Separated MC (The Nighthawks MC Book 10)

by Bella Knight

  “You already are,” said David. “Now, go. You’re exhausted. Get some sleep.”

  “Yes,” she said. She hugged him again, and jogged to her Harley.

  Henry came out of the house, and stood on the porch with him. “She okay?” he asked. He stood next to David, and put his arm around his waist.

  “She will be,” said David. “She has a strong spirit.”

  “So do we all,” said Henry. “Can’t really be one of us without it.”

  “It would seem so,” said David. “Even the damaged ones heal around us.”

  “Come in,” said Henry. “We have shredded chicken and fry bread, and fresh salsa.”

  “Now you’re talking,” said David. He followed Henry into the house.

  Lily interviewed Jaci Summers, a recent accounting graduate. Jaci had wild black hair, snapping black eyes, and golden skin. She had tiny hands and feet. She wore what would be appropriate if she was going to work at a small office —black pants, a short-sleeved black jacket, and a gold, silk shirt. Jaci had spent three summers working in an accounting office. That company had a split, its two partners in an acrimonious divorce.

  “Where do you want to work?” asked Lily. “I can give you a desk here, or you can work from home.”

  “We can rent a single room in an office.”

  “I looked at some of those places for rent,” said Lily. “To be blunt, firstly, I’d rather pay you than the bill for that. The other, is that many of them have those open plans, or glass walls. I don’t want to see anyone, or for them to see me. I’m not a goldfish.”

  “New trend,” said Jaci. “And, I can work in coffee shops. I have roommates, so working at home won’t work. You have kids, so here won’t work for me, either. I have a narrow focus, just love to get it done.”

  “Would you want a fifty dollar coffee card, per month?” asked Lily.

  Jaci laughed. “Nice perk. There are also on-demand offices. We can use it for when we meet clients.”

  Lily laughed. “I don’t mean to put you down, but our clientele is primarily small businesses and motorcycle clubs.”

  Jaci sat up straight. “I have always wanted a Harley. Don’t have the money. Don’t have money for my own apartment, either.”

  “No commute,” said Lily. “Coffee shops, remember?”

  “So, you have so many of them and you want to hire me?”

  Lily laughed. “I have a client that keeps spinning off new businesses. Just had two —one to pay off debt, one that is a small business selling cat toys, believe it or not. I am surrounded by hard workers that are working hard to make a buck.”

  “You could work with people online, on demand,” said Jaci.

  “Yeah, but these are my friends and family. Trust is involved. I want to keep a sterling reputation. I will use people online, absolutely, especially during tax season. I refuse to lose sleep.” She laughed. “I get as little of it as possible, anyway. And, I hired someone, and she’s got enough on her plate, and we keep getting more work, so, you.”

  “So, me,” said Jaci. “I’m liking the salary. Great for us ‘just-graduated’ types.”

  “You come highly recommended,” said Lily. “I believe Jerry Phillips said to me, specifically, that you, ‘wouldn’t get your panties in a twist over working small businesses run by bikers.’”

  Jaci laughed. “Sounds liked Jerry.”

  “Denise recommended you, too. She seems to be…”

  “Off,” said Jaci, going the diplomatic route.

  “Good way of putting it,” said Lily. “Jerry doesn’t get what’s going on with her. I tried to warn him, but he kinda ignored me, said he’d stand by her.” She sighed. “Bad move. Loyal, kind, gentle, but it’s kinda like she’s swallowed some razor blades.”

  Jaci nodded. “I’m not comfortable discussing this.”

  “Good woman,” said Lily. “So, do you want to start today?”

  “Aren’t you going to interview anyone else?” asked Jaci.

  “Nope,” said Lily. “I need a badass.”

  “I’m a badass?” asked Jaci. First of all, her new boss had called her a woman. Most of the places she’d been interviewed at had called her a “trainee” or a “girl.” “Badass” was just… cool.

  “You are,” said Lily. “You survived working for people going through an acrimonious divorce while still keeping your clients happy and acting in a professional manner.”

  “Thank you,” said Jaci. “So, I brought my laptop. Newly scrubbed, too. My hard drive got an error. I’ve got data backup, and work on an external hard drive, and a backed-up cloud drive.”

  “Shut up,” said Lily. “First, sign this.” She handed over a slim folder, and Jaci signed her non-disclosure agreement, W2 for tax purposes, and her insurance paperwork. “I get insurance?” she said.

  “You’re not an independent contractor, and I do expect that you will work thirty (plus) hours a week, and a lot more during tax season. So, you get insurance.”

  Jaci sat there for a moment, trying not to cry with happiness. I am a badass, she thought. Badasses pull their shit together on their first day of work. With real insurance. She attacked the paperwork with a vengeance.

  She opened her laptop, and they worked for a while. Jaci was relieved that Lily worked with easy-to-use software. She took on three businesses, got the books in order, and learned the banking passwords.

  A loud wail interrupted them, then a second one met the first. “They’re up,” said Lily. “Go home, Jaci, and come back tomorrow at seven.”

  “Seven am?” asked Jaci.

  “These ones are up early,” she said. “I’ll get them fed, and we’ll give you more. You’re going to have plenty to do.”

  “I can see that,” said Jaci. The two dogs followed her to the door, and grinned at her with doggy grins. She let herself out.

  Run

  Bannon woke up, stretched, and slid out of bed. He did his morning ablutions, read his meditation book, and put on his running shorts. His German shepherd, Pepper, a former military dog, was up and ready to go. It was barely turning light, the only time to run in Vegas in the summer. He stretched, then ran to the track at the high school. He jogged two circuits, then built up into a run. He ran, then sprinted, then ran, then jogged, then ran again. He thought of doing the hurdles, but he wasn’t a young man anymore.

  He walked the last two, stretched, and said “Hello” to the coach, Tami Martinez-Myers. She was a brown-haired woman who was fleet of foot and always ready with a whistle. Tami challenged him to go up the stairs on his hands, and so they went up —and back down again. She started her run, and he waved goodbye.

  He took the run home at a solid pace. He waved hello to Tom, the security guard. He got in the elevator, and went up to his condo. He’d gotten a great deal in more than one way. Gregory had helped Tito rehab the entire building, and he, wanted to buy an entire building. He bought it from Tito, and Bannon had then “stolen” Gregory. A man with those skills, working construction, even as a hobby… Bannon shuddered. He could have damaged those amazing hands.

  Bannon went in, undressed, showered, and came out into the kitchen in only his boxer shorts. He beat two eggs in a mug, added shredded cheese and diced red bell pepper, and added Italian spices. He zapped it in the microwave, and took out his herbed, cheesy biscuits; just two. And three slices of bacon. The bacon was cooked in the microwave, and then the biscuits reheated. He added a pat of butter to each, and ate breakfast at the breakfast bar with a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice. He ate quickly, rinsed the dishes, silverware, glass, and mug, and put them into the dishwasher. He brushed his teeth, dressed in light gray slacks, a blue polo shirt, and a vented motorcycle jacket. He put his gun in his hidden pocket, gave the dog some love, and headed out. Guys like him usually drove SUVs, but Gregory had turned him to using a Harley to get to work, and then the company SUVs could hang out in the garage until needed. He loved the control and responsiveness of the Harley, and the noise. He l
oved the noise.

  He saluted the guard. Yancey was ex-military, and he also paid her to maintain his Harley in its mint condition. He rode in, parked in motorcycle parking (which was conveniently located near the elevator), and rode up to the third floor. Bannon got out, and his admin Jaime Choi rushed up. Jaime was a former lieutenant, admin to a General Harper, and seemed to think he was still in the military. He was also dressed in slacks and a polo shirt, but he had a sidearm. Bannon’s gun was hidden. Choi had his black hair in a military haircut. Bannon suspected he still wore dog tags.

  “Sir,” he said, “You have two meetings. Fabian Darley is in One, and Travis Chalke is early, in Two.”

  “Order breakfast for Two and put it on our tab,” said Bannon. He took the proffered folder, and stepped in to Conference Room One. Fabian Darley was sitting back, teacup in hand. He was blonde, with a square, ruddy face, and large ears. The man was wearing an aqua golf shirt and yellow slacks. Bannon praised his inner prissy self that had a full tea set on hand.

  “G’day,” said Darley.

  “Hello, mate,” said Bannon. Darley put his cup down. They shook hands, and then both men sat. “I hear you want to hire us for security.”

  “Amazing Grace, she is,” said Darley. He was referring to Grace Alawa. She was an Australian Aborigine who made amazing music, with a guitar and a voice that could hit notes that only dogs could hear.

  “She is,” agreed Bannon, easily. “She’s fifteen. Are you worried about a crazed fan?”

  “Ever since that girl from American Idol…”

  “It was The Voice, American version, and she was amazing,” said Bannon. “A natural singer. So, yes, we can protect her. Does she want to go to clubs?”

  “Clubs?” asked Darley, stunned.

  “We have under-twenty-one clubs where she can dance,” said Bannon. “There’s some pool ones where she can swim, too.”

  “Hmm,” said Darley. “She’s here for a week, and only five performances, two each on two nights. So, yeah, she might like that. I’ll send a text.” He texted her.

  “We’ll have limos taking her from place to place, armored,” said Bannon. “We can have women with her, too, that would make her feel more comfortable. We also have the possibility that we could investigate —of her meeting a singer or two.”

  “Really?” asked Darley.

  “We can try. No promises, so say nothing to her about it. Make sure she’s super-polite to them, especially if she doesn’t know who they are. They can still tell her things about the business.”

  “Good,” said Darley. “Your price is a little high, but you’re helpful.”

  “We have great service,” said Bannon. “And, you won’t have to go through layers of flunkies. You’ll be working with me. I’ll put my top female operatives on this one.”

  “Excellent,” said Darley. The men shook hands. Darley’s cell phone dinged. “She says there’s one called Lemon Beach. She says that looks fun.”

  “I’ll tell our operatives to book it. If she wants to see a magic show, or whatever, please let us know. And, we’ve got her rehearsal space booked.”

  “Excellent!” said Darley. “Thank you. You’re a good sort, aren’t you?”

  “We do try,” said Bannon. “Mr. Choi, my admin, will be in with the paperwork. Please do not hesitate to ask for what you want.”

  “Thanks, mate,” said Darley.

  “Fantastic doing business for you, mate,” said Bannon. They shook hands again, and Bannon stepped out.

  “Yes, it was.” Darley smiled.

  Choi zipped up. “Book Lemon Beach for our Grace,” said Bannon. “Full contract.”

  “Good,” said Choi. “Travis Chalke refused breakfast. His entourage were nearly wilted. I slipped in some fruit and croissants, on the house. His entourage became quite happy.”

  “Good,” said Bannon. They traded files.

  “Mr. Chalke,” said Bannon, as he entered the conference room. He didn’t offer his hand, and neither did Chalke. Chalke had narrow raisin eyes, a doughy face that looked somehow unformed, a barrel chest, and wide hands with squared-off fingers. “You wish for a guardian?”

  “For my ward,” Mr. Chalke said. “I am from Chalke, Tanner, and Danby. Our client’s name is Ryse. Ms. Ryse never married, and her family was killed in a…” The man visibly shuddered. “A poisoning. The father was angry with the mother, and inadvertently murdered six family members and family friends. Poisoned the wife’s favorite tea. Got the wife, too. Ms. Ryse was away at college, so she wasn’t poisoned. The poisoner drank his poison when he saw his youngest daughter die. Ms. Ryse was artificially inseminated some years later, and had a daughter. She worked for us, for a number of years. She became quite rich running our real estate investment trust, and made some investments. She died suddenly, heart attack. Her daughter is twelve. I am her ward.” He shuddered. “I have no interest in children. I do not understand them. She refuses —outright refuses, to go to boarding school! She says she will run away if she goes. She is twelve. She hates my home, my furniture. I do not know what to do.”

  “I do,” said Bannon. “Leave it to me. I take it she has a trust, for education, and so forth?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Chalke.

  “Well, we will enroll her in school, and she needs a place to live, and a parent/protector, whenever she is not in school. We have several for hire, and they are all military trained,” said Bannon. “We will need guardianship papers for the capacity to choose a school, interact with teachers, get her proper medical care, and the like.”

  “Excellent,” said Chalke.

  “This is far past a full-time job,” said Bannon. “There must be more than one person to care for her, in case of illness of the… care provider. She also needs food, clothing, school supplies, and much more.” He knew the trust was for twenty million dollars and change, and would keep gaining in value.

  “One hundred thousand dollars a year in salary,” said Chalke. “That is more than some CEOs make.”

  “Plus life, and health insurance,” said Bannon.

  Chalke narrowed his gaze. “Your employee would already have…”

  Bannon cut him off. “For the child, of course. A policy that grows for her.”

  “Of course,” said Chalke.

  “And access to the trust, specifically for the child’s needs.”

  “I will have my assistant, Sheila Banks-Monroe, set up payments.”

  “Excellent,” said Bannon. “One more thing. What is the child’s name?”

  “Sarah. Sarah Ryse.” He didn’t have the grace to look discomfited.

  Bannon sighed inwardly. “Where is Sarah located?”

  “She is downstairs in the car.”

  “Alone?” asked Bannon.

  “Of course not. She is with my driver.”

  “My assistant, Mr. Choi, will bring in the paperwork at once. I will take the child off your hands, immediately. I’m certain you have a busy day.”

  “Yes,” said Chalke. “A busy day. I have other concerns, you know.”

  “I’m certain that you do,” said Bannon. He stood, and exited the room.

  Choi bustled out of One. “I’m making copies for Darley.”

  “Walk with me,” said Bannon. He gave Choi the rundown.

  Choi made his face more and more impassive, until it was granite by the time the two men got to the elevator. “I’ll have everything done at once.”

  “Make this ironclad,” said Bannon. “I can’t get custody away from him, but I want him to forget she exists, except when getting whatever cut he gets from the trust.” He sighed. “And get someone to watch him. I want to be sure he doesn’t loot it.”

  “Done,” said Choi, as the elevator dinged.

  Bannon figured that a limo wouldn’t be hard to find. He was correct; it was a Silver Cloud Mercedes. The girl inside had black hair that covered her face. She wore khakis and a black T-shirt. She was banging away on a cell phone.

  Bannon sto
pped and talked to a driver. “I have permission to take Ms. Ryse. Please call your employer if you don’t believe me.”

  The driver was a man with a bladelike nose and huge brown eyes with a chauffeur’s cap, who was working on his own cell phone. Bannon recognized the software; the man was making stock trades.

  “Have you met Mr. Chalke?” asked the driver.

  “I just came from a meeting with him,” said Bannon.

  “Would you want to talk with him?” asked the driver.

  “Point taken,” said Bannon.

  “Are you going to take good care of Miss Sarah?” asked the driver.

  “The very best,” said Bannon.

  “I’m the one that put the bug in his ear about hiring someone to care for Miss Sarah,” he said. “Do better than your best, Sir.”

  “I give you my word,” said Bannon. The two men shook hands.

  Bannon opened the back door. Sarah looked at him, eyes wide. “Please don’t be nervous,” said Bannon. “I have several living situations for you to choose from. No boarding schools involved.”

  She grabbed a backpack off the floor. “Give Mr. Singh your card. He’ll have my stuff delivered where you want.” She sighed. “Not much left. The bastard had the house sold before I got all of it out. All my furniture’s gone.”

  Bannon handed over his card. Mr. Singh took it. “One lady I know is really good about making pods.”

  “Pods?” asked Sarah.

  “May I carry your backpack?” It was stuffed.

  “Please,” said Sarah.

  “The pods are bunk beds that are enclosed, to make a private space, with lighting, a little fold-down desk, a shelf, and cushions. They’re tall enough so you can sit up in them. A lot of teens I know like them.”

  “Not a teen for five months,” said Sarah. “So, I really get to choose where I live?”

  “And who you live with. I bought a condo building. Most of my staff lives there. I live there too. Most have three bedrooms. A few have two. I checked, and you can attend your current school, if you so desire.”

  Sarah blew out a breath as the elevator dinged. “Good. I don’t want to leave my friends.” They stepped into the elevator. “It’s private, but not hoity-toity. No uniforms, exactly, just khakis and polo shirts. We can wear khaki shorts if we want. They hung out with me even when I got really sad when Mom died.”