Page 8 of Bullet

She seems to be nervous, but she finally says, “I made ham and Swiss cheese sandwiches for us if you’re interested.” She bites her lower lip.

“Sounds great, babe. We’ll join you in a minute.” I wait for her to go back inside before turning to the guys. Crush has a smug expression, and War is looking down at his boots to keep from laughing out loud. “After lunch, we’re going to visit Freddie’s shop.”

War can’t keep it in any longer and bursts out laughing, with Crush joining in. I ignore the two men and walk inside to see the table set like she’s having a dinner party. She’s serving sandwiches, but the bread is baguettes, and the ham is piled high, with huge slices of cheese, but that’s not all. There are dips, cheeses, a vegetable platter, four different kinds of crackers, and a fruit bowl off to one side with a variety of what appear to be homemade cookies.

We all take our seats and dig into the ham and Swiss while I admire the way Amelia is making my friends comfortable in her home. I’m well and truly fucked, because I like this woman a lot!

Five

Freddie’s Bill

Bullet

The forecast says it’s going to rain again tonight, which means we need to put a tarp over the roof to minimize damage until we can get the materials we need to get the job done right. After lunch, War calls Risk to work with Crush, and War and I decide to go pay Freddie a visit.

Along with Risk come Roscoe and Blade. “Yo, War says you need a hand,” Risk says as he dismounts his bike. “Guard insists that Roscoe and Blade come with you.”

“We just plan on talking,” I reply.

“Guard’s got a gut feeling,” Risk answers.

Guard’s gut is not to be ignored. Our president is more than a leader; he’s a sage. His ability to read situations and people and to foresee possible problems is a gift. However, for Guard, it can also be a curse. For the most part, our leader is even-keeled, but when shit hits the fan, he’s the most lethal man on the planet. No one and nothing touches our Satan’s Pride club and their families. I’ve seen the agony of some of the weighty decisions he’s had to make on behalf of the brothers, and I don’t envy his position. I will follow wherever Guard takes us, because I know that these men are my family.

War grumbles under his breath. “Fucking figures.” War is one of the original members of the Pride and understands the power of Guard’s instincts. Before Crush and I were even prospects, we heard about the loyalty of the brothers in the club. Crush and I wanted a family we could trust, so we approached Saint.

Saint has a medical practice in town, and when Crush and I gathered the courage to go to him, he looked us up and down and said to come back the next day after hours. We did, only to find Guard, War, Risk, Saint, and Orion waiting for us. Personally, I thought we were going to get the shit kicked out of us. Instead, they talked to us. I was open with answers, but Crush wasn’t. I knew then that they were going to deny us the chance to prospect with the club.

Guard took Crush outside, and they walked and walked. They were gone a long time, and I was getting worried about my best friend. Twice, I tried to leave to go out looking for them, and the guys made me sit back down. Eventually, Crush and Guard returned. The expression on Crush’s face was one I rarely see: a calm that comes so seldom that when it appears, you can’t help but notice it. Guard took us on that night. The club brothers didn’t balk or complain; they accepted us that night and got started on our training.

Hence, when Guard says to take Roscoe and Blade with us, we do without question.

I introduce Amelia to Risk, Roscoe, and Blade, then pull her aside. “I’ve got to go run an errand. I’ll be back, though. Crush and Risk are going to tarp the roof to minimize the damage. We’re expecting more rain tonight. Crush is going to put everything on order. With any luck, we’ll get a shipment on Monday and get started,” I tell her.

“Payment—”

“We’ll work it out. Can’t have a pretty woman getting rained on in her own house,” I tease.

She gives me a shy grin. “You’re very nice,” she returns quietly.

“Not always. But I’ll always be good to you,” I say. Her eyes sparkle, but she remains quiet. “Do I scare you, Amelia?”

She shakes her head and lets out a breathy “No.”

“Do I excite you?” I already know the answer, but I want to hear it from her lips.

“Yes.”

I smile. “I’ll be back soon.” I bend my head and kiss the corner of her mouth. I feel her shiver with anticipation of what might happen between us. I force myself to step back, give her a quick wink, and join War and the others outside, waiting for me on their bikes.

We ride in tandem, with War and Roscoe leading. Freddie’s isn’t too far into the next county, but along the way we see the neighborhoods change drastically from a typical suburban subdivision to a rundown, shabby commercial area. As we get closer to the shop, we see a bunch of cars that have seen better days. They must be using these heaps for spare parts. It could be the reason the parts on Amelia’s car looked worn out. Replacing a broken part with a used part is a hell of a lot cheaper than buying new. Freddie just doesn’t pass along the savings to the customer. It’s one thing to give the customer the option, but to pass off an old part for new is not okay.

The mechanics must be on a break because they’re all sitting outside at a picnic table, and what’s more, they’re passing a joint around. I don’t give a shit what people do in their own time, but these guys are working with dangerous equipment. They need to keep a clear head. The bay is wide open, and I see at least ten safety codes that could cost them their license.

War stops at the end of the drive. “Bullet and I will go in first. Roscoe, keep your eyes peeled for trouble. Blade, watch those guys.” He indicates the men at the table. I get off my bike and walk with War into what resembles an office; however, the desk is cluttered with papers and dust, and the computer looks like it was one of the first on the market, with an inch of grime on it.

The young lady behind the desk looks terrified when she sees War and me. She looks like she’s barely out of high school, but the books on the desk allude to her being older. She’s cute and petite, with dark, shoulder-length, brown hair, hazel eyes, and large glasses that keep sliding down her nose even though she continues to prop them up. She doesn’t belong here; anyone could see that.

“We’re looking to speak to the owner, Freddie,” I say.