by Mackenzy Fox
He nods from his chair and gestures us to the table before him.
“Miss Morgan,” he says in a deep rumbling voice. I can tell immediately he’s a man of presence just by those few words alone, some people just have that knack and it’s slightly terrifying. “We’ve been expecting you. Please have a seat.”
Polite enough, but why’s it so dark in here? There are only a couple of small windows around the top of the far wall that hardly let any light in. This room definitely needs a woman’s touch and it smells like smoke.
I avoid the other pairs of eyes on us and take a seat at the end of the table where three chairs have been set out. How they knew there would be three of us I don’t want to think about, they’ve probably all been watching us sit in the car for fifteen minutes arguing about who was going to get out first. I’m probably right about the surveillance cameras.
“Thank you,” I reply. “Please call me Sienna, this is my attorney Laney and her assistant…..” Shit, umm….. Jesus H Christ…..“Jarrod,” I finally spit out.
I glance momentarily around the table and see a mixed variation of men. It’s hard to take it all in at first, a lot like when you stare at the sun for too long and start seeing spots.
Tattoos. Bandanas. Chunky jewelry. The smell of leather. The taste of cigarettes. There’s enough testosterone in this room to fill an entire village, it’s almost palpable. Weren’t bikers meant to be old, cruddy, beer-bellied fat guys? These dudes are pretty damn hot and the only old one is Mr. Hutchinson, though he’s not exactly ancient himself.
The others in my posse follow suit and any minute now Laney’s going to launch into lawyer mode and bowl us all over with her smart and witty well thought out plan of attack…..any minute now……
Instead Mr. Hutchinson decides to get the ball rolling by getting the formalities out of the way. He’s eyeing me curiously and has an amused look on his face.
“These are the guys, they’ll be witnesses for the meetings proceedings, this here is my Vice President Brock.” He thumbs the guy to his left with the widest shoulders and largest chest I’ve ever seen, he obviously lifts weights, he has long, wild hair and a beard and piercing blue eyes, yeah he could cut glass with his eyeballs. Mr. Hutchinson continues before I can linger too long. “Then there’s Gunner, Rubble, Bones and Steel.”
As my eyes fell on each of them, I take them all in one by one.
Gunner looks like the youngest, he’s blonde and blue eyed with floppy hair hanging around past his ears, Rubble has dark hair and tattoos running up his neck, he’s also got more jewelry on his fingers and up his wrists than I’ve ever seen on a guy ever. The one named Bones has a freshly shaved Mohawk and a fairly applaud worthy beard, he grins at me tipping his head, and lastly there’s Steel, he just stares at me with these piercing dark green almost grey eyes and his jaw ticks like he’s clenching his teeth. He’s the biggest out of all of them and has tattoos scattered and completely covering both his arms and hands so you can’t see any actual skin, his fingers are linked together as he assess us at the end of the table, or rather, me. I don’t know what he sees but he doesn’t look happy.
Why was it that all bikers have weird nicknames? Well it’s true when you think about it; their mom’s probably gave them perfectly good, normal names at birth. I’m sure nobody in their right minds would choose to call their new-born bundle of joy Rubble.
The one named Gunner grins at me, ooh he’s cute. My heart rate kicks up a notch as he assesses me head to toe quite obviously with a smirk plastered across his face. He has a baby-face, golden blonde hair and striking light blue eyes, he’s very good looking and he looks like he knows it. As he smirks his eyes twinkle suggestively. Unnerving and slightly awkward.
They all give a chin lift as they’re introduced, all except the one named Steel, I don’t know why my eyes linger on him, maybe it’s the bad-ass look he’s giving me or maybe he just got out of bed on the wrong side and I’m imagining it.
“Sergeant at Arms.” The blonde one, Gunner helpfully pipes up. Awesome, I’ve been caught staring. “Steel’s the clubs enforcer; he not only takes care of security issues but also rounds up cute, little lost girls from out of town who appear to be on the wrong side of the tracks.”
Some of the guys snicker. My eyes go wide.
“Just kidding,” he laughs giving me a wink. I don’t know which part he’s kidding about.
Steel doesn’t laugh, oh no, he just watches me with a blank expression that’s completely composed, he’s got that down pat, at least Gunner seems friendly.
“Excuse the hostility,” Mr. Hutchinson cuts in giving Steel the side eye. “We don’t usually have bit…. uh…..Women in the meeting room.” He flashes a grin, he has perfect white teeth but it’s more like the grin of a wolf before it devours its prey, that does nothing to settle my nerves.
I gulp and question what I’ve walked into, and was he about to say….. Bitches? Rude.
I smile back sweetly like the intimidation going on here isn’t affecting me one bit. No, I hang out at biker clubhouses all the time and embroil myself in biker business.
I realize they probably think being a woman ultimately makes you stupid and therefore unable to partake in negotiations, like the one in progress, therefore it’s probably beyond my mental capabilities, but little do they know; they’re messing with the wrong bitch.
Finally, with relief so palpable you could bottle it, Laney decides to speak, hoorah! I try not to blow out a full lungs load of air as she takes over.
“We have drawn up the proposed agreement for the purchase of the property.” She begins as I listen on with silent intention. That was Jarrod’s que to fish the documents out from the manila file.
“My client wishes for a quick and simple transaction, and we feel the price is reflective of the current market value, everything is in the paperwork attached.”
I hand the file to the one closest to me, Bones I think, the one with the Mohawk.
I don’t want to think about how he got his nickname and hope it didn’t involve breaking any.
He’s not as chunky as that Brock guy or Steel but he’s still muscly, he has a tattoo of a naked woman on his forearm with a snake wrapped around her and an apple in her mouth, I glance down at it wondering why anyone would get that much ink and of a naked woman right there for all to see, or the pain one would go through in order to get it.
Bad-ass bikers that’s who. I want to shudder, I hate pain, I’ll never get a tattoo.
He winks as he catches me looking. “Ex-girlfriend,” he tells me as my eyes blink rapidly in succession.
I look away embarrassed as he takes the papers and passes them to Steel; he’s still watching me with frosty regard throughout the whole exchange. I stare back, I don’t know where this sudden bravery has sprung from but I refrain from giving him the middle finger.
Okay I’m a woman and you hate me, whatever.
Mr. Hutchinson fishes out some reading glasses, if you can believe it, from his top pocket and flicks open the file and begins to study the papers as soon as they land in front of him.
I can feel the one named Gunner looking at me, my eyes inadvertently move to his and he purses his lips like he’s about to say something. Jeez he’s easy on the eyes. I’ll bet he gets any girl he wants without even having to open his mouth, and what a beautiful mouth….
“I think everything should be to your satisfaction,” Laney adds after a few moments of uncomfortable silence as we all wait for him to finish reading.
Mr. Hutchinson holds up one hand to presumably stop her speaking and he keeps on studying the documents like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever read. This goes on for quite some time.
Maybe it’s time to break the ice a little bit. I mean, I’m not exactly shy and this just feels kind of weird with nobody saying anything, you could hear a pin drop in here.
Do not talk about the weather.
“How come you don’t have women in this room?” I ask refer
ring to Mr. Hutchinson’s earlier comment, directing my question at the cute one, Gunner. He seems like the most friendly and approachable of the bunch. I feel Mr. Hutchinson look up momentarily from over the top of his glasses but he doesn’t say anything, he goes straight back to reading like I’m not even there.
I feel my useless colleagues look at me sharply like I’ve gone insane. Well, it doesn’t say anywhere that I can see that ‘bitches’ can’t speak. If this is some kind of ‘secrets men’s’ club then they shouldn’t have invited women into it.
Gunner bites his lip, fighting a smile as Brock grunts and shakes his head, like it’s the most outrageous question he’s ever heard. Maybe women weren’t allowed to even think in their presence let alone talk?
I smile sweetly just to get my point across, hoping I appear as ditzy as they believe I am, I’m sure that kind of impression can only help me where they are concerned.
Gunner leans his arms on the table; his mid-length hair falls about his face as he brushes it off with one hand. “Because women don’t make decisions here sweetheart.” His eyes drop to my lips very obviously. No shit, I kind of got the memo on that one. “But we sure as hell love ‘em visitin’,” he adds mischievously.
I don’t know if I’ve taken a shot of adrenaline alongside my coffee this morning, but it’s such a sexist statement about women not making decisions that I just can’t help myself. Who cares? I’m never going to see any of them again.
“So this must be a very intriguing scenario for you then?” I reply. “What with me owning the place and everything.” I want to add that they are a sexist bunch of ass holes but I somehow refrain, I’m sure it’s obvious by my sarcastic tone.
I mean honestly, do they even hear themselves? Women don’t make decisions here sweetheart. Barf.
I feel all eyes on me but I hold my head high.
It’s possible that they hate Max just as much as I do, but my reasons are entirely different.
“It’s certainly a new experience,” he replies with a laugh, sitting back in his chair relaxed, at least he’s enjoying himself, nobody else seems to be. It kind of feels tense in here.
Maybe it’s another of their tac-tics. Get the cute one to flirt with me and because I’m a woman with no brain cells or free will -who knows- they may just be able to pull a fast one over me by intimidation and hostility. Well, little do they know, I have nothing to lose.
With a thrumming heart we sit and wait for Mr. Hutchinson, ruler of the world, to finish reading every single word on every single line of the contract, the very same one that was emailed to him weeks ago that he’s probably read a hundred times already.
Well, I will not be intimidated, I refuse.
He looks up eventually, taking his glasses off and chews on the end of one of the arms, the look on his face is thoughtful but gives nothing away.
I’m trying to gauge it here, usually I’m good at that and at reading people and I can usually decipher someone’s general mood, but for the first time in a long time I’m actually totally unsure of what he’s going to say. He doesn’t look mad, he doesn’t look entirely happy either, if only I could be a mind reader, oh yeah, and not a woman.
Everyone turns to look at me and I wait, very patiently, for deliverance.
2
Steel
I don’t know why she’s picking me to have a stare down with. She shouldn’t take it personally; I look like this at everyone. It’s my job to be a cold son-of-a-bitch. It comes with the territory, and right now she’s in my territory, in my clubhouse.
It’s almost comical that she’s technically our new landlord; I’ve never seen a landlord who looks like that. Still, she wants out and we want in. We’ve been eyeing this land for years, so on the surface, things should be cut and dry... a done deal... if only things were that simple.
I watch as she fiddles nervously with her hands on her knees. Her body language gives her away. Every now and then she looks around, being careful not to linger anywhere too long, and she’s avoiding looking at me, which is smart.
She’s pretty. Fucking beautiful actually. Her hair is a soft honey blonde, and for some god awful reason it’s tied up in a bun. I imagine my hand pulling it down to wrap around my fist. Jesus. Even though her unsure blue-green eyes dart around, she has the grace to keep looking hopeful, like things in this room might get better before they get worse. Boy, do we have news for her, and it’s all bad.
I continue my silent, mindless observation. She’s tan because she’s from California, well dressed... a neat and tidy package, not like the girls around here. I can tell she’s got a tight, hot little body under those clothes and tits that would make you sit up and weep. She shouldn’t wear anything sheer like that. Ever.
That fucker Gunner is giving her a full-on fuck-me grin, but that’s typical of him. God’s gift to women, he’s got the kind of look that works on women of any age, color, or creed. He has a way with the chicks because of how he looks and his charm, but he’s too obvious with it. Then again, some chicks like that I guess. I wonder what little Miss Sienna Morgan likes.
Unbeknownst to her, I know all about her. Unlike some of my brothers, I haven’t just come into this meeting to check out some new piece of ass and hopefully sign the deed to the clubhouse. No, I’ve done my research like any upstanding Sergeant of Arms of an MC would. I’ve come prepared.
My training in special ops in the military means I can do background work quickly and thoroughly, and even though there was quite a bit to sift through, I guess old habits die hard. I know more about pretty little Sienna Clare Morgan than I have a right to.
I know she’s twenty-nine and from southern California. She majored in Business Management, and until recently she worked as a senior associate at a bank. She’s not married, no brats, was raised by a single mom, and has no siblings. I don’t know much about her financial status, but obviously she’s inherited good ole Max Morgan’s investment portfolio, or should I say debts. She has no criminal record, and judging by the looks of her, she’s probably never even gotten a parking ticket.
I stare at her as she taps one of her light pink nails on the table absent-mindedly, trying to pretend that none of this is getting to her.
“How long are you in town for?” Gunner has the audacity to ask. Is he actually crazy? We’re in the middle of a business deal, and here he is chasing pussy right in front of everybody, which is just his style: he doesn’t care, as long as he gets in first.
I’m not sure if I’m buying this whole sweet, innocent act she’s got going on yet though, and I can’t stop thinking about bending her over the end of the table and giving it to her hard and fast.
For fuck’s sake. I need to get my head in the game. I also try to zone Gunner out, which is never easy.
The Stone Crow. Oh yeah, I know all about that too. Where she works, where she lives, where she goes; I had to get a bead on her before the meeting, and it’s not stalking behavior exactly… It’s for the club. One thing’s for sure, though; Sienna Morgan isn’t the type of girl you hook up with and screw once. Hell, you’d have to get past her best friend, her advisors, and her tennis coach to even get a look in; and even then, she’d want a contract drawn up. I hope not by her useless lawyer, though, or there’d be no chase at all.
As far as the club is concerned, Hutch would much rather the bank foreclose so he can snap up Church super, super cheap, and that’s the plan, she just doesn’t know it yet. So, this little charade is exactly that, a charade, going through the motions. It’s shitty, but that’s how business works. She’s in our town now, and these are our rules.
I cross my feet at the ankles and wonder idly if she has it in her. The fight. ‘Cause she’s about to be on the ride of her life, whether she knows that right now or not.
Of course, having a deadbeat like Max Morgan as your dad would make anyone tough, estranged or not, so I kind of hope she has some fight in her.
I glance at Hutch; he’s still reading the papers like he does
n’t already know what’s in there. We all do; nothing’s changed.
I risk another look at sweet Sienna’s face and catch her exchanging a glance with her attorney. It’s a “what the fuck is going on?” kind of look.
I glance at Gunner, who, I can tell, is about to go in for the kill. I subtly kick his chair leg with my boot before the words escape him. He glances over at me. I shake my head once at his questioning frown.
Keep it in your pants, big boy. We don’t want to scare her off.
If everyone around here would just let me do my job and didn’t try to screw things up every five minutes, then my life would be a hell of a lot simpler. The last thing I need is him screwing with the club’s new landlord. Then again, maybe it would do her some good. Gunner can do some pretty wild shit.
“…There are some things to discuss with my brothers here,” Hutch begins as he removes his reading glasses. “So, we will review the terms set out here amongst ourselves and get back to you in due course.”
He’s going to draw this out for her. I glance her way again. She looks just slightly stunned, and her forehead creases in confusion. I hope to god she kicks up a fight.
I wonder if she’s a spitfire in the bedroom, too. Suddenly, a range of positions that I’d like to see her in come to mind, and I wish Gunner would kick me back under the table so I’d get my mind out of the gutter. I can’t help it: she’s perfect, but she’s way too sweet to be here.
“I was hoping that we could discuss it today, we’re happy to wait outside,” she counters, clearly desperate to get this deal done.
Hutch looks down the table at her long and hard. He’s one tough motherfucker. He definitely isn’t used to “negotiating” with a woman. Not that we’re total Neanderthals, but in his eyes, old school ways still rule. Women have their place, and it isn’t in meeting rooms discussing business, especially his clubhouse. Even though his ol’ lady works in real estate and is a ball buster herself, she doesn’t come in here. Hell no. Club business is between men, which Gunner already pointed out, and I saw how well that went down with her. She thinks we’re total assholes.