“Help you?” he said when she rolled down the window.
“Yes. I’m Brigid Bailey. I, um, live here now?”
The gigantic redhead in front of her said, “Oh. So you’re the one.”
“Maybe. What am I admitting to?”
“Bein’ a pain in our butts for three months, if I heard right.”
“Yeah. I guess that would be me.” She smiled, hoping that would soften the preconception of her as pain-in-the-butt.
“Name’s Eric.”
“Eric. That fits.”
He snorted. “Well, yeah, dumb ass. That’s the point.” She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but she filed it away for future reference. “You can park over there until you unload.” He pointed toward a large wood door that looked like a replica of a medieval castle entrance.
The building, which sat on a hill, appeared to be made out of concrete blocks. She knew it was too high to ever be in danger of flooding and surmised that it would withstand even a direct hit by tornado. Or a siege. In fact, the word fortress came to mind. She made a mental note to write that down as soon as she was situated.
She grabbed a large rolling suitcase and followed Eric. She was glad she’d given up on the idea of keeping her look professional and had traded the suit and heels for jeans and tire tread sandals. While she struggled to get the bag up the two steps to the door, Eric watched but didn’t offer to help. Not only that, but he looked amused by the difficulty she was having.
“No. That’s okay,” she said. “Really. I can get it.”
He snorted again and added a smirk this time. “Agree. Exactly why I’m not offerin’ to help.”
“Well, then, what can I say to that?”
“Nothin’, but you bein’ a woman, that probably won’t stop you.”
She wanted to say nothing just to spite him, but couldn’t manage it.
“Let me guess. You voted no.”
She didn’t wait for a response. With a grunt and a monumental effort, she maneuvered the bag up the last step and extended the handle so that she could roll it.
The first room of the clubhouse looked more like a bar than anything else. The long expanse of wood was backed by a mirrored wall with an impressive display of alcoholic beverages to suit any taste.
“Wait here,” said Eric.
The guy at the bar waved. He was cute in a young Arnold Schwarzenegger way.
She waved back. “I’m Brigid. Brigid Bailey.”
He smiled and said, “Arnold.”
As she looked around the room she muttered, “What are the odds?” under her breath.
There was considerable open space between the bar and what appeared to be a lounge area with several leather sofas, large chairs and ottomans and a television screen the size of a small movie theater. No surprise there. Her understanding had been that motorcycle club houses were an expansion of a bachelor’s dream party house.
She jerked when a voice right behind her said, “Come with me.” She turned to see that Arnold had some serious stealth skills. “Whoa. Jumpy. Aren’t ya’?”
“I just didn’t hear you coming up behind me.”
“Well, most women moan when I come up behind them.” He treated her to what she suspected was an always-get-my-way-with-the-girls smile.
“Um-hmm. I’m sure they do, uh, Arnold.”
He motioned with his head to follow and she did. With the building all but deserted, the wheels on the bag seemed to be making a lot of noise. Was that an echo?
They walked down a short hallway to a closed door. Arnold knocked and waited for a reply. He opened the door and motioned Brigid inside.
The office, which she supposed must be Brant Fornight’s real office, couldn’t be more different than the one at Hollywood Wrecks and Rides. This office was tiny, cluttered, and looked like it had been that way for a hundred years. She could barely get inside with the suitcase and close the door.
“You bring the money?”
“Yes. I did.”
Brant waited. When it appeared that she wasn’t going to produce it voluntarily, he said, “Well, Brigid. Where is it?”
“Oh.” She seemed to suddenly remember where she was. “It’s here. In my bag.”
After waiting an inordinately appropriate time, he said, “That’s good. Would you like to give it to me?”
She looked down at her bag like she’d forgotten what she came to do, then bent over, unzipped a large front pouch, and withdrew twenty-five bundles of hundred dollar bills with a count of one hundred each. She put them on his desk in front of him.
“You have something you want me to sign?”
“Right here.” He put a document in front of her. “You can sit down if you want to read it.”
It was three pages of legalese, but she read it carefully because, after all, her life depended on it. When she was satisfied, she looked up.
“Questions?” he said.
“No. It’s exactly what we agreed to.”
He picked up the phone and pressed a button, which she noted, thinking that it was interesting that they had an in-house phone system.
“Notary,” was all he said, then he hung up.
“Can I have a pen?”
“Wait for the witness. I want to call your attention to the fact that your exit date is contractual, but of course you can leave at any time before that.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Thank you?”
Brant’s mouth twitched in spite of himself.
There was a soft knock on the door. “Come in.”
Car Lot stepped in and closed the door. He had a book and a stamp with him. After nodding at Brigid, he said, “I need to see your drivers license.”
She pulled her wallet out of her purse and handed him the license. After writing information in the book, he said, “Okay. Go ahead and sign.”
Brigid signed on the line under her printer name, Brigid Allison Bailey, and noted that she had not told them her middle name. She assumed that meant they’d run some kind of background check on her. She wondered if they were worried about her working undercover for either press or police.
When Car Lot placed his stamp on the document, Brant said, “Send Arnold back to show our guest to her quarters.”
The ‘witness’ left without a word.
Then Brant looked at Brigid. “First thing you need to understand is that some of the guys are used to being sorta free with women. Everybody’s been told to cooperate with you and keep their hands to themselves, but if anybody forgets, you let me know.” Brigid simply blinked. “Do you understand?”
“I believe so. How likely is it that your, um, members will forget themselves?”
“Not very, but we do serve drinks here and some people worship drink more than others.”
She cocked her head. “Do you disapprove of the bar?”
He laughed. “So you think you’re gonna have a go at me first? Get your feet wet. Learn the ropes. When your questions start to pile up, then maybe I’ll talk to ya.
“We have a woman who cooks breakfast and dinner. You can eat what she makes, fix your own, or go out. You’re on your own for lunch, but she keeps sandwich stuff and soup around. Prospects clean the rooms, but I imagine you’ll want to take care of that yourself.”
When the door opened, Arnold looked first at Brant, then at Brigid. “Right this way, ma’am.”
Arnold shot Brant a shit eating grin, indicating that he’d noticed the new business venture was a knockout. Brant was shaking his head as Arnold closed the door, wondering if he’d just made a very big mistake by agreeing to let an outsider shine a light on the SSMC.
She followed Arnold down a long hallway lined with doors, hotel or dorm style, trying not to notice that his hind end was exceptionally well-muscled. He came to a stop at the end of the hall in front of a larger wood door.
Arnold pointed to the door. “This is what we call the Presidential Suite. Guess who claims the most square footage?” Brigid rolled her eyes.
“That’s right. Let the big dog eat first. The Prez has an apartment-sized presence here at home base.”
He turned to the door on Brigid’s right. “This is what you might call the Guest Suite. It’s not big, but it’s been cleaned since Brash moved out. The room across the hall is the biggest one next to the Prez Pad. So when Rock moved out and got his own place, Brash moved across the hall. ”
When the door swung open, she had to agree that it was minimal, as Brant had indicated. She was comforted by Arnold’s assurance that it had been cleaned. So it would do.
“Kay. Thanks.”
She rolled the suitcase that was two hundred and fifty thousand dollars lighter into the room and flipped the light switch on. There was a window that spanned the length of the room at ceiling height. It was wide but shallow, meaning it let light in but offered no visibility. She couldn’t see out, but neither could anyone see in. Unless they were on a ladder.
“You got anything else in your car?”
“Um, yes. A couple more bags, but not as big as this one.”
“Did you lock it?”
“No.”
Arnold grinned at her. “Trusting. I like that.”
He disappeared, leaving the door standing open. She hoped he was actually going to get her other stuff. She had figured she’d get settled and, if she needed anything else, she’d bring it from home. He was right, though, it was dumb to leave her laptop in an unlocked car even if she was visiting a fortress surrounded by chain link and barbed wire.
She sat down on the bed to test for firmness and decided it was okay. Then walked over to the bifold door that she assumed was hiding a modest closet. No hangers. That would be number one on the list of stuff to get from her, make that Tara’s, apartment. At least it might as well be Tara’s for the next three months.
Hearing a rustling behind her, she turned to see Arnold setting the other two bags down.
“Here you go. Everything look okay?”
“I guess. I’m going to need to make a trip to my place for hangers.”
Arnold’s eyes went to the closet. “Maybe I can scare up a few. Most of the rooms are empty right now.”
“Why’s that?”
“And so the interview begins?” He smiled. “Right now only the single guys live here full time, but some of the others keep rooms here...” He trailed off and seemed to become disinterested in finishing that thought.
“How about the president? Is he single?”
Arnold cocked his head. “You interested in Prez?”
She laughed. “No. You’ll find my curiosity knows no bounds and is usually not personal.”
He nodded and leaned against the door jamb. “Anything else you want to ask me?”
“You can count on that, but I’d like to get unpacked. Rain check?”
“Sure. Prez asked me to introduce you around.” He looked at his watch. “Place’ll start gettin’ crowded soon. The old ladies will show up any time now to start helpin’ May with cookin’ and gossipin’. Lot of people come to these barbeques. People who are associated with the club, guests, and people we call hang-arounds.”
“Looks like I’m diving right into the deep end then.” She blew out a breath and looked away.
“You scared?”
She met Arnold’s piercing look. “Should I be? Arnold?”
He laughed. “Course not. We’re as tame as little lambs. Let me see if I can steal some hangers.”
Fifteen minutes later Arnold returned through her still-open door with two big handfuls of wire hangers. Brigid couldn’t remember ever hanging her clothes on wire hangers, but it was better than throwing them on the floor.
“Here you go,” he said as he placed them on the closet rod. “I’ll be back in two hours. If you don’t mind me sayin’ so, if you wear what you’ve got on tonight, you’re gonna stick out like a sore thumb.”
Brigid looked down at her clothes. “Why?”
“You got anything a little more… form fitting? Maybe one of those, what do you call them… halter tops?”
“No. I do not own a halter top. And I’m not sure what you mean by ‘form fitting’, but I left my swimsuit at my apartment.”
He barked out a laugh then shook his head. “You’re somethin’ else, aren’t ya? I’m startin’ to think this is gonna be fun. So okay. Go as you. Nothin’ wrong with different.”
Just before he closed the door, he turned and did a passable impression of Terminator. “I’ll be back.”
Giggling at that didn’t present the professional image she had sworn to maintain, but, she told herself, no normal person could resist laughing at that. Her inner judge followed close behind with criticism about the momentary lapse. She gave herself a stern reminder that she was there to work and only to work, that the people were a sample, and that making friends would compromise her objectivity.
Two hours later she’d put her folded clothes in the dresser drawers, hung her shirts on wire hangers, and set her toiletries on the tiny vanity in the closet-sized bath. She’d charged her phone so that she could record conversations, if the opportunity presented itself. The phone and a small spiral notebook went into the easily accessible front pocket of a messenger bag.
Then she sat down on the bed to wait for Arnold to come back and get her. When Arnold was twenty minutes late, she, a much-less-than-patient person, was beginning to get annoyed. She hadn’t made a deal to be a prisoner and no one had said she couldn’t leave her room, her new home, the last door on the right at the Sons of Sanctuary Motorcycle Club. Saying that over in her head made her smile a little.
She reasoned that she was there to get information, not to sit on the bed waiting for a cutie named Arnold to call for her like it was a date.
When she opened the door, she could tell immediately that the energy of the place had shifted. Both music and voices could be heard at the other end of the building. She walked down the hall the way she’d come.
A door opened to her left and a guy she hadn’t seen before stepped out into the hall. He did a double take and stared openly. She nodded and said, “Hello.” He said nothing, but she could feel him continuing to stare at her back as she walked down the hall.
When the hall opened into the wide bar slash gathering area, she immediately saw Arnold holding a glass bottle of beer and laughing with a couple of men wearing cuts. One was the guy from Hollywood Wrecks and Rides. The two men looked her direction which caused Arnold to turn around.
“Oh, there you are!” he said, as if he’d been waiting for her to show up. “Come on over here and meet some of the guys.” He took her arm and pulled her over. “This is Car Lot.”
Brigid nodded and stuck out her hand. “Brigid.” Car Lot shook her hand.
“And this is….”
“We’ve met.”
“You have?” Arnold sounded surprised.
“Yesterday at the showroom. But I didn’t get your name.”
“There’s a story behind how he got that name. Maybe I’ll tell it to you,” Arnold said. “But first, why don’t you guess what we call him. I’ll give you a clue. It’s not the name his mama put on the birth certificate.”
“How many guesses do I get?” Brigid asked.
“One,” said Arnold. He was clearly having a good time with the name game.
“Well, if I only get one guess, I’m going to have to go with Pistol Pete.”
After two seconds of silence Arnold and Car Lot began laughing so hard they had to lean on each other. Edge, on the other hand, didn’t appear to be enjoying the joke. In fact, his cheeks and ears had turned red.
He glared at Brigid. “It’s Edge,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Well…” Brigid smiled brightly. “That suits you, too.”
Edge looked away when he heard Car Lot over at the bar saying, “She called him Pistol Pete!” just before another round of laughter ensued.
Turning back to Brigid with a hard look, he said, “Looks like you scored some points with my brothers.
” He raised his chin and added, “At my expense,” before turning his back and walking away.
She was trying to imagine what damage control might look like where Edge was concerned. For a smart girl, it was extra stupid to make an enemy of one of the members on the first day of a research project that could make or break her future as a social anthropologist.
After Edge walked away she was left standing alone, but not for long. Arnold drifted back over. “You ready to make the rounds?”
“Yep.”
He stuck out his arm for her to take, which stymied her. Being introduced to club members and their families, on Arnold’s arm, would set up all kinds of signals that were wrong.
“I’m with you, but I can’t look like I’m showing partiality in any way.”
He grinned. “So. Not my date for the party then?” Arnold watched the surprise flick across her expressive face. He leaned in close. “No worries. I’m just fuckin’ with ya.”
Brigid couldn’t help thinking that fucking with her was exactly what she was determined to avoid, but her body reacted to the warm breath on the side of her face. For the hundredth time that day she wondered if she had taken on more than she was prepared for.
As hard as she tried, it was going to be impossible to remember all the names and put them with the right faces. She met men in Sons of Sanctuary cuts at the bar or hanging around the lounge area inside. She met more standing around the barbeque pit and grill outside along with a few of the wives who were watching the children play. Every single person gave her a thorough visual going-over, head to toe, that made her feel uncomfortable enough to give her self-confidence a little tremor.
Brigid remarked that she hadn’t known to expect a family get-together.
“The kids? Oh yeah,” Arnold said. “They’ll be taken home when it gets dark. Before they see anything they shouldn’t see.” That was punctuated with a wink.
The last stop was the enormous kitchen with its impressive sea of commercial stainless steel. There was such a flurry of activity with most of the women congregated in one place. Working, laughing, wiping brows.
Two Princes: The Biker and The Billionaire Page 12
