that, he walked out the door towards the motel rooms. My eyes followed him, and after he left, they returned to the table.
Both Mac and Greyson were watching me. Greyson said something to Mac, and I saw a vein in his jaw twitch. Our eyes met, and I saw the same anger in Mac’s gaze, but his was more tightly leashed than his brother’s. I turned back to the dishwasher, busying myself as people started leaving the table and handing their plates to me. But Dalton’s words rang in my ears, and I swore I could still feel his hand on my back.
That night, before I climbed into bed, I examined the slight bruise Silas had left. Again, I found myself repeating the girls’ names until they were the only thing on my mind. Mia Huntington. Anastasia Little. Gabriella Santiago. Kelly MacIntyre. Ruby Johnson.
I had to remember why I was here.
Chapter 7
By the end of the second month, I knew each biker by name. I kept the rooms spotless and provided meals three times a day. Lunch was simple, dinner I had yet to make the same thing twice, and I was having fun having a bunch of burly men try something new. Breakfast was something I usually made ahead to give myself more time for cleaning. In the quiet moments, I could almost feel my skin crawl with the need to do something more. Being with Shelly, chasing down leads, busting down doors… that’s what I was made for. This domestic housewife shit was about to drive me insane.
On Sundays, I would do a massive brunch spread. A lot of the guys were Christian, and would come back from church half-starved, like praising the Lord took something out of them. They would come roaring in on their bikes, or some of them would bring in their whole families. Bacon, eggs, waffles, muffins, sausage… Rodney had even requested fried chicken once. It was an odd choice for breakfast, but evidently, his mom made it every Sunday when he was a kid. So I added it to the rotation.
Once everyone realized I would take suggestions, the requests came timidly at first, and then it seemed like I had a new one every day. Maria’s little boy requested tamales, and I spent half a day cursing the damn things until Maria got wind of it and stepped in. She made it look easy and, at dinner time, my tamales looked like little deformed nuggets next to hers. Still, Diego Sr. and Jr. ate their weight in food that night, so I took it as a victory.
I was cleaning the rooms one day when Maria and Holly came in, hollering like banshees and giggling their asses off. They had raided Mac’s “special liquor cabinet”and were evidently quite proud of themselves. Maria opened up her massive mom purse, which held a bottle of black-label bourbon, and Holly had grabbed as many snacks as she could carry from the kitchen. I locked the door, and we spent the next three hours watchingSVUreruns on the in-room TV. Watching Lieutenant Benson close cases had me wondering if Shelly had been closing any recently. I missed her. Back home, my circle was my badge, my gun, and Shelly. Out here, I was learning what it meant to have friends.
I got a text from Dalton halfway through: “It’s adorable that you and your friends think y’all are so slick.” Maria and Holly teased me relentlessly, but I was adamant that he was just my boss. I was late with dinner that night, but I regretted not a damn thing.
Day by day, I grew more fond of the Steel Saints crew. And, damn, it made things difficult—an internal war of sorts. I tried to keep an emotional distance. But these guys… they weren’t the criminals that the files I had read painted them to be. Yeah, okay—they weren’t literal saints. But I had met much worse on the streets of Charleston back home. Men and women who had killed without remorse, or given drugs to children without giving a damn about the lives destroyed. Evil people with no humanity. These guys weren’t that. More and more, I found myself joining in on their conversations, laughing at their dumb jokes, and even riding around town with them on club errands.
Dalton was more of a highlight in my days than I was willing to admit. He greeted me almost every morning with a cup of coffee and a smile. When I was cooking in the kitchen, he happily kept me company, telling me stories about his and Mac’s childhood, the adventures they’d had as they’d grown, the hearts they’d broken. I did my best to pretend like I wasn’t listening. But the dude had a way of making me laugh like no one else. And when I asked him questions or expressed even the slightest interest, theway he smiled at me made me feel things. Things I didn’t fully understand. I knew he was just watching me ‘cos they didn’t quite trust me yet. He even admitted as much, when I pushed him on the subject one day. But still, that didn’t stop me from enjoying his company.
Mac was much more distant. Unlike his brother, he made no effort to hide his distrust of me. At first, I didn’t think I was ever going to win the guy over. But as time passed, I began to pick up on the little things he would do for me. I complained about being unable to reach the kitchen top shelf, and then the next day, there was a shiny new stepstool by the fridge. One night, I showed Maria my sore and cracked hands from all the cleaning products. Holding a gun did less damage than scrubbing floors with bleach. The next day, there was a pack of rubber gloves in my bucket. Despite riding it back and forth to the clubhouse daily, my bike never needed fuel. Dalton was genuinely clueless when I asked him about it, and that’s when I realized—in the background, all the little details… it was Mac.
Always Mac.
I gathered as much intel as I could without raising suspicion. My growing bond with the Saints members made it easier than expected. In a way. Having their trust meant they weren’t as careful when talking to me. It also meant that every little tidbit of information I passed to Braxton in my letters to Uncle Tommy felt like a betrayal. But I was just doing my job. Still, while I was meticulous in my letters, I left out details of my growing friendships within the club. That, I told myself, had nothing to do with the DiAngelos and was none of Braxton’s business.
I still repeated those girls’ names every night before I went to bed, promising myself I would never forget them.
Despite part of my check supposedly going towards Daniel’s poor Harley, I was paid well.
About three months in, Maria, Holly, and I planned a girls’ outing. I met themat Maria’s, an adorable stucco house with a big backyard that had toys littered throughout. Diego Sr. met me outside and opened the garage so I could park my bike off the street. When I walked in, Holly was in the living room playing some game on the TV with little Diego. She greeted me with a smile as I entered. Diego ignored me entirely, completely intent on his game. Jewel, Maria’s teenage daughter, lounged on the couch, reading something by John Green.
“Oh good, you’re here. My car or Holly’s?” Maria said as she came in from the kitchen, holding the baby who she passed to Diego Sr. Manny gurgled and started chewing on the collar of Diego’s leather jacket. I cooed at him, and he grinned. Little guy was a carbon copy of his mama, cute as a bug. Diego Jr. started hollering in victory, which earned an irritated look from his sister.
Holly ruffled his hair as she stood. “My car doesn’t smell like children. No offense.”
Maria shrugged. “Fair. The other day, I found a mummified chicken nugget under Diego’s car seat.” Holly made a face, and I laughed.
Maria kissed her husband goodbye, and he slapped her rear as she turned to leave.
“Behave yourself, ladies. I don’t want to load up the minivan to go on a rescue mission.”
Maria winked at him and waltzed out the door without another word.
I turned to him as I shut the door and said, “A maid and two Saints’ old ladies. How bad could it possibly be?”
He groaned, while I smiled innocently.
We all piled into Holly’s Fusion, and Maria made a show of glancing around the small car. “Hm, I don’t know if this is gonna be big enough for all the shopping I have planned,” she teased from the passenger seat.
Holly turned towards the local shopping mall and said, “Oh, I don’t know about that. You can fit a body in the trunk.”
I laughed, and she looked at me in the mirror. “I’m dead serious—no pun intended. I locked Jackson in the trunk once. He had come home wasted, and well, let’s just say he never did that again.”
Maria and I stared at her, and then our eyes met in the side mirror, and we fell about laughing.
