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Chapter 1
Tuesday
I’ve been camped out and pressed up against the building for a little under 30 minutes and I’m not sure how much longer I can do this. I know I have to be patient, but at this very moment I have a piece of rough wood that is touching a spot on my lower back where my hoodie has risen and all I can smell is wood, smoke, and hints of leather. This should not surprise me, seeing as I’m camped out on the far side of the local MC headquarters or whatever you want to call them. Hang out? Gang Pad? Who knows? All I know is that my target hasn’t moved from where he is sitting either, so as long as he’s camped out, then so am I.
I take a deep breath and move an infinitesimal amount and my hoody drops back into position. Thank fuck. That means I can get back to my mission without all the extra sensations distracting me. Stalking my target until I can find the perfect time to pounce, tag him, bag him, and take him back to my shed for a little interrogation. Which reminds me, I’ll have to call one of my brothers for help with this pickup, probably Tav. He’s the one least likely to give me shit.
I bet if anyone was watching, they’d think I was an absolute bad bitch. Suppressing a snort, I know I’m far from that. I’m a chubby, accident-prone weirdo who just happens to be skilled at hacking, stalking, and interrogation. Although, only my brothers know what my hobby is. Thankfully, they don’t seem to mind, although it works out well for them too. Turns out that losing your parents to a home invasion as children helps you grow into the type of people who want to keep others safe. And, in my case, mete out justice.
Rustling breaks through the silence and I notice my mark has crept a little closer to the corner of the building he seems fixated on. I won’t move just yet, to not give away my position this early in the game, and I can see him perfectly well from where I’m standing. I’ve been watching this guy for seven days now. Well, through my monitor anyway.
This is the first time I’d come to be in the same location, and that was really because I had a feeling if I didn’t move now I’d never catch him. He turns to look both ways before moving on again, the light of the moon reflecting across his face, highlighting him in just the right way to make him appear sinister. But he doesn’t scare me. He should be the one who is afraid.
I’ve been stalking him for years. Since I was 13 years old and my Grandpop came to live with us after his only son- and daughter-in-law were murdered. I heard whispers of his name around town, a no-good thief, in and out of prison. The man who had stolen in, under the cover of darkness, to take items worth a lot less than the lives of my parents. But that’s ok, we are here now and I plan on making him pay for every minor transgression he’s ever committed against humanity, and thanks to my hacking skills, I know there is a lot.
He’s on the move again, so I creep slowly forward, making my way to another outbuilding on the property. I have no idea why motorcycle people need so many garages, but they come in handy for hiding behind, so I won’t begrudge them that. It leads me to wonder yet again what this guy is after. Doesn’t he know these guys could kick his ass? Seriously. I mean, they’re no 1% club, but they are all big and badass, so I wouldn’t want to take my chances. However, I’m guessing I’m a hell of a lot smarter than this guy.
Fuck! I inhale sharply as I move into position after whacking my knee on something. If I could change anything about myself, it would be that. I have shit spatial awareness. I have a great brain, can learn almost anything, and thanks to my three older brothers, I can throw a mean punch. The downside is that I seem to have the spatial awareness of a Roomba so spend a lot of time bouncing off of things; doors, furniture, and buildings. Whatever.
I hunker down and continue to watch my prey, pondering why the hell he’s here. I know the bad people that make up the seedy underbelly in Rose Grove, and the Devil’s Rose MC isn’t them. They’ve been around longer than I can remember and own a few shady businesses in town. However, they keep to themselves and keep everything legitimate (I know, I’ve looked into them), so I leave them to their business. If this guy is after drugs or girls, then he’s stupider than I thought. Before I can even finish my musings, I hear a grunt and suddenly, my mark is gone. What the hell?
Instead of moving closer to get a better look, I take a deep breath and freeze. Where I could smell wood, smoke, and a hint of leather before, the leather smell has now become a lot stronger and I can smell something slightly spicy and rich, like smelling an unlit cigar. I can also smell the faint tang of body odor, which always smells like old cooked onions. I’m no longer out here on my own. Someone is here with me. Someone who isn’t who I’ve been following.
I stay stock still, ready to move if need be. The only problem is that in terms of running, I’ve never been the fastest. I’m 5’’1 on a good day and can only be described as curvy or solid. I’m fit as hell, just built for comfort rather than speed. I’ll have to be clever to get out of this. I turn slowly to my left and walk directly into something hard. Damn spatial awareness. I feel two massive hands wrap around my biceps and my fight kicks in. I deliver two quick jabs to their hard stomach before kicking out their knee. I hear a loud grunt and a massive hand comes around me from behind, the large arm crossing over my chest, gripping the opposite shoulder. I let my legs drop from under me before scurrying backward through this guy’s wide leg stance, then I kick him in the ass from below before heaving myself up and running as fast as these short stumpy legs can take me.
Of course, it’s not long before I’m tackled to the ground with a large oof! Me on the bottom of the pack with one large guy on top of me. Thankfully, it appears to not be “Old Onions”.
“Argh fine ok? I give up. I promise I won’t kick or hit you if you just get your massive ass off me!” I wheeze out as I struggle to tip the weight off my back.
Before I know it, the weight disappears abruptly and I’m yanked to standing. I’m marched into the glow of the security light that just flicked on (fat load of good that was, it was about 20ft out of the range of both me and my target) and then I’m twisted around by my arm until I’m facing two massive guys. Someone yanks off my hood and my hair flies everywhere. I swear I had it in a bun or something, but giant no.1 must have yanked my scrunchie with my hood. I hope he gives it back.
“Shit brother,” I hear “Old Onions” on the left mumble. I look over at him and read the name on his cut. His name is Rider. I give a little snort. Of course, that’s his name. MC people are never called Josh or David.
“Listen, lady,” the other giant rumbles out. His voice sounds like he’s been chain-smoking since he was born. And the proper stuff, not cotton candy-flavoured vapes. No, he’s been smoking cigarettes, probably with all the bad stuff in them.
“Hey! I asked you a question! What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” His cut says his name is Rhodie. Which is weird because you would think you would spell that Roadie, but I have no idea what level of education these dudes have, so maybe they spell it that way. Either way, I realize that yet again he asked me something, and I ignored it thanks to my train of thought.
That’s something that happens to me quite a lot. I have a busy brain and not the greatest people skills, which at this point are probably non-existent because I came here for a reason and that reason does not seem to be here anymore.
I turn to Rhodie, mainly because he seems to be the one calling the shots at the moment, and I look up. And up and up until I settle on his face, about a foot above my head. I don’t really enjoy looking people in the eye too much, mainly because I never know how much eye contact is too much, so I settle on looking at his nose instead.
“If you take me to your president, I’ll explain everything. Then I’ll take that guy I was here for and leave you to your business, ok?”
Rider and Rhodie share a look that basically screams “wtf?” before Rider snorts, whacks Rhodie on the shoulder, and strides off, chuckling.
Rhodie fixes me with a look that says I’ve just become his number one pain in the ass, but given that he’s grabbed a hold of my arm again and we seem to be moving in the right direction, I’ll let it go.
We stomp through what appears to be the main room, or hall, or whatever. It’s a lot cleaner than I thought it would be. I don’t really like playing into stereotypes, but I thought it would be dark and manky and smell like booze and vagina, but it’s light and clean and smells of some type of citrusy air freshener. The type of place you’d want to hang out to catch up with friends. There are even pictures on the walls interspersed with some questionable art, but I guess that’s par for the course in an MC Clubhouse. I’m taken through a side door and then pushed into an office.
“Whoa, it smells like Pop in here,” I mutter to myself before taking in my surroundings. Rider was already there, his lean body relaxed on a couch at the side of the room. There’s an absolutely massive man hunched behind an office desk, his enormous fists resting atop. Looking at him, I can see he shares similar features with Rhodie; I wonder if they’re related. His cut says Marx with the words Prez underneath, so this is who I’m here for.
Before I can say anything, Rhodie cuts in. “This is the second one, the hunter. The prey is tucked away in the back shed waiting for us to-”
Rhodie
Before I can even get my sentence out, the fiery little stalker spins around at me
“Hey! That fucker is mine! I’m not sharing him with you. But in good faith, I swear I’ll ask him why he’s been staking you guys out for the last seven days.”
