G-Men: The Series

by ANDREA SMITH

  “Dancing like that’s going to give you more than you bargained for around here, Diamond. You need to take it down a notch.”

  “Joey seemed to like it,” I snipped, starting to walk away. He grabbed my arm, spinning me around.

  “This isn’t a game, Diamond. This is for real. You’re bringing way too much attention to yourself and it’s not safe to do that in a place like this.”

  “I think I can take care of myself, Slate. But thanks for worrying.” I saw Ethan approaching at the same time Slate did.

  “Don’t be stupid, Diamond,” he snapped, before walking off.

  I nodded to Ethan that everything was fine. His touch had electrified me. He had an astounding effect on me and I’d be damned if it didn’t piss me off.

  I found Joey waiting for me at table six with my usual glass of club soda. We chatted for about ten minutes, and all the while I was thinking of Slate and what he’d said to me. Maybe this had nothing to do with jealousy. Maybe it was something more ominous than that. Now I was bothered by what almost seemed like a warning.

  chapter 12

  I was counting my tips from Thursday and tonight. I’d brought in a little more than seven hundred dollars. I had dressed in my street clothes and was waiting for Ethan to walk me to the bus stop. Slate had hung around the club for a while.

  I noticed he hadn’t acted interested whatsoever when Garnet came in before her late shift. I found that a bit puzzling. Perhaps the sex hadn’t been that good for one of them. He was gone by the time my shift was over.

  Ethan came up to where I was standing at the door, shrugging his jacket on.

  “Let’s do it,” he said, opening the front door for me as some bikers were on their way in.

  “I swear to fuck, I wish Janine would ban all of them from this place. They don’t fucking pay me enough to put up with the shit that always seems to be going down with those fuckers. It wasn’t enough they got the former ‘Diamond’ hooked on coke and Oxy.”

  “Come on, Ethan, you know she had a choice in that, don’t you think?”

  He shrugged, pulling a Marlboro from his chest pocket and lighting it. Ethan didn’t mind doing bus stop detail with me because it gave him a smoke break.

  “Lilly was young, impressionable, you know?”

  “Lilly?”

  “Yeah, that’s her real name: Lilly. She’s only twenty-two. It’s pretty fucked up. She got all starry-eyed over Slash. He’s like the local chapter’s ringleader. He’s pushing forty, man.”

  “Yeah, that’s way old,” I said with a sigh.

  “It is for a twenty-two year old from Sioux City, Iowa. She had “daddy” issues, I guess. Her old man threw her out when she turned eighteen. She has brains, you know? She was trying to put herself through community college while working here. Then she gets involved with Slash. He turns her on to coke. She says it helps her stay up for school and then work, just another tragedy waitin’ to happen. She falls one night at work and fucks up her ankle. That’s when ole Slash turned her on to Oxy. There was no turning back after that,” he said, taking a drag off of his cigarette.

  I started to ask Ethan which one was Slash when we were interrupted by a male voice behind us.

  “Diamond, can I walk you the rest of the way to your stop?”

  Ethan and I both turned to see Slate standing behind us. I knew Ethan was ready to spout off. Something told me that wouldn’t be a good idea.

  “Ethan, it’s okay,” I said, touching his arm. “Slate’s a friend.”

  “Humph,” Ethan replied, not bothering to hide the contempt in his voice. He hesitated, torn about leaving me with a biker that he obviously despised, like all of the rest of them.

  “Really, its fine,” I assured him with a smile.

  “If we don’t see you again, Diamond, I’ll let the cops know the name of the scum you called a friend.”

  With that, he turned and headed back to the club.

  I was looking at Slate now, taking in his tall, strong build, the tightness of his jeans, his expertly polished boots, and black leather jacket. He’d changed his earring. It was now a dangly skull with crossbones. How appropriate.

  “Can we talk, maybe get a coffee?” he asked.

  His hands were hooked in the pocket of his jeans; his weight was shifted to one side and he had a slight slouch going on that I found totally sexy in a James Dean sort of way. His eyes were intense.

  “This is the last bus --”

  “I can take you wherever you need to go, Diamond. I can give you a ride home, wherever that is, or I can take you to the Park and Ride.”

  My head immediately snapped up to look into his eyes. He’d followed the bus to see where I’d gotten off. Why? He saw the alarm in my eyes.

  “Relax,” he said. “I admit it. I followed the bus on my bike that night to see where you went. I was worried you were undercover. It’s instinctual for someone like me.”

  I eyed him warily. How much more did he know?

  “I saw you get off the bus at the Park and Ride. I kind of figured it out for myself.”

  “Figured what out? Did you follow me?” I asked him, narrowing my eyes.

  “I didn’t have to,” he said with a shrug. “I told you, babe, I’m instinctual.”

  I looked up at his gorgeous face.

  “Your old man doesn’t know that you dance, right?”

  I nodded and remained silent.

  “He probably thinks you have another type of job, maybe waitressing at some greasy spoon, or working the at some dive bar near the Park and Ride. I’m betting he doesn’t know the kind of tips you’re pulling in, does he?”

  I nodded my head again, confirming that he was on target.

  “I’m guessing you’re tucking that money away, probably saving up a little nest egg to get away from the violent bastard.”

  I didn’t respond as my bus was coming, and I moved toward the curb. I didn’t know why he wanted to talk to me or what he really had planned, but it wasn’t worth the risk of being front page news the following day for having been found in some ditch with my throat slit.

  “Wait,” he said gently, taking my hand.

  I was forced to look into those smoldering bold eyes. “I really don’t mean you any harm, Diamond, just a cup of coffee and some conversation, please?”

  My mind raced for what to do. If he was telling the truth, he hadn’t waited around to see me leave the lot in my Mercedes. Therefore, he hadn’t followed me home. He didn’t appear to pose an immediate risk. There was a purpose to his wanting to talk to me. I was curious about that. I looked up and nodded at his expectant gaze. He waved the bus on by.

  This was it. The choice had been made. I was at Slate’s mercy. I only hoped that my instincts about him posing no danger to me were on target.

  I turned from him, searching the parking lot we had just traipsed through and both sides of the street.

  “Where’s your bike?”

  I looked up into his amused eyes.

  “It’s almost December, Diamond, and its freaking cold out. I have my pick-up.”

  I followed to where he was pointing and saw a black Ford Ranger pick-up truck parked by the curb. It wasn’t brand new, but it certainly wasn’t a clunker either.

  We walked over to the truck, and he pushed his remote, unlocking the doors. I headed toward the passenger side, expecting him to open my door for me. He was circling around the bed of his truck to get into the driver’s side.

  Once we were inside the cab of his pick-up, he instructed me to fasten my seat belt.

  Really, Slate?

  “So, where do you want to go for coffee?” he asked, glancing over at me.

  “Seriously?”

  He gave me a puzzled look. I almost wanted to laugh but thought better of it.

  “I’d rather have a drink.”

  “I didn’t know you drank, Diamond. I’ve only ever seen you have club soda.”<
br />
  “That’s because I’m working. I’m off work and I’d like a drink. Somewhere not seedy, please.”

  “You’ve got it, babe,” he replied.

  He pulled his pick-up truck into a small, neighborhood-type bar about a mile-and-a-half from the club called “The Crystal Pistol.” It wasn’t as seedy as most of the clubs around it, only because it didn’t draw a young, rowdy crowd, mostly a group past fifty that were, thankfully, un-rowdy at this point in their lives.

  Slate and I slid into a booth in the corner. Our server took our drink orders. I ordered a double tequila shooter, and I noticed Slate’s raised brow. He ordered bourbon on the rocks.

  “So,” I said, “what do you want to talk about?”

  “Diamond,” he started, and then quickly got a look of irritation on his face. “It would help if I knew your real name. Do you mind?”

  “Yes, I do. I’ll give you my first name only. It’s Sunny,” I lied.

  I mean, seriously? Did I truly believe his given name was Slate?

  “Thank you,” he responded, piquing my curiosity at his manners. “That helps. Sunny, I know I don’t know you very well. Hell, you don’t know me, either. You have no reason to trust or to even believe me, but you remind me of someone, a person that I used to know and care about. Anyway, all I’m trying to say is that I don’t think it’s safe for you to continue dancing at Jewels. As a matter of fact, I think you need to quit.”

  Our server brought our drinks, and I downed mine, ordering another. God, it tasted so good.

  “Slate, forgive me if I’ve got this stereotypical thing going here, but for the love of Jesus, I can’t believe a member of the Outlaws has taken it upon himself to worry about a pole dancer at a somewhat seedy gentleman’s club.”

  “First of all, I’m not a patched member of OMC yet. I’m what they call a ‘prospect.’ I was patched into a club in Virginia called the Mongols before coming to Indy. The Outlaws recruited both my buddy Taz and me. We’ve been here about six months. We’re checking it out and deciding if the OMC is what we want.”

  “Excuse me for being ignorant on all of the biker lingo and politics, but exactly what’s the difference between being a Mongol and an Outlaw?”

  I saw the smile cross his face. It was pure sexy. He took my hands in his large ones, his thumbs caressing my fingertips gently.

  “Hmm, great question. Let me see if I can put this into chick terms. I guess it’s kind of like shoes. I’ve noticed you have a thing for shoes. So, let’s say that OMC is Prada and Mongol is Stride Rite.”

  I totally got it. He knew that. I could tell by his sexy smile.

  I had a couple of more drinks and was feeling totally buzzed when it finally dawned on me that we needed to finish the conversation he’d started about me working at Jewels.

  “Slate,” I halfway slurred, “you’ve explained all of this shit about the Mongrels and now the Outlaws… . . .”

  “Mongols,” he corrected me, with slight agitation.

  “Whatever,” I said, waving my hand dismissively, “but what you haven’t explained is why you think it’s dangerous for me to work there. I don’t get involved with those bikers. So what is it?”

  “I just don’t think you belong there, Sunny. I’d prefer it if you found another job, something that doesn’t involve that type of clientele.”

  “You mean clientele such as yourself?” I asked, my index finger waggling at him.

  “Yeah, exactly. I’m no good for you, and the rest of those assholes sure as hell aren’t good enough for you. Take this as a friendly warning to someone I don’t want to see hurt. Humor me, please?”

  I took the final swig of my latest drink, and then looked him straight in the eye, sort of. I was starting to weave a bit.

  “You’re awfully bossy, aren’t you?” I asked with a giggle. I then leaned over closer, my voice a husky whisper. “What’s in it for me, Slate?”

  He could tell that I was shit-faced. His demeanor changed abruptly to one of no-nonsense. His hand reached across the table, gripping my upper arm tightly.

  “I’m serious, Sunny. You need to go back to whatever trailer park you came from. Trust me; you’re out of your league here.”

  His voice was calm, yet highly authoritative. I kind of liked that.

  For whatever reason, I started giggling. He thought I was trailer trash. How ludicrous was that? A biker was looking down his nose at me. I couldn’t stop, even when I looked over and saw his extremely somber expression.

  “You’re fucked up. We’re outta here. Come on, I’m taking you home.”

  He left two twenty-dollar bills on the table, and pulled me out of my seat across from him in the booth. He helped me with my jacket and led me out to the parking lot where his pick-up truck was parked. Just before we got to his truck, I felt the ground underneath of me start to spin.

  Oh God - I’m going to heave…

  The next thing I knew, I was leaning over in the parking lot and tossing my cookies all over the pavement.

  I vaguely remember Slate helping me into his truck and me accusing him of slipping me a roofie. I vaguely remember him chuckling and saying, “I don’t think so, babe.”

  He took me to a motel and got a room.

  This was it. I was now going to know what it felt like to be raped by a probationary member of the OMC, as opposed to being raped by my husband. Hell, my money said Slate would be gentler.

  The last thing I remembered was Slate peeling my clothes off until I was down to my thong underwear and push-up bra. He pulled the bedspread back and got me under the covers, checking first to see if I thought I was going to heave again. I gave him the all clear signal and promptly passed out, seeing him sitting on one of the chairs next to the bed, channel surfing with the remote.

  God, he’s gorgeous.

  chapter 13

  I awoke the following morning with a headache and cotton mouth in a strange room. It took me a couple of minutes to think back and fast forward to where I was.

  I sat up in bed abruptly, looking around the room. I was alone. The door to the bathroom was open, so I presumed Slate wasn’t in there. I didn’t see his jacket strewn anywhere, just my clothes.

  My cheeks felt flushed when I recalled him undressing me before I passed out beneath the sheets of this hotel room bed. The clock radio on the bedside table said it was 8:43 a.m.

  I got up and out of the bed, wondering why in the hell he’d simply left me here to fend for myself. I wasn’t even sure where the hell I was, as far as where this motel was located. I saw a piece of paper and some cash on top of my jacket, which was on one of the chairs. It was a note from Slate.

  Sunny,

  Call yourself a cab when you get up. I needed to leave. Here’s some cash for the cab. Remember what I said. Call Janine and let her know you won’t be back. It’s not safe for you to be there. Please listen to what I’m saying to you, Diamond Girl. I care.

  -Slate

  What the hell? Nice guy.

  I went to the bathroom sink, splashing cold water on my face and rinsing my mouth out thoroughly. What in God’s name had I been thinking getting trashed like that with a biker that I hardly knew?

  I hurriedly dressed and gathered my stuff. I wasn’t sure why Slate had left cash for me. I had all my tips in my purse, unless he’d ripped me off and had enough of a conscience to leave cab fare. I checked my purse; the wad of bills was still rubber-banded together at the bottom. I was thankful that I kept my billfold with all of my identification in it, along with my cell phone, locked in the glove box of my car.

  I called a cab to take me to the Park and Drive lot. I was home before ten. I had a million things to do before Jack got in the next day. I wanted to make sure the laundry was done to his expectations. I needed to make sure the refrigerator and cupboards were well-stocked, and that the ironing was caught up for his majesty.

  My first order of business after I’d
showered and dressed was to get one of the other girls to take my shifts for me next week. I found the list with their cell phone numbers on it in my billfold and started calling. Emerald agreed to take my Tuesday and Thursday shifts. Opal, another new hire, jumped at the chance to take my Friday shift. I let Janine know of the switches. She was fine with it, asking no questions.

  By the time Jack rolled in the following afternoon, all remnants of my secret life were safely tucked away and the house was in perfect order, just the way he liked it. I’d made a roast chicken for dinner. Our conversation was the typical above surface discussions about Lindsey, the house, his work, and my answering his numerous questions about this or that.

  He went up to his office after dinner, as I cleaned up the kitchen, and he remained there until nearly eleven o’clock. I’d fallen asleep on the sofa in the family room. Jack woke me and instructed me to come to bed. I felt my stomach turn at the thought of him touching me. I had no desire for him after my attempt to seduce him the last time he was home had resulted in violent sex and a black eye.

  I lingered in the bathroom getting ready for bed, taking an extra-long shower and giving myself a facial. I breathed a sigh of relief upon entering our room and finding Jack sleeping soundly.

  I crawled quietly into our bed, the bed that had become mostly mine for the past couple of months. I found that I liked having the whole bed to myself. I turned on my side, away from Jack. I thought about those piercing blue eyes that continued to haunt me. I thought about how I wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with him.

  The week ahead seemed to drag on for an eternity. I was anxious for Jack to be back out on the road so that I could resume the life (and identity) that had come to be mine. I realized it was a sick existence, to some extent. For now, it was my therapy until I could feel comfortable in making the break I knew I needed to make. I was going to discuss it with Becky this week. We were having lunch on Friday.

  Jack had checked my job performance on the handling of our finances since he’d delegated it to me. He actually complimented me on my accuracy.

  “You did really well on handling the books,” he said, coming into the laundry room where I was ironing his fifth shirt.