Bait

by Mia Carson

  “Yep,” I confirmed, my smile growing.

  She was obviously wondering what kind of nut job I was. “Like with wings? Messengers of God that come down to earth to spread good joy among men? That kind of angel?”

  “In a way,” I confirmed. “An angel is an investor in small companies that are just getting started. I take a look at an idea someone is trying to get off the ground, and if I like it, I invest in the company.”

  “Oh!” she said, clearly relieved I wasn’t a total whack-a-doodle. “So you’re like, what’s that guy, Warren Buffet?”

  I scrunched up my face as I considered. “Similar but not really the same. The biggest difference is Warren Buffet is worth God knows how many billions, and I’m not. But another difference is I invest a few hundred thousand to maybe a million dollars in very young companies. Warren, he plays on an entirely different level. He invests billions in big, established, companies he thinks will make him a lot of money. My investments are much smaller, and I help grow the company so someone like Warren wants to buy it.”

  “Still, a million dollars isn’t chump change.”

  “In this game, it’s nickels and dimes. I can’t complete with the Warren Buffets, George Soroses and Carl Icahns of the world, so I don’t even try. They could swallow up everything I’ve invested and it wouldn’t even be a blip on their balance sheets.”

  “Invested in anything I’ve heard of?”

  “Probably not. I’ve only been doing this for a couple of years, so nothing I’ve helped get off the ground has become a household word yet.” I grinned at her. “But someday, some of them might.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, there’s this one firm I bought a forty percent equity in. They’re doing some amazing things with machine learning. They’re definitely in the race to produce the first computer to pass the Turing Test.”

  “Turing Test?” she grunted as she pulled on the dog to keep him moving.

  “Yeah. Ever heard of Alan Turing?”

  “No.”

  “He was a computer scientist back in the forties and fifties. He came up with a test to prove artificial intelligence. You put a person in a room with a computer terminal. If the person can’t tell if the person he’s talking to via the screen is a person or a computer, the computer will have passed the test and would be considered intelligent.”

  “And no computer has been able to do that?”

  “No, not yet,” I replied as Bailey zoomed by on his bicycle.

  “I’m not sure how I feel about that. I can’t get the computer at work to do what I want even when it isn’t intelligent.”

  I grinned and nodded in sympathetic understanding. “Yeah. In some ways it will be an amazing breakthrough that could open up possibilities we can only dream about now. On the other hand, as you said, it’s hard enough to make computers do what we want without them having a mind of their own.”

  “Then there’s that whole robot overlords thing,” she said seriously and looked at me with a grin.

  “That too. So, what do you do?”

  “I’m the service writer at Harley-Davidson of Charlotte.”

  “No kidding?” I exclaimed.

  “What?” she demanded. “Can’t a girl work in a service shop for motorcycles?”

  “No, it’s not that. I’m just surprised. I didn’t see you as a grease monkey.”

  “Well, I’m not the one spinning wrenches. I’m the person the guy talks to when he needs his hog serviced. Mostly I enter information into the computer and recommend services.”

  We stopped as Hoover planted a land mine, and I had to turn away to hide my smile as her face twisted in disgust. She retched softly as she picked the waste up in a bag and tied it off.

  “That’s so disgusting. Yuck!”

  “How did you get involved in that?” I asked when we started walking again.

  She shrugged. “How does anyone get involved in anything? I went to work for them right out of high school as a parts runner, then I—”

  “What’s that?” I asked. “A parts runner?”

  “We’re the local distributor for Harley parts. If another dealer orders a part they don’t keep in stock, or another repair shop ordered parts, I”—she made tick marks in the air with her fingers—“ran the parts to them.”

  “Oh, okay. That makes sense.”

  “From there I started working the parts counter, then I became the service writer. I’ve been with them over ten years.”

  “That makes you twenty-eight?” I asked.

  She looked at me and grimaced. “I just told you my age, didn’t I?”

  “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

  “So answer me this,” she said after a pause. “If you’re this big investment guy, then—”

  “Hardly,” I muttered over her.

  “—why do you live here in Charlotte instead of New York or someplace.”

  “Because you don’t have to live there, not anymore, and they don’t print enough money for me to live some place like New York. I was born and raised in South Carolina and have no interest in moving up to Yankeedom.”

  She snickered. “Fair enough. But why Charlotte?”

  I shrugged a shoulder. “It’s only a couple hours to home, Florence, where my folks still live, plus Charlotte is second only to New York for financial services. It’s a good fit.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that. I would have guessed Chicago, or Los Angeles, or someplace like that.”

  “Really.” The conversation began to lag. “Want to see if he’ll sit?” I suggested to fill the growing silence.

  We stopped and Hoover went to the end of the leash, stopped, then came back. “I worked with him on this last night. Let’s see if he remembers. Sit!” she ordered. He didn’t do it immediately, but as she reached to push his butt down, he beat her to it and sat down. “That’s a good boy,” she purred, bending over to put her face close to his as she scratched.

  I took a furtive glance as her ass, wishing she was holding my face that close to hers and telling me I was a good boy. I’d be willing to sit up and beg for that kind of attention.

  “Now you need a release command. Something like ‘okay’ or ‘good job’ or something.”

  She looked at Hoover a moment. “That’ll do,” she said as she bumped the lead, and Hoover stood.

  I grinned. “That’ll work.”

  We started walking again, talking more about computers, a safe subject that prevented the divulging of too much personal information too quickly. As her car came into view I screwed up my courage.

  “I had a good time, and Hoover is doing a lot better,” I said as an opener.

  “Yes he is. Thank you very much for the help.”

  I mentally took a deep breath to fortify myself. “Can I call you sometime? Maybe we can grab dinner?”

  She smiled at me and looked down. I knew immediately she was going to turn me down. “Thanks for the offer, but, I don’t know.”

  “I won’t bite, I promise.”

  She grinned. “It’s not that. I just got out of a bad relationship, and I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

  I forced a smiled. Sure she did. It was one of those ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ responses a woman used to let the guy down easy. “I understand,” I said, not letting my disappointment color my tone. I’d been turned down plenty of times and it didn’t bother me. Not much, anyway.

  “I did have a good time, though. I enjoyed the walk.”

  “Here every day from three until five, unless it’s raining,” I said, my tone teasing.

  “Thanks again for the help with Hoover.”

  “You’re welcome.” I looked at the dog. “Be good for Carolyn, and no more knocking people down,” I scolded him playfully. He stared at me with his shockingly blue eyes as he panted.

  She opened her car and Hoover jumped into the back. As she circled the car, I opened her door for her. I closed it after she slid in. She started the car and rolled th
e window down.

  “Thanks again.”

  I forced a smile. “My pleasure.”

  I watched her back away and checked the time on my phone. It had taken us about an hour to walk the three miles. I thought about it a moment, then opened my car as I pulled off my shirt to change. I removed my glasses, shrugged into my running shirt, and slipped out of my pants, tossing them into the car and shutting the door. I could get in about five miles before it was time to go.

  Carolyn

  I looked up from my service kiosk as the distinctive rumble of a Harley approached. I plastered my best customer service smile on my face. Wednesday’s were the slowest day of the week, and I’d only had three customers all day. Despite the bad-boy reputation of Harley riders, the truth of the matter was most riders were older, well off, doctor and lawyer types. My smile didn’t last long as the rider coasted to a stop in the writer’s bay. I knew the bike and rider all too well.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Rockford?” I asked. My voice was pleasant, but I couldn’t bring myself to smile at this asshole.

  Rock pulled the skull cap helmet he wore off and parked it on the rearview mirror, smiling at me as he tucked the ear piece of his sunglasses into the pocket of his leather jacket so they hung on the front. It was an easy, practiced motion, part of his look. The tiny helmet that would do nothing to protect him in a crash but kept him from being hassled by the cops for riding without a helmet, the leather jacket or cut, the shades, it all screamed sexy bad boy, and I used to be all over that. He was still just as good-looking as ever, but after what happened, I was so over him.

  “Hey, babe.”

  “Don’t babe me. You lost that privilege.”

  “Whoa! Why the hostility?”

  I glanced around, but we were alone in the service writer’s bay. “Why do you think?” I had to work to keep my language under control and my tone neutral.

  He grinned as he sauntered up to me and started to put his arms around my waist and grab my ass like he used to. I blocked him. He’d lost that privilege too.

  “Keep your hands to yourself or I’ll have you thrown out,” I sneered. I guess he heard the seriousness in my threat because he held up his hands in surrender. “What do you want?” I demanded.

  “Do I need to have a reason to—”

  “Yes, you do, Rock. So either tell me what service you need performed or get your ass back on your hog and get out of the way of paying customers.”

  He grinned at me as he looked around the small bay where customers dropped off their bikes with an exaggerated expression of surprise. “Yeah, the place is swamped.”

  “Doesn’t matter. They don’t pay me to stand around visiting with customers.”

  His grin turned into a leer. “No, they pay you stand there so dudes will keep bringing their hogs in to be serviced because they think they might have a chance of getting in your pants.”

  I ground my teeth so I wouldn’t tell him to go fuck himself. I was good at my job, able to take what the techs told me and explain it to a customer who only knew how to put gas in his ride in a way he could understand. I took a lot of ribbing when I was moved to the service writer position, but the techs respected me now. I was a lot better at customer relations than the guy I replaced, and because of that, the complaints about their work went way down. That made the service manager happy, and that made the techs happy.

  “Do you need service or not?”

  “I need the kind of service you used to give me.”

  “Sorry. We don’t do that here. Thank you for stopping by. Have a great day.” I returned to my kiosk and pointedly ignored him by keying in repair information on a customer’s ticket.

  “Jesus. You really have a burr up your ass.”

  I looked up. “Oh! Are you still here?”

  “How about a beer after work, like old times?”

  “How about you leave me alone?”

  “What the fuck is your problem, Mikki?”

  “It’s Carolyn. No problem you leaving me alone won’t solve.”

  “It’s just beer, for Christ’s sake.”

  I smiled at him the way I smiled at customers who were dicks. “Sorry. Have plans after work.”

  He spluttered. “What plans?”

  “I’m dog-sitting all week. I have to get home to let him out.”

  “Dog-sitting? You? That’s bullshit.”

  I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  “Just have a fucking beer with me.”

  “No.”

  He stared at me like he couldn’t believe I’d turn him down. “Jesus Christ, are you on the rag or something? I don’t understand your problem.”

  “My problem is you!” I hissed. “It’s you and your stupid little games.”

  “What games?” he asked, but he knew, and he could tell I knew as well.

  “You set me up to get my ass kicked. Don’t even bothering denying it. Trip-B told everyone, and Hearts told me. What was it? Were you bored with me? What?”

  “It was just a little fun that got out of hand.”

  “Telling Trip-B you were tired of me and someone needed to take me down a peg or two was a little fun?” I stared at him a moment. “Oh, yeah, I know. I also know you fucked her right after she beat the shit out of me. So, try this on for fun. Fuck you!”

  “You better watch your mouth, Mikki, before I—”

  “Before you what?” I interrupted with a sneer, seething with memory. “I’m not part of your little club, Rock, and I don’t have to follow your rules. I’m not your property anymore, so excuse the fuck out of me if I don’t give a shit what you think.”

  I watched his face harden. It’d probably been years since anyone talked to him like I was, much less a woman. Rock was an asshole, but he wasn’t stupid. I knew he wouldn’t do anything here. RMC didn’t entirely walk the straight and narrow, and he didn’t need any additional police scrutiny. I knew where the skeletons were, and he knew it. Out of loyalty to my friends, I hadn’t put the cops onto RMC, but if he pushed me, he knew I could become a real pain in their ass.

  “I came here to see if you wanted to come back to RMC and—”

  “Come back?” I grinned. “You thought I’d come crawling, begging for you to take me back, didn’t you? You can’t stand it that I walked away, can you?”

  “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I just thought—”

  “What’s the matter? Trip-B wasn’t as much fun as you thought? Tired of dealing with her shit, the same shit the rest of us had to put up with?” I was enjoying myself. “You want me back! Admit it!”

  “Fuck you, Mikki!”

  “You had that chance, and you fucked it up. You!” I heard the rumble of another hog approaching. “So, either tell me what service you need performed on your bike or get your ass on it and ride it out of here. I’m never going back to RMC. Never!”

  He glared at me and turned to watch the big Electa Glide Ultra Classic pulling up. He sneered at the full-dress tourer.

  “I always get what I want, Mikki,” he growled as he pulled his sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on before swinging a leg over his Softail Deluxe. He slapped his helmet on his head and thumbed the Softail to life. He gunned the bike out of the bay, the shorty pipes echoing like thunder in the enclosed space. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, breathing out the tension.

  “Welcome to Charlotte Harley-Davidson. How may I help you?” This was a new customer, someone I didn’t recognize.

  “Something’s wrong. I was on the interstate and the bike started running bad, and it’s way down on power. I’m headed to Daytona for Bike Week, so if we can get this taken care of quickly…”

  I nodded in understanding. “Yes, sir. I think I can slot you in this afternoon. Let me get a little information from you.”

  I filled out the paper work to log the bike into our system. The guy was in luck. Because it was a slow day, I was able to get the bike into the shop immediately.

 
While the guy paced in the waiting area, I returned to my conversation with Rock as I sat on my stool and pretended to be busy. Rock was too proud to ask me to come back, but it was clear what he thought he wanted from Trip-B hadn’t gone as he’d expected. Served him right, the asshole. Maybe she broke his dick off and was keeping it in her pocket. I hoped she had.

  Whatever the reason for Rock’s visit, I was never going back to the Ravens. I missed Hearts, Saddle, and few of the other club women, but I didn’t miss Scott fucking Rockford at all. The other thing I missed was the sex. The sex drew me to the life in the first place. The drinking and partying were fun, but what I really liked was the no-strings-attached fucking. I was getting my toes curled anytime I wanted, and the guys treated me well because of it.

  I hadn’t even missed the fucking, much, until this past weekend. After Trip-B finished mopping the floor with me, I hurt too much to even think about sex. It took almost a month for the aches and pains to disappear, and it took a little longer for the emotional wound to heal.

  I was hurt that Rock had treated me the way he had. I didn’t love him. He was just a good lay for me, but it still upset me that he’d set me up to fail with Trip-B. Hell, if he’d told me she was coming for me, I could have at least been ready and maybe I’d have stood a chance, but the whole thing was a set up from the start. Rock taking me to the room, having me ride him cowgirl so I was on top and easy to reach, her busting in while we were fucking to catch me off balance. All of it.

  I still talked to Hearts on occasion, but we were drifting apart. I hadn’t spoken to her in almost a month. That was the thing about motorcycle clubs, especially one that had shady dealings. They were tightknit, them against everyone else. They had your back and you had theirs. It was the betrayal of that trust that had hurt me the most, and it had shaken the club deeply.

  I’d lost my MC family, my lover, and my friends in about six minutes of brutal combat. Not because I’d gotten my ass whipped, but because after I’d gotten my ass whipped, I’d turned my back on the club. Now I was an outsider, and because of that, Hearts and I didn’t have much to talk about anymore.

  Because my entire world had been the Ravens for almost ten years, I had no other friends and no other interests, which was why I was going to Mr. Ryder’s house after work to watch his dog. I thought I’d made peace with my decision, but having Rock show up stirred up all the old feelings again. I missed Hearts, and while I didn’t miss Rock, I realized I was only pretending that I didn’t miss getting fucked regularly.