by Wynne Roman
Silence grows between us, scraping at my nerves, until finally he asks, “You wanna prove yourself?”
“That I’m not lying? If you won’t take my word for it, how do you think I’m supposed to do that?”
“That’s not what I mean.” His other hand slides up my arm until his fingers stroke over the sensitive skin of my neck and behind my ear, making my nipples ache again.
“Then what?” My voice sounds embarrassingly breathy, and I clear my throat. “What are you talking about?” I demand in a stronger, no-nonsense voice. Thank God Talon doesn’t know how hard I have to work for it.
“You say you’re the best. Prove it.”
Prove it. How many times in my life have I heard that? How often have most women faced the demand, whether or not it was voiced?
Do I give into my outrage, or do I take advantage of the chance to teach these rude, misogynistic bikers a lesson?
“How?” I allow just the word and no emotion.
“We got a small project here at the clubhouse. You take it on, finish it in a week, and we’ll decide.”
Decide? As in award the contract?
I shake my head. “What about the others?”
“What others?”
“The other contractors? Did they have to prove themselves?”
Talon hesitates long enough that I decide to take a chance on looking at him. I turn until my back is against the door and stare up into his non-committal expression. He lifts a shoulder.
“Yes, but not in the same way.”
“What does that mean?”
“We talked to them. Looked at their work. Got a feel for how they’d run the job.”
“You wouldn’t do that with me.”
“No.”
“But you’re willing to give me a chance now.”
He shrugs again but doesn’t speak this time.
“Why?”
He raises his eyebrows as though repeating the word. Why, what?
“Why are you giving me this chance now? You refused every effort on my part before. You refused to give me the same consideration as the men.” I choke out the truth, closing my eyes long enough to sort through the possibilities of what this could mean. “Are you just trying to get some work done for free around here?”
“We’ll pay you,” he snaps, sounding offended.
I angle my head in his direction. “All right. But the question remains. Why?”
“You’re a fighter.”
“What?”
“You been fighting for a chance ever since the request for proposals first went out. We ignored it. You showing up here —”
“I did not fucking plan this,” I remind him, interrupting hotly.
Talon holds up one hand. “You showing up here is either stubbornness on your part or a lucky accident. Either way, you’re not backing down. So . . .” He drags the word out. “We’re gonna take a chance and give you a shot.”
Five
TALON
Ainsley shows up early Monday morning. Of course she fucking does; it’s like she’s flipping us off: Here I am, you motherfuckers. You can’t ignore me.
Part of me wants to laugh at the thought, but I don’t. Joker, Crow, and I worked too hard getting shit ready for this “test project” for that. Sassy, Joker’s ol’ lady, has been wanting a clubhouse kitchen upgrade for a couple of years now. Things get started, Sassy and Joker get into a pissing match, and then things get shut down until she can fuck him into agreeing again. Crow, who’s actually an engineer, has done enough planning that Ainsley and Burton Construction ought to be able to pull off most of the remodel in a week.
If they work their asses off and are as good as Ainsley claims.
“Mornin’, sweet thing,” I greet her when she comes in through the front door carrying a to-go coffee. Her scowl makes me grin. Is it because I called her sweet thing or just the nature of this bullshit project? From what I know about women, either could be true.
“Talon.”
“You ready to hit it?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
I stare at her coolly. Her pissy attitude wouldn’t cut it in the real world, and it sure as hell doesn’t go over well with me. She flushes and drops her gaze, maybe realizing she’s pushed up to the edge of my tolerance. I don’t say a word, and I don’t look away.
Instead, I take a few seconds to inspect her. She’s dressed a lot like the other night. She’s wearing a different colored shirt of the same style, but her hair’s pulled back into a high, tight ponytail. Her eyes are narrow, mouth tight, and her cheeks pink.
“I spent the weekend going over everything Crow gave me,” she says after a moment, her voice stiff.
I nod, approving her move back to business. It’s what I’d do if I fucked up.
“This project has been on-again, off-again for almost two years now,” I point out. “Crow works with Sassy every time it comes up. They got a lot of the planning out of the way. That should help.”
Ainsley’s lips twitch like she’s trying to smile politely. “I met them at the box store yesterday. We ordered everything and arranged for delivery this week.”
“I know.” I try not to smirk. “I had to approve the charges.”
“You . . . what?”
“Didn’t they tell you? I’m Joker’s money man.”
“What does that mean?”
“Club Treasurer.” I wait a beat and then add, “College degree and everything.”
She blinks but doesn’t respond.
“What?” This time I snort. “Did you think I only knew how to ride and fuck?”
“I —” she shrugs “— guess I never thought about it.”
Am I offended? Not really. Stereotypes about bikers and clubs are strong. Most of us gave up trying to change them years ago. Besides, it gives us a certain amount of protection. People expect the worst, and most of the time, we win either way. We get by with whatever we want, or they’re pleasantly surprised.
“You did good.” I give in for the moment and make a pacifying gesture. “Crow told me your suggestions really helped.”
She lifts a shoulder. “I only have a week. I just pointed out that anything we got had to be in stock.”
“You also helped convince Sassy of shit Crow thought made a lot of sense.”
“She wants a commercial kitchen. It didn’t take much to remind her that white cabinets are hard to keep clean and that she needs appliances that are reliable and do the job that she needs. Expensive price tags and fancy names aren’t always worth it.”
“Good point.” I angle my head in the direction of the kitchen. “So, what’s your plan for today?”
“Demo.”
I can’t resist this time and share her satisfied smile. “I got Tex, Bear, and Wood assigned to help. Crow and I’ll be around if you need help.”
She shakes her head. “I should be good. I scheduled four of my guys.”
That’s plenty of workers, so why does she suddenly look so irritated? I don’t get the chance to ask before a loud, booming voice shouts, “Seattle! Who thought we’d get to work together?”
Bear. I don’t need to turn to see him.
Ainsley peers around and sends him a resigned smile. “Hey, there, Bear. I hear you’re on my crew.”
“Yep. Crow said we’d be tearin’ shit up today.”
She laughs. “That’s the plan.”
“Within reason,” I insert pointedly. “We want to recycle whatever countertop and cabinets we can.”
“What for?” Bear looks disappointed.
“The shops, storage, shit like that.”
He blinks and nods slowly, his smile gaining approval. “Yeah, okay. Makes sense. The bike shop definitely needs a place for shit. Mexico goes crazy when it’s time to head out, and he can’t find what he’s lookin’ for.”
“Mexico?” Ainsley asks.
“Road Captain,” I supply.
She looks puzzled, like I didn’t really tell her anything that made
sense, but I don’t explain. Not now.
“Let’s go check it out.” Bear turns toward the kitchen. “Cabinets are supposed to be empty. Sassy made the who — uh, women clean ‘em out yesterday.”
I don’t look at Ainsley to see if she made the connection of Bear cutting off the word whores. The women who aren’t ol’ ladies go by a couple of different names around here, but Bear usually calls them club whores.
I don’t give a shit what name he uses, any more than I care about how Ainsley feels about it. She seemed pretty open minded Friday night, but that might not be the case anymore. If not . . . well, anything like that is her issue.
You wanna be involved with Hell’s Creed MC — whatever that means — you take us as we are.
Stepping into the kitchen, I see it looks like demolition has already started. The counters are stacked with boxes of . . . well, who knows what kind of crap is in there? Dishes, glasses, silverware, pots and pans, utensils . . . you name it. Nothing is labeled, but that’s gonna be Sassy’s problem.
And this little mess? Well, it belongs to Ainsley.
I look at her with a grin. “Looks like you got your work cut out for you, sweet thing.”
AINSLEY
All things considered, the first day of construction — or destruction, as Bear has been calling it — doesn’t go badly. He, Tex, and Wood are decent workers, and I pretty much give them something of a lead in this case. They know the premises, know where and how the recycled countertop and cabinets might be used, and it just makes sense.
My guys don’t seem to mind. Well, that’s true for everybody but Cody. Jack, Ryan, and Kyle all worked for my dad for a couple of years, and they know the drill: show up on time, do your job, and don’t complain about shit that’s none of your business. Cody is a newcomer. He worked only one job for Burton Construction before Dad got too sick to carry on, and it would have been his last if I had an easier time finding workers. He’s lazy, his attitude sucks, and I have to watch him constantly.
If I have any choice, I won’t hire him in the future.
We’re nearly finished for the day. I’m standing behind the clubhouse, looking over the flatbed trailer that Talon provided for the recycled cabinets. Bear, Tex, and Wood are taking care of things, and I’m good with that. All I care about is doing the job I was hired to do, following Joker’s orders, and impressing the hell out of Sassy.
That means I’m double checking everything.
“Hey, wait a second!” I circle the trailer. “Where’s that funny little corner cabinet I told you to save?”
No matter how much Talon and Joker want to recycle the cabinets, not everything is in good enough condition to save. We’ve trashed what we had to, though there are a couple like the cabinet in question that are unique enough to rescue. It might mean a little rehab before it can be reinstalled, but instinct tells me it’ll be worth it.
“Oh, that.” Cody waves a hand dismissively. He’s standing by the bed of the truck that the trailer is hooked to. A cigarette dangles from his lips. Every time I looked for him today, he was sitting down, leaning against something, or smoking one of those damn stinking cigarettes. He ignores everything going on around him.
“What?” I demand when he doesn’t say anything more.
“I tossed it.” He points to the dumpster. “It was a piece of shit.”
I stiffen and feel myself grow like the Hulk. I stalk up to him and stare into his sharp, rat-like face. He’s a couple of inches taller than me with shoulders and pecs and a chest that prove he works out, but it doesn’t translate to the kind of strength that helps on the job site. I don’t care about any of that right now.
“I told you to keep that cabinet. Specifically told you.” I jab a finger into his chest. “And what did you do? The exact opposite.”
Cody’s already-sullen expression grows dark. “You didn’t fucking tell me —”
“I told you all,” I snap, stepping back so I can sweep my hand out to indicate the others. I’m aware of every one of them: Jack, Ryan, and Kyle stand behind me to my right, while Bear, Tex, and Wood wait on the opposite side of the truck.
“I didn’t hear shit,” he sneers.
And there it is. The disrespect that colors everything Cody does where I’m concerned. He’s been pushing my limits all day, as he has on every project. I’ve tried to be the professional, cooperative boss my dad would have wanted, but that’s over. I’m done with that bullshit.
If the men are ever going to learn to respect me, I can’t pussy out now.
“That’s it. You’re done, Cody. I’ll mail your final check, or you can pick it up tomorrow at the end of the day.”
He straightens, throws his shoulders back. Does he think that intimidates me?
“What did you say?” he demands sharply.
“You heard me. You’re fired.”
There’s a moment of dead silence before his face goes seriously ugly. “You bitch! You can’t fire me.”
“I can, and I did. California’s an at-will state, which means I can fire you without cause.” I toss out the unnecessary explanation because, without it, I know he’ll lie, make threats, and create a scene, all for the sake of being a pain in my ass.
He throws his cigarette to the ground and takes a step toward me. “You can’t fire me,” he repeats, his tone as hostile as his darkening expression.
“Insubordination and poor performance say I can.” Nervous tension might be shooting up my spine, but I’m not backing down.
“You bitch,” he shouts and takes another step.
I want to make a snotty comment about his limited vocabulary or maybe question his intelligence, but I don’t have the chance. Cody keeps moving, his actions slow and deliberate. When he gets within maybe an arm’s reach, he raises one hand, and my instinct kicks in.
I brace myself, while at the same time kicking out. My foot swipes between his ankles, catching each one, and he stumbles to his knees. That gives me plenty of time to scramble away.
“You bitch!” Fury screams from him as he lurches to his feet. “You’ll pay for that.”
“You sure about that?”
I blink and stagger back when Talon steps in front of me. Shit. Concentrating on Cody, I stupidly lost track of what else was happening around me. My crew and the Hell’s Creed members stand like a human wall behind me, while Talon fills the once-empty space between Cody and me.
“What the fuck?” Cody barks.
“You got a point?” demands Talon before I can speak.
“You stickin’ up for this dumb bitch? She —”
“Is your boss!”
My voice comes out too loud, but I don’t care. I need this fucker to listen. I try to step around Talon, but his arm flashes out to keep me back. Shit. Okay, so maybe it isn’t the best idea to try to go toe to toe with an enraged Cody. That means I’ll have to rely on my words.
“I’m the one who makes the decisions on this project, and I fired you.”
“You can’t —”
“You heard the lady,” Talon interrupts before Cody can tell me again that I can’t fire him.
Talon’s assistance or not, I’m still not backing down. “I can do anything I damn well please for the good of the project, and that means tossing your ass.”
I probably shouldn’t be so mouthy right now, but I’ve just freaking had it. The stress is piling up: the insolvency of the business, the accusations that I fucked Talon for a chance to bid the Hell’s Creed project, the pressure to get this small-potatoes kitchen rehab perfect.
No more letting some asshole get his way just because he has a dick.
Cody stares at me, unable to do anything more and he knows it. Talon tops him by six or seven inches, and the biker’s muscular build makes men like Cody look weak and useless.
That should reassure me — and it does — but I don’t miss the mottled red of Cody’s face. His eyes are narrow and hate-filled. I can’t say I’m afraid of him, but I’m not stupid, either. I’m awar
e that, under the right circumstances, Cody could hurt me. Badly.
I stare at him without blinking, the only thing I know to do under the circumstances.
“Bear!” Talon snaps a few seconds later.
“Yeah.” I recognize the voice from behind me, and that one word isn’t a question.
Talon nods toward Cody. “Get him outta here. He’s no longer welcome. Under any circumstances.”
“You got it.”
Bear steps around me, his hand flicking in an almost unobtrusive movement that apparently means something to the others. Tex and Wood step up behind him, and all three stalk closer to Cody.
“Let’s go, dude.” Bear points toward the gate where the cars are parked.
“You’ll be sorry, you bitch.” Cody shoots me another of those heavy, furious stares.
“Bear,” Talon snaps.
Bear and Wood close in on Cody, each man grabbing an arm. Tex stalks ahead of them, barking orders into his cell phone, as they drag him away. “Open the gate. Get this fucker’s license plate number. He’s banned.”
Cody tries to struggle but gets nowhere. When that doesn’t work, he starts shouting insults again. I don’t listen.
“You okay?” Talon looks at me, his expression more curious than concerned. Somehow, that satisfies the feminist in me.
“Fine.” And I am. “But I need a drink.”
Six
TALON
“Hold that goddamn thing in place!”
“Shit, Seattle! This thing is fucking heavy!”
“Stop whining, Bear. I thought you were some big, bad biker boy.”
I swallow a grin. The brother wouldn’t appreciate my laughter when he’s getting his ass handed to him by a pussy.
“Man,” Bear says a second later, his voice sounding like more of a grunt.
“What?” Ainsley asks.
“Big, bad biker man.”
She laughs, and I step around the corner to see what they’re arguing about.
They’re working in the oversized pantry to assemble a free-standing metal shelving unit. Another of Ainsley’s suggestions: get rid of the built-in wooden shelves and replace them with moveable metal shelves that can be adjusted as needed. Sassy ate that idea up with a fucking spoon, and so here they are, in the middle of installation.