by Siobhan Muir
And there’s the cocky biker we were missing.
“Uh-huh.” I didn’t bother to respond and tucked into my meal.
“Aw, come on, Numbers. I promise to take good care of you. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
For some reason I believed him, but I wasn’t about to tell him. I needed to keep him talking about himself. “What happened when Michael found you?”
Scott shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t really remember much. I was pretty much hammered off my ass. But the next day I woke up with a pounding headache, an upset stomach, and an offer to join the Concrete Angels.”
“Had you ever ridden a motorcycle before?” Somehow I couldn’t picture him not riding one.
“Yeah, but not continuously. You know, it was just a fun hobby. But Loki and Schnoz were on a recruiting mission to get some guys who had more than the usual amount of experience, and...” He paused as he tilted his head. “Flexible morals when it came to the rules set by society.”
I swallowed my food. “So not straight-laced at all.”
“Nope. Is that what you are?”
“I used to be before...before my assault.” It was hard to admit, but it was good to say. My therapist told me the more I could talk about it the better I’d feel. Healing cost a lot, but the payment was almost always in fear.
“Yeah.”
He didn’t say anything for a while and I didn’t feel the need to fill in the blank space. I used to be as straight-laced as they came, following the rules and the numbers, so sure I was right and doing the world good. But when my supervisor used me as his personal sex toy and no one would back me up about it, my morals became a lot more flexible to cover survival in a man’s world.
“Can you tell me a way to help you out of that panicky head-space? I’m not a therapist or anything, but if I can anchor you in the here-and-now, I’ll do it.”
Despite my distrust of the Concrete Angels in general, I believed Scott cared and would live up to his offer. If I let him.
“So the best of the best weren’t available?” I raised my eyebrows.
“How ’bout we got the best of the mediocre? Well, mediocre at therapy. I’m not anywhere close to mediocre at other things.” He winked.
I laughed in spite of myself. “Okay, Scott. I need light and fresh air most of the time. But the biggest thing...”
I trailed off, afraid to admit the one thing I never received. Hell, I hadn’t even told my therapist about it.
“What, Oriana?”
“I need to know someone around me I can trust to have my back and defend me against assailants when I’m most vulnerable.”
That was the problem in the FBI. They all had his back and couldn’t believe such a high ranking officer of the law would ever commit rape. He was an upstanding member of the community, a member of the PTA, a deacon of his church, and a long time FBI agent. I was considered a younger woman agent trying to make a name for myself based on ruining a highly decorated man’s career.
I raised my gaze to meet Scott’s beguiling green eyes. “I’m a former FBI agent in the compound of the Concrete Angels. I don’t have anyone I can trust.”
Scott didn’t flinch or blink. “You can trust me.”
Chapter Five
Scott
I’d never been so sure of anything in my life. If Oriana needed someone to trust and have her back, I’d be that guy. Part of me twinged with unease. I’d given my loyalty to Loki and the Concrete Angels, but I figured I could protect both. Numbers had signed a blood contract to work for the Club, so technically Oriana and the Concrete Angels belonged in the same class.
She must have been a mind reader because she raised an eyebrow. “I appreciate the sentiment, Scott, but I know your priority is the Concrete Angels.”
She wiped her mouth and put the cover back over her empty plate. “Thanks for bringing me dinner.”
Shit, how had I lost the quiet connection we’d made just a few minutes before?
“I’m definitely loyal to the Concrete Angels, but you signed a contract and work for them. That means you’re an honorary Concrete Angel.”
She shook her head. “It’s only temporary until I solve your embezzlement problem. Then I’m a civilian once more.”
If Loki allows you to leave. With the blood contract, I wasn’t so sure. We’d all made blood contracts with him, though the ones the bikers made were a little different. I swallowed the thought behind my best cocky smile. “That’s if you want to leave. Maybe you’ll decide to stay.”
“So far I haven’t found much reason to do so.”
“I’m hoping to change your mind.” I held out my hands for the tray. “How ’bout I take this back to the clubhouse for you while you get started on those files. What do you like to drink? Do you need anything to keep the brain firing while workin’?”
Oriana raised her eyebrows. “How do you know about that?”
I shrugged. “I noticed it with Neo, and Dollhouse when she’s workin’ on some architectural plans. She has to have lemonade next to her so she can keep her focus and creativity up.”
“Dollhouse is an architect?”
“Yeah, didn’t she tell you that? She has a degree from Montana State University’s architectural school. It’s one of the best in the country.”
“Whoa, really?” Oriana looked impressed.
“Yeah.” I smirked. “What, did you think all the women did here was look pretty and fuck?”
A blush suffused her face as she looked away and shrugged. “I guess I did since she told me Loki found her at a brothel. I didn’t realize she had such a strong education.”
“Pretty much all the Angels have kick-ass backgrounds.” I narrowed my eyes and waggled a finger. “Don’t judge a book by its cover, Numbers. Dollhouse got her road name from building to-scale models of most of the CA’s holdings. Hell, she even designed this place when we took it over for renovations.” I headed for the door. “So what are you drinkin’?”
“Uh, I don’t know. Ice water, I guess.”
“Ice water comin’ up. I’ll be back.”
I sauntered out the door and into the yard just as Roy revved up his bike and gestured to Mel to get on. She shot a look toward her former cabin, her expression a mixture of sadness and frustration before she dropped her gaze and wrapped her hair in a ponytail. I didn’t have much sympathy for her. She’d lied to Oriana to get her up here and I didn’t think Oriana would forgive easily. Yeah, I lied when I had to and Mel’s lies helped me immensely, but something told me I’d have to be fuckin’ honest if I wanted a chance with Oriana.
Roy met my gaze and nodded before he gunned the bike and shot for the gate. Mel squealed and grabbed his waist to keep from falling off the back. That guy’s an asshole. I’d never win any etiquette or decorum pageants, but Roy made me look like a fuckin’ gentleman. I never really liked the guy. He put me on edge, made me choose my words carefully when around him.
Shaking my head, I continued into the clubhouse and almost ran into Samurai standing just inside the doors.
“Oh, hey man, sorry about that.”
He neatly side-stepped me and nodded. “It’s no problem. Do you know where Roy is going?”
“Yeah, he said he had to run into Denver to check on some contacts. Why?”
Samurai grunted as he watched Roy clear the gate. “Didn’t clear it with Loki.”
Oh, shit. As members of the Concrete Angels, Loki gave us a lot of latitude when it came to making shit happen. He wasn’t into micro-managing. But we had to keep him up to date with our dealings and when we met with contacts. We didn’t need to brief him in detail, but a message, text, email, or mention was required. That Roy hadn’t done so made me frown.
“He say anything to you about it?” Sam fixed me with his intense stare.
“Nope. He just said he was gonna take Mel with him to cheer her up while he did his business.”
Sam grunted again. “Guess I’m gonna follow him then. Loki said somethin
g felt off.”
I narrowed my eyes. “This a search-and-destroy thing?”
Sam shook his head. “Just recon.”
I nodded. “’Kay. Keep me in the loop when you find anything out.”
Sam raised his eyebrows. “Why?”
“Dunno. Gut feeling.” Something about Roy was bugging me, but I couldn’t point to a single thing that made me uneasy.
He dipped his chin once. “Got it. Will do.” He slipped past me through the door and headed for his bike. He didn’t ride a Harley, but his Yamaha Ninja had earned its stripes. He’d been part of a Yakuza biker gang and no one in the Concrete Angels gave him shit for it.
I carried the tray back to the kitchen where Grub sat back sipping whiskey and watching his crew clean up. I nodded to him as I set the tray down next to the dirty dishes and he nodded back.
“Dollhouse was looking for ya.”
“Thanks, Grub. I’ll track her down.”
“You do that. Hey, did the Fed lady like the food?” Despite his relaxed posture, his shoulders tensed.
“Yeah, she did. She was real impressed.”
His shoulders relaxed. “Good, good. Wanna make sure she eats well.”
My shoulders tensed. “Oh yeah? Why?”
Grub shook his head and frowned. “I dunno. She needs it, somehow. She doesn’t look like she’s been eatin’ well. And good food is the basis for a good life.”
I let out the breath I hadn’t known I’d held. “Can’t argue with you there, Grub.”
I waved as I stepped back out into the main room and headed for the bar, trying to shove my tension away. I’d been worried Grub had a personal interest in Oriana and jealousy had never been my thing. So why the fuck is it coming up now?
I didn’t have an answer as I stopped at the bar beside Dollhouse and asked Karma for an ice water.
“How’s Numbers doing?” Karma asked the question, but Dollhouse turned her head to look at me with the same question in her eyes.
“She’s…better I think. She ate everything and wants some ice water.” I nodded to Karma as she set down the glass in front of me.
“Is she gonna be okay? It scared the daylights outta me when she collapsed.” Dollhouse rubbed her face with her hands.
“Yeah, I think she’ll be fine.” I hoped so, and I hoped she’d believed me when I told her I’d have her back. “She’s had a fuckin’ crazy-ass day comin’ here. She’ll be better tomorrow.”
“And what about you? Are you gonna be okay now?” Dollhouse raised an eyebrow.
I barked a short laugh. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugged. “I heard Schnoz damn near put you through a tree because you were bein’ a twitchy jackass.”
I ground my teeth to keep from telling her to fuck off. She was right, but I hated everyone knowing about my jealous outburst with Michael.
“Yeah, I’m done bein’ a twitchy jackass and I’m just bringing her some water.”
“Good.” Dollhouse nodded sharply. “I’m glad it worked.”
“Glad what worked?” I grasped the sweating glass, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.
“You bringin’ her dinner.” She shot me a smug smile. “If she wants you to bring her ice water, she likes you enough to let you back in. My plan worked.”
“What plan is that?”
“Getting you together with Numbers. Duh.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m pretty sure I could get together with her on my own. I don’t need your help.”
“Oh yeah? She wouldn’t have let you back in there without the tray full of food.” She stood up and pantomimed a basketball free throw. “She shoots, she scores. And the crowd goes wild.”
Both she and Karma hissed like the muted roar of a sports crowd with their hands in the air. I shook my head and took the ice water off the bar, heading for the door. As annoying as my little sister could be, she was also a born romantic and would do anything to see her friends and family happy. Not that I believed in romance. I believed in sex and attraction and good times. But romance?
Romance required commitment and effort and putting someone else first. Hell, I didn’t think I had a romantic bone in my body, certainly not a non-selfish one. But as I headed out the door to bring Numbers her water, I had the sneaking suspicion I was lying to myself.
Chapter Six
Oriana
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
I’d already asked myself that question at least a hundred times just for being in the compound held by the Concrete Angels, but now it had become about the mess of funds transfers and money manipulation within their accounts.
The mishmash of accounts the motorcycle club held was an accounting nightmare.
“How the hell do they keep track of their cash?” I shook my head as I stared at the computer.
I’d been going over Loki’s records for the last two days and near as I could tell the Concrete Angels had their fingers in pretty much every pie conceivable. I’d found accounts for high end vehicle sales, designer drugs for the trust-fund rich kids, even shipments of expensive accessories like handbags, sunglasses, wrist watches, and shoes. They had accounts for selling mainstream drugs and alcohol, but also weaponry, both new and outdated, across state lines and international borders. The ATF would have a field day with these guys.
The only things they didn’t seem to be into were human trafficking and contract killing. Thank goodness. I might be former FBI, but selling people was a line I couldn’t cross, and assassins made me shoot first and ask questions later.
But following the money trails for all these enterprises was like investigating a giant anthill stirred up by an angry toddler. Some intersected and some never touched. Some of the businesses were legitimate, paying taxes and licensing fees on time. Others were more shady, running so far under the table as to be considered part of the rug.
Loki’s organization of all these different accounts made no sense to me. I had no idea how he’d figured out someone was embezzling from him, but he swore money had gone missing. After two days of reorganizing things into a pattern I could understand, I’d finally had a basic understanding of what his business looked like. And holy shit, the man was an entrepreneurial genius.
He made money hand over fist in multiple markets, laundering the money from the shady shit through his legitimate businesses. But instead of spending the proceeds on flashy crap, he dumped most of his money back into the businesses at a different point, constantly renewing itself and keeping the whole system flush. I was impressed with his brilliance and ingenuity.
But he’d been so disorganized, I had a tough time figuring out where he was losing money.
Unless the accounts were such a mess that he only thought he was losing money.
I frowned as I finished the updated spreadsheet list of all the revenue streams for the Concrete Angels. Overall, they appeared flush with cash and money easily moved from one place to another. I sighed and rubbed my eyes, sitting back in my chair. There didn’t appear to be anything wrong at first glance.
I snorted. At the thousandth glance, either. There was no way anyone would be able to tell someone embezzled money from the disorganized mess.
I sat up and pulled my hands from my eyes. Maybe that was the point. Maybe the disorganization had given the perpetrator the opportunity, if not the motive. The embezzler could have done it by accident the first few times, but when it went unnoticed, it became an easy way to skim off the top and into his or her own pockets.
That meant the perpetrator probably didn’t want me here finding their enterprise and might try to cover their tracks. Hell, they may have already started the process when Loki announced I’d been brought in just for the purpose of plugging the leak.
I reached for my bottle of water and found it empty. Blinking in surprise, I shot a look out my cabin’s windows to find dusk had painted the sky with the rosy tones of sunset.
“Shit, what time is it?”
&n
bsp; I’d picked up the habit of talking to myself after I left the FBI just to hear another human voice once in a while. My therapist had said it came from isolating myself, but it wasn’t a bad thing. She just wanted to make sure I got out and interacted from time to time.
“I should really get some dinner.”
I saved my work on the computer and logged out of the network before locking down my terminal. While all the information belonged to the Concrete Angels, I didn’t want just anyone to wander in and take a look at all my hard work in organization. I figured Neo could come in and break into the laptop without much effort - hell, he even knew my password to the network - but the rest of the crew didn’t have that kind of skill. I hope.
I rose from my chair and headed to the kitchenette to wash my hands, shaking my head. How would I know what kinds of skills the different members of the Concrete Angels had? They continually surprised me. Dollhouse was a professional architect. A woman named Calhoun had a degree in Physics and Engineering. Turned out Scott was a master negotiator despite his brash personality. He could get just about anything out of anyone when he set his mind to it. The men and women of the Concrete Angels came from all walks of life and all educational backgrounds. But one thing they all had in common: shrewd intelligence.
It’s a damn good thing I’m currently on their side.
I dried my hands as my stomach growled. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten anything and no one had brought me a meal since the morning.
I’m gonna have to face them at some point.
I swallowed hard and checked the clock. Seven forty-two. It was later than I’d thought and dinner might be completely over. My stomach growled again and I grimaced. I needed to eat something. Maybe the lateness of the hour would mean there’d be fewer people around. Fewer people to stare at me with pity or hostility.
I closed my eyes. I remembered those looks from the last few weeks at the FBI and my stomach cramped from fear rather than hunger. It still hurt. The looks told me it was my fault. My fault I’d been raped. My fault I lost my job.