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“Storm, Ella’s upstairs with Marilyn. You stay with her. If she needs something, you make sure she gets it. She don’t stretch, she don’t lift, she don’t—”
“Got it,” Storm interrupts, barging past him and sulking into the clubhouse.
“I got your message, I’m driving,” Nyx tells Brax, hopping into the driver’s seat of the cage.
“You reckon you can take this one without me?” I check, much as I’d love hunting down some drug-pushing weasel, I got more pressing concerns.
“Sure.” Brax looks back at me confused. He knows how I usually get my kicks outta this kinda shit. Getting my hands dirty is my favorite kind of sport. Screwy scrunches up his face looking concerned too. “Go with them. I’ll catch up with you later,” I tell him, trying to make it into no big deal. And he don’t look happy, but he jumps in the cage with Nyx and Brax anyway.
I head into the club to locate the person I know can help me. “Where’s Maddy?” I ask the first person I see, Abby. She’s becoming a good little fixture around here. She works the bar and helps out where she’s needed. Shame she’s off-limits, ‘cause she ain't bad to look at either.
“Think she left for home about a half-hour ago,” she tells me, and I thank her before heading back out to my bike.
I ride up to the cabins and knock on Maddy and Jessie’s door. Mads answers, her glasses perched on the end of her nose and her hair high on her head in a messy bun. Jessie is one lucky son of a bitch. His girl’s a straight ten without even making an effort.
“Jess isn’t here, I'm afraid.” She smiles cutely, but I don’t buy it. I’ll bet she’s a freak in the sheets. VP used to be my greatest competition around here, but he ain’t so much as looked at another bitch since she came into his life. She must be doing something pretty fuckin’ mystical.
“Ain’t him I’m here to see.” I rush past her and let myself in.
“I need you to do something, but it has to stay between us, okay?” I blurt out, still trying to figure what the hell I’m doing. This is ridiculous. I should be on my way to kick some scrawny prick's ass, not wasting my time with this shit.
“I don’t know if I'm comfortable with that,” Mads answers awkwardly, but I see how intrigued she is. The girl’s naturally inquisitive.
“Relax, it ain't nothing illegal or dangerous. It’s just…” I lower my tone and feel the blood rush to my cheeks, “personal.”
“Oh.” Maddy nods her head, shocked and slightly uncomfortable. “What do you need?”
“I need you to work your magic and get some intel on someone for me.”
“And who might that someone be?” Maddy takes a seat at the table and stretches out her fingers.
“The new deputy. Name’s Monroe,” I tell her quickly, taking a seat beside her and trying not to seem too keen for information. Who am I kidding? The fact I’m here proves fucking otherwise.
“Sure, what kinda stuff do you wanna know?”
Her question stumps me. What do I wanna know? How does she take her coffee? Is she married? Does she spit or swallow? This is pathetic.
“I don’t know, just normal shit. What do people usually ask you for?” I snap back.
“Full name, address. Criminal record, medical record, employment history.”
“Yeah, all of that,” I nod, watching her fingers set to work on the keys. Maddy loves what she does, and there’s a glint in her pretty blue eyes as they scroll the screen. There's no doubting that she’s been a major asset to the club since Jessie fell his ass in love with her.
“Oh wow. She’s really beautiful.” Maddy leans closer to the screen when her ID comes up. “Alex Monroe, twenty-seven, from Illinois and she’s got an impressive CV.” Maddy nods her head. “Drives a Honda, new model. No dependents. No spouse.” She turns her head to raise her eyebrows at me. “Address…” she taps the keys again, “here we go… she's renting a bungalow on Drybrook Avenue.”
I quickly close my mouth back up when she looks at me again.
“You did all that in like three minutes?” I’m gobsmacked.
“Yeah, internet's a little slow today. You want me to write that address down for you?”
I nod back, still speechless and concerned at what damage the pretty little thing in front of me could do.
“Do you want me to check social media, or would you prefer to do that yourself?”
“I don’t have social media.” I scratch my head, trying to keep up with all this shit.
Maddy jots down the address on a post-it and hands it over.
