Chapter Nine
Steele
"I've never seen this look on you before, sir," my driver said.
I narrowed my eyes, sure my driver had some sarcastic intention. "What look is that, Max?" I asked.
"Jilted. Though it looks like it suits you," Max said. He opened my town car door with a courteous bow.
I paused with one foot in the town car. "She had a family emergency."
"Yes, sir. You've had plenty of those yourself over the years," Max said.
Long ago, when I used to enjoy the copious amounts of female attention my family name garnered, I had set up a system with my driver for escaping uninteresting dates.
"It's not like that," I told him.
The older man gave me a piercing stare from under his chauffeur's hat. "No. Maybe not. She seems different. Should I check her out?"
I groaned and lowered myself into the town car. "No, Max. I know enough about her, enough to know I want to see her again. Isn't that enough?"
My driver hesitated before closing my car door. "The prudent course would be to do a quick background check. What if she's swimming in debt and looking for a billionaire to bail her out?"
I grabbed the door handle and wrenched it away from Max. "Claire's too busy to even think about my family or my fortunes. She happens to be interested in other things about me."
I slammed the door on my driver's skeptical look. So what if I didn't know what Claire did for a job. She hadn't peppered me with questions about the Channing corporations and that was one of the things I liked best about her. She understood that a person is more than their job or their bank account. Or their family.
Still, I couldn't help wondering if Claire had lied about the family emergency. She might have had to go meet Reese. His type was always getting in trouble and depending on someone else to bail him out.
"Where to, sir?" Max asked from the driver's seat.
I needed to clear my head and blow off some of the steamy heat Claire's insistent lips had caused. "The garage."
My driver frowned but drove me to the garage that was rented under his name. There I stored two motorcycles and a few scruffy changes of clothes. Max did not approve but he'd been my driver since grade school and his loyalty to me was unquestioned. He was the only one that knew about my secret hobby.
Except for Claire.
I still couldn't believe that I had told her. And she had understood. That moment, that casual acceptance from her had thrilled me more than my first wild ride on my Harley Davidson.
I changed into a scuffed pair of jeans and a black t-shirt before tossing my tailored dress clothes at Max. "You can take the rest of the night off," I told him.
He frowned and handed me a chipped, black helmet. "I'm on call if you need me."
The winding route to the roadhouse on the far outskirts of the city was my favorite drive but I hardly noticed any of the sloping turns. All I could think about was what it would feel like to have Claire riding behind me, her arms slipping tight around my waist.
My body was still singing with the fantasy when I pulled up to the Rebar Roadhouse and noticed Hack pacing the gravel parking lot. My buddy scratched at his neck, muttered to himself, and stomped back and forth until I parked my Harley. He was talking before I even got off my motorcycle.
". . . And I need the money, man. He owes me," Hack said.
"What'd you bet on now?" I asked.
Hack followed me to the roadhouse door. "Doesn't even matter, man. The fact is that he lost and he owes me money. What happens when he doesn't pay is all on him."
I paused with one hand on the worn door handle. "What’s happening?"
"I gotta make him an example. Strong arm him. Can't have other people think I'm soft, think I'm letting him steal from me. I got a reputation, Steele. You know that," Hack said.
I refrained from telling Hack that his reputation was slowly disintegrating. He'd always been a bit unreliable, prone to drug-use and hard-partying, and known for making outrageous bets. Now his growing addiction and erratic behavior were the first things people thought about when they heard his name.
"No one thinks you're soft," I said.
Hack did not appreciate my diplomacy. He scrubbed at his chin and shooed me back from the door. "I'm going to ask the club to back me. You've got my back, right?"
I frowned. "The Road Claw isn't that kind of motorcycle club, Hack. Can't you find a better way to deal with this little gambling debt?"
Our club was named after the five routes that spanned out from the Rebar Roadhouse. Most of the Claws were part-time riders who, like me, used motorcycle touring as an escape from their daily lives. Sure, we all sometimes drank too much, got into scuffles, and made regrettable bets for fun, but we didn't seek out trouble.
Hack, on the other hand, didn't have a job or, as far as any of us knew, a permanent residence. He claimed the club was his life and he'd do anything for it. That mostly meant he hung around the roadhouse doing odd jobs for club members. The only problem was he expected the same fierce loyalty from the rest of us.
"Another way? What other way?" Hack spat on the front porch near my scuffed boots. "I need the money, man. Hen isn't going to let me stay in the garage anymore. I gotta start paying rent somewhere."
Henry Rialto, the owner of the roadhouse, was affectionately known as Mother Hen for his habit of taking care of everyone. He'd been talking rehab for months now, but it hadn't sunk in. Hack was getting kicked out of the roadhouse garage in the hopes he would get into a program and get sober.
I chewed on my lip. It was no secret that Hack spent whatever money he scraped together on his next fix. As easily as I could fix all his money problems, I knew it was best to just stay out of it. Sometimes addicts had to hit rock bottom before they could think about recovery.
"No one's going to leave you out on the streets," I told Hack. "So, who cares if some idiot's late paying you?"
Hack's blurry eyes blazed. "Who knew the great and mighty Steele would be so soft."
I stepped forward and loomed over him. "There's a difference between soft and smart."
Hack skittered back a step and grimaced. "Well, we can't all be as clean and wholesome as you. Sometimes the rest of us have to get our hands dirty."
"All I'm saying is that you should take some time to think about this, Hack." I turned and headed for the roadhouse door.
He caught me just inside as my eyes were adjusting to the dim interior. "I have thought about it. It's all I think about. And now that I've got my plan, I need to know my buddies will back me up."
"We're here for you, just not for any of your harebrained schemes," I said.
Hack spat again and missed an ancient brass spittoon by six inches. "Why don't you mind your own business then, pretty boy. Let the real men take care of the dirty work."
"You can go ahead and get a mop, Hack," Henry called from behind the bar. "There's a roast beef sandwich in it if you mop the whole floor."
Hack scowled but disappeared into the back to retrieve the mop and bucket. I peeled off my leather jacket and headed over to the bar.
"Not your normal night," Henry said as he poured me a whiskey shot.
"Last minute change of plans," I said.
"Good. I got a bad feeling that Hack's trying to collect some debt tonight. Odds are 10:1 that he gets his ass kicked."
I knocked back the shot and let Hen pour me another. I wanted Claire far out of my mind before I tried to deal with club drama. "Do you know who owes him?"
Hen shrugged. "Some sloppy drunk with less sense than our guy there."
He nodded to the door while he poured my second shot. Hack was back and scrubbing the dry mop back and forth across the welcome mat while he muttered to himself.
I had a bad feeling I knew who owed Hack money. Part of me thought it would be funny to see Reese stacked up against Hack, but I knew it could get out of hand too fast. Hack might have been drug-addled but he was still a brawler and I'd seen him take down men twice his size.
I sighed. "Got any food tonight, Hen?"
Just then a colossal crash came from the back room. Hen slapped down his rag and swore.
"There would be food if that kid could get his head out of his ass," Hen said.
The kid was no doubt Henry's own son, a gawky teenager who aspired to chef's school while frying up food for his father's bar.
"I'll go check on him," I said.
Hen nodded. "Better you than me. I'm about ready to strangle him."
I stood up and let myself behind the bar, slipping through the narrow door that led to the tiny back room kitchen.
"What's going on, Georgie?" I asked.
The teenager looked up from where he was mopping up a mountain of red spaghetti sauce. He glared at me through spattered glasses. "I'm George now."
"Sure, kid," I laughed. "Need a hand?"
By the time I headed back out to the bar, Hack was pointing a shaky finger at Hen's chest. "You said you'd back me, old man. Doesn't anyone know how clubs work? I just saw him drive up and I need to know you've got my back."
Hen slapped Hack's hand away. "Deal with it civil or you're out on your ass."
I paused in the narrow kitchen door. The roadhouse door cracked open and Reese wandered in. Two steps behind him was Claire. My heart stopped but I managed to duck back into the kitchen before she noticed me.
"There you are, ya sore loser," Hack jeered. He hitched across the roadhouse floor and poked Reese in the chest. "Brought my money?"
"What exactly does he owe you?" Claire asked.
Hack snorted. "Who's the pretty mouth? Better tell her to shut the hell up before I do it for you."
Reese bristled but Claire gently shoved him out of the way. "I'm the one that's taking on his debt, so I repeat: what exactly do I owe you?"
Hack tossed back his head of thinning hair and cackled at the ceiling. "You really expect me to deal with some buttoned-up chick? Step back, chicky-poo, before you get hurt."
I was ready to launch myself over the bar and take out Hack myself, but Claire didn't even blink. She just sighed. "So neither of you are very good at remembering numbers."
A shudder of frustration ran through Hack's scrawny body. "Oh, I remember. I remember down to the last shiny cent."
Georgie shoved his way into the doorway next to me and whispered, "who's that? I think I'm in love."
I chuckled but shoved the kid back out of the way. It was ridiculous to be spying from the back of the bar, but I didn't want to interrupt and blow my cover unless it was totally necessary.
"Get out of the way, giant," Georgie hissed. "I gotta see my new girlfriend. She is too cool."
"Agreed," I said.
Claire didn't say a thing. She just stood there, her steady brown eyes staring right at Hack's twitching face. He strutted back and forth a few times, looking tough and spewing bullshit but she waited.
Finally, he wore down his posturing and gave in. "He owes me three hundred grand. Cash. Now."
Her eyes widened at the astronomical amount, but Claire didn't back down. "No," she said.
"No? You can't say no to me! It's a contract. We shook on it. I know my rights," Hack said. "How do you think this works, chicky-poo?"
Claire took a deep breath and said, "Now we negotiate."