EIGHT
Dagne
The thunderous sound of six pairs of boots on floorboards disturbs me from the semi-sleep I’d found myself in, curled on one of the armchairs. Head still spinning, I whip my legs out from under me and straighten up—for some reason, being busted having a nap on their furniture seems like a step too far for someone who’s barely welcome in the first place.
“Found everything you needed, then?” Digits crosses the room to where I sit, a smile on his handsome face.
“Yeah, thank you.”
The rest of the men spill around the bar, a young member I don’t remember seeing before I dozed off, serves them.
“Still want to go then?”
“I guess.”
Digits frowns, perching on the arm of the seat beside mine. “Problem?”
“Just unsure where to go,” I say. Truth seems the best option. “I’m about out of cash, so I need to find somewhere where the chance of work is high.”
“Right.” He nods, his tone indicating he’s thinking this problem over. “Give me five, yeah?”
“Sure.” I internally roll my eyes. Not like I’m in a rush to go anywhere.
Digits joins the other guys, accepting a drink from the man behind the bar. I tuck my legs up and look around the room, taking in more of the details than I did previously. For what I presume is the MC’s clubhouse, there really is next to nothing to do with motorcycles on display. Apart from the massive mural of the club’s insignia that I spotted on the way in, there’s nothing in plain view. Sure, maybe the leather furniture hints at something, but no Harley pictures? No prints of half-naked women? No signs about loyalty, respect, honor and all that?
Weird.
A shiver ripples my spine, and I shake it off, twisting in the seat to get more comfortable. No wonder, then. Standing in the doorway, small tin box in his hand, is their president—Hooch. And he’s watching me like a goddamn hawk.
I frown, hopefully transmitting my unspoken question: “What?”
His chin lifts and he glances down to scoop a small amount of the box’s contents onto his hand. Great. No wonder the guy is permanently pissed off: he’s a fucking coke-head. Figures. Not like an outfit like this makes their money legitimately, and where there’s trouble, drugs usually follow.
He snorts the powder, and then pockets the box, eyes still on me. I glance away, hoping it might dissuade him from watching me, but nope, when I look back he’s still assessing every inch of me.
I’ve never felt so exposed, even when naked.
The unwarranted invasion of privacy irks at me, and the longer he stares, the more my body becomes aware of his every move, and therefore the angrier I get. I’ve lived in fear, watched my every step in the past, and that’s not a situation I’ll tolerate again—no matter how brief.
If this fucker wants to dance, then let’s tango. No point beating around the bush and faking pleasantries when we’re only going to know each other for all of the next ten or so minutes before I leave and we never lay eyes on one another again.
I get out of the seat, and cross over to where he stands with his shoulder leaned against the doorframe again. I catch Digits watching me in my periphery, but continue until I’m toe to toe with the big bear of a man.
“Is there something you’d like to say to me?”
“What gave you that impression?” His pupils dilate, and he squints a little.
“You’re staring at me with the kind of ferocity I’d expect from someone who’s hoping I’ll burst into flames if they scowl hard enough.”
A low chuckle rumbles through his chest, although he never opens his mouth to let it out. “Simply trying to work out your game, fairy.”
I know I’m petite with finer features, but his referring to me as a fairy kind of pisses me off. It infers I’m light and delicate, weak. I’m anything but.
“No game here, buddy. I don’t expect anything from anyone other than what they want to freely give.”
He lifts both eyebrows, his mouth pulling down at the corners. “Okay.”
“Problem?” Digits slides in beside me, his hand resting on the small of my back.
I shake it off. “No problem. Just thanking your president here for his hospitality.”
“Oh, okay.” He moves his gaze between Hooch and myself, and then turns his body slightly to face me only. “I talked to one of the guys here who knows the lady who runs the grocer a few miles up from us. He said he can have a word to her about getting you a few hours a week if you want to stick around a while.”
Ugh. Catch-22. Wait and possibly get cash, or leave like I’ve been asked to and struggle to eat again. Damn it.
I look pointedly at Hooch. “If that’s okay with you, of course?”
“Make yourself useful, and I won’t have a problem with it.” He eyes Digits, passing some message I can’t quite decipher.
My thoughts flit to what Beth said about making yourself indispensible, and predicting what it is these guys want before they have to ask. I glance over at the men currently downing their drinks at a rate of knots and an idea forms.
“Would your men be hungry? I can whip something up?”
“We have a cook already,” Hooch states, his gaze challenging.
Bastard. “Suppose you have someone to do the washing, too?”
He nods. Digits sighs.
“Bookwork?” I’m pretty good at organizing things when I have to.
“Does it look like we need a receptionist?” Hooch scathes.
I sigh, rolling my eyes back in my head. “You decide then—how can I repay your courtesy?” I narrow my gaze on the brute, resisting the urge to place my hands on my hips.
“The grounds haven’t been taken care of in a while.”
You’ve got to be kidding me. “So show me the way and I’ll get to work.”
“The garden is out there.” Hooch thumbs over his shoulder to the front doors. I catch the hint of a suppressed smirk.
“Jesus, boss. Steady on.” Digits guides me toward the entrance with a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, I’ll show you where the tools are. You can get started tomorrow.”
I nod and step aside to let him lead, catching the smug look on Hooch’s face as he looks over his shoulder to eye us leaving.
If he thinks he can break me for some light entertainment, then the asshole has another thing coming. These goddamn grounds are going to be golf course quality by the time I’m finished.
And he’s going to be begging me to stay.