I chuckle as I watch the man being escorted out of Widow’s Peak Casino, the faux-Vegas, neon-lit room. In an abandoned textile factory, this place would seem something straight off the strip if it weren't in the middle of bumfuck Colorado. Looking around the room, I take in the red velvet, gold-trimmed decor, and the smoke filling the room. I smile at the feeling of home that sits with me as I take it all in.
Growing up in the actual city of sin, this is as close to vice as I let myself get. I didn't have the worst home life, but it wasn't the cozy kind every kid dreams of, either. With my mom being a dealer at one of the richest casinos on the Strip and my dad, her married boss, owning the casino, we were, of course, his dirty little secret. As long as he kept my mom supplied with alcohol and a nice place in the city, she kept her mouth shut and me fed.I didn't really give a shit; the more I grew up, the more I saw my parents as just sucky-ass fucking people.
I wouldn't really call them evil; they never hit me or any of that type of shit. More like they just thought as long as they gave me food and new clothes every once in a while, their job was done. The minute I turned eighteen and graduated, I joined the military and never looked back. My parents never tried to contact me, but in their defense, I never tried to contact them either. Granted, my sperm donor has plenty of fucking time and money to search if he ever cared. Ten years later, my phone still never rings with that area code. I take it as a sign that our lives were just never meant to cross again.
“You can’t just make it easy on me for one night, can you? Always starting some type of shit,” Felix grouches as he watches the piece of shit be kicked out on his ass.
I gasp dramatically, holding my chest. “I take offense at that. I thought I was doing you a favor!”
“How in the fuck is winning every hand, then egging on the fuckers stupid enough to play against you, causing them to disturb my other guests in any way, a help to me?” he asks, only raising one eyebrow, not moving any other muscle. Even the single silver hoop adorning his ear doesn't dare budge.
“I’m just making sure the riffraff stays away. You don't want those types stinking up this place,” I tell him.
“Get your chips and cash out,” he says before turning and walking away. I chuckle, collecting my shit and getting up.
I don't take my chances with Felix. Honestly, I’m lucky as fuck he’s cool with the Savage Kings Motorcycle Club. I serve as the treasurer of the club. He knows how good I am with numbers; that's why I manage the club's books and even help Felix out now and then when he needs it. In return, he gives me a small office here for when I need it, and he lets me play eventhough he knows I’ll win every single fucking time. Still, even I know when it's time to head home.
“Come on, girl,” I say, calling Finick to my side. We weave through the tables and people milling around, and I make my way out the back exit to where I’ve parked my bike.
Finick hops up on the seat as I unlock my saddlebags and grab her harness, goggles, and helmet, which features attached earmuffs. She already wears her club vest, which matches mine, but I have to make sure my girl is safe, and take every precaution while on my bike. For her part, she already knows the drill and sits patiently as I clip her in. Some people might find it fucking weird or dangerous that I ride with my dog, but I’m careful, and she's the most important part of my life. I don't take unnecessary risks with her, and honestly, I don't know how long she would last if she couldn't ride. After returning from our last mission, when I was fighting to even get my girl home, the only comfort we seemed to find was in each other and on this old hog. For months straight, we did nothing but ride, town to town, city to city, state to state. It was just me, her, this old bike, and the blacktop.
It took me months to stop by the Black Crown, the Savage Kings Motorcycle Club's home base. I felt so much guilt for not being able to save one of the members' prospects. A kid who grew up in this town and only wanted to make a name for himself before coming home and joining the club. He talked about the guys with so much hero worship, I just had to meet them. I made the stop, not knowing whether I would need to beg for forgiveness or let them kick the shit out of me; neither would make me feel worse than I already did. What happened was even more unexpected.
They accepted me. Finick and I both, with open arms. I didn't know how to act at first, but I walked into that bar expecting to never return and ended up never leaving. It was a turning pointin my life. For so long, I was just going through the motions, only living to feed and take care of Finick. The guys in this brotherhood saved my life.
As I walk into my place later that night, throwing my keys on the side table, I take in the loud echo they cause. The only thing that seems to be missing in this life is someone to fill the noise, though, who would want a fuck-up like me?
CHAPTER TWO
GRACE
*SQUEAK*, *SQUEAK*, *SQUEEEAK*
Iwince again at the sounds the old cart makes as I roll it, piled high with cleaning supplies, down the hall one room at a time.
“Just one more room, then I’ll give you a break, I promise.” I know I probably sound crazy talking to an old cart, but there is no one else around. Honestly, I’ve been alone most of my life, so I’ve become somewhat accustomed to talking to inanimate objects.
Right now, though, I just want to get this last room taken care of so I can get back to my bed and finish my latest project, but work calls, and I’m no slacker. Of all the traveling and jobs I’ve done over the years, this might be the hardest. Currently, I work as a maid here at the Devil's Rest Motel, cleaning rooms and trying to stay out of everyone's way. Being a maid is the perfect job for me, seeing as I’m a loner among loners, and this job makes me practically invisible. I’m able to spend my days alone, scrubbing and bleaching floors. I wince with every noisethe old wheel makes, especially as we pass room seven. Strictly off-limits, that room is forever reserved, as I’ve been told, and “nothing for me to worry about,” the owner and my boss, Eddie, kindly but firmly let me know. To say I got the point - stay away from room #7 - would be an understatement. His worried stare wasn't hard to read.
While I have cleaned every other room in this place, and take pride in what I’ve accomplished since falling into town, that door, however, number seven, I won't even look at. I don't want any kind of trouble; in fact, I'd rather no one noticed me. I just want to do my job, return to my complimentary room, and finish my ever-growing pile of crochet projects. The last thing I want to do is put my nose somewhere it doesn't belong.
My mom, lord love her, that was her specialty. Being where she didn't belong, putting herself — and by extension, me — in places we had no business being. After growing up with a free-spirited, nature-loving nomad of a mother, all I’ve ever craved was somewhere to settle. A cottage in the middle of the woods, a short bike ride away from town, but tucked back in the woods, completely secluded and all mine. I want to plant a garden. I want to make my mark on something that I own. It's something I’ve been saving for my whole life.
It's also why I’m currently gagging over a clogged toilet. I'll have it sparkling again before the day's done, though. It might not be the most glamorous job — cleaning bathrooms, changing sheets, vacuuming, and fluffing pillows — but it gets me a free room tucked in the back corner where no one bothers me and an extra hundred dollars at the end of every week. It might not be a lot, but I put every extra dime I make into my house fund. I eat from the vending machines, not a healthy option, I know, but sue me… It's affordable, and I only spend my money on essentials. And yes, yarn counts as a necessity. Speaking ofwhich, my stash is running low; it won't be long before I’ll have to venture into town to find somewhere to restock.
I finish the room, collecting the dirty towels and throwing them into the bin on my cart before moving on to the next room. This is how my days go, every single day. It’s a routine, and one I know all too well. Room after room, bed after bed, toilet after toilet. I continue on, singing in my head, but before long, I’m humming out loud. I do it often, not even realizing it. Heck, I’m alone most of the time anyway; no one knows me in this town besides Eddie, and even him I keep at a distance. Living in the shadow of the most outgoing woman on the planet makes any type of rare attention I receive feel way too uncomfortable.
I’m in my zone now, not paying attention to my surroundings and backing my cart down the hall. Sometimes I switch things up when the squeak gets too loud. Pulling it backward can sometimes make the sound quieter, or maybe it’s my singing. Still, anything is better than that loud, constant, annoying…
“Ahhhh!” I scream as my bottom and back hit a solid wall.
“Well, you didn’t have to accost me, darlin’. You could have just said hi,” a smooth male voice comes from the wall.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. I squeeze my eyes shut. This is something straight out of my nightmares. I turn my head to see who I accidentally hit, but my eyes freeze on the door number in front of me. Triple shit, room seven. Which can only mean the man I bumped into was coming from the very room I’m supposed to pretend doesn't exist.
I don’t say anything, stuck in silence with my eyes wide and looking around anywhere but behind me. Maybe if I don’t say anything, I can just scoot away. I can just push the cart forward, and when he tries to stop me, blame it on the squeaking. It’ll work, right?
“Oh, don't go trying to run off without even telling me your name,” the smooth voice says from behind me. This time, myeyes and vajayjay don't give my brain any other choice; they have to know the owner of that voice. Unfortunately, as I turn around, I release a groan. Yup, he’s hot, like movie-star-model hot. Like Photoshop, perfect, but in real life. They haven't come out with real-life body filters yet, have they? I don't know, but what I do know is that it almost hurts to look at him. Then common sense picks back up, and I realize I’ve been staring, and by the smirk on his face, he noticed.
