3
I quickly found out that Wilson wasn’t kidding.
I spent the next week working between the shop and in the kitchen with Cindy, a lady that was probably in her fifties with a bright bleached blond hair. She also worked me harder than any staff sergeant I’d ever worked under. I worked nonstop when in the kitchen. The general gist of what I did was serve the members of the club like a waiter. Fortunately, I wasn’t expected to take orders. Cindy had a menu on each day of what was offered for lunch and dinner. The general idea was if you were coming to the clubhouse for food you ate what was put in front of you.
They were just fortunate enough that Cindy was a better cook than the guys back in the mess hall. No one complained, and there wasn’t a man in the clubhouse that pushed away the dish I set in front them.
“The wings,” Jose told me one day while I was passing around beers. “You gotta try her wings. If she lets you in on her secret, you tell me.”
“So far the only thing I’ve actually cooked is french fries. But,” I shrugged helplessly, “It’s safer if I don’t actually cook.”
“Not a chance,” Cindy called from the back. She had ears that seemed to hear everything. I looked over a shoulder to see her glowering at Jose from the doorway. “You try to get any of my recipes out of him, and I’ll take it out of your hide, boy.” She was more intimidating than Wilson.
“Don’t worry,” I assured her. “Anything I see that happens in the kitchen stays in the kitchen,” I tried to keep a little humor in my tone, wanting to diffuse any sort of situation building.
“Don’t take things too seriously,” Jose said giving me a nudge. “Cindy hasn’t cut anyone, yet. The worse we can expect is her to spit in our food. And to be honest, probably wouldn’t keep anyone from eating it anyway,” he assured me.
I don’t know if that was supposed to be comforting, but I made sure to give Cindy as little trouble as possible. My mom always taught me to treat women with respect. Plus, I’d seen how she handled a knife. I wasn’t going to chance shit.
After about three weeks of nonstop work, another man joined the fold as a prospect. Surprisingly, the younger man began work alongside me. Danny Jefferies was in the same shape I was when it came to being a prospect. He didn’t work the shop at first, but we both worked the clubhouse like dogs. Curious about his situation, I approached him at the end of a shift while we were cleaning the kitchen for Cindy.
“How did you get here?”
“Ted,” he replied with the name of the apparent second in command of the club. “He found my working a dead end job,” Danny called over his shoulder. He was at the sink scrubbing pots. “Not that this much of a step up. Unfortunately, I’m shit when it comes to engine work, so I didn’t go to the shop. He’s got me scrubbing the bikes though,” he chuckled at me. “He showed me the high of riding a motorcycle, and I couldn’t walk away,” he sighed and emptied out the water in the pot he was scrubbing. “I wanted this, I figure after they work us into submission we’ll get the same feeling the rest of them have as full-fledged members.” Danny flipped the pot onto the drying rack and went onto the next, he worked with an efficiency that was something I easily fell into line with as I cleaned the rest of the kitchen. “How’d you get here?”
“I worked at the shop for a little while,” I admitted. “Then I got the option to prospect.”
“What branch were you in?”
“Army,” I took a minute from scrubbing the stove top. Cindy was a great cook, but she didn’t make any effort to not make a mess. Some of the splatter looked like she had done it on purpose. “TUAS,” I said with an afterthought. “Mainly the operating systems,” I took a breath and went back to scrubbing. “You?”
“Preventative SPC,” he shot a grin at me over a shoulder.
“This place up to code?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“Well, Cindy keeps all the food to code, and we’ve been cleaning this shit better than they made us scrub out the toilets in boot camp,” he laughed a little. “Takes you back, right?”
“Yeah,” I answered, though had made the point to keep my nose clean during boot camp. Really, it was something I had done for the majority of my life. I Stayed within the rules, followed the law. That was how I lived my life and how I worked in the military. “I look forward to getting rid of this prospect patch every day,” I admitted to him.
“I hear ya, brother.”
Like most nights, I didn’t get home until after three am. I was so worn out that I didn't have any other thought other than my bed. I was at the door to my apartment struggling to get the key in when a voice cut through the fog of exhaustion.
“It’s about damn time you got home.”
I jumped and turned around, plastering myself to my door and doing the gut reaction reaching for my gun. Luckily I didn’t have it.
“Tara,” I sighed, not at all equipped to handle her right now. “I just got home, it's late. Can this wait until the morning?”
“I was here after five,” she said shortly. “I got here at five thirty-two, and you weren’t here. You are supposed to check in.”
Her voice was raised, and it was then that I realized what she was saying and the position I was in. I realized I had to get her off the front step, fast.
“Stop,” I grunted out. “Shut up,” I turned around and managed to unlock my door to get it open.
“You did not just tell me to shut up,” the expression on her face said that she was about to explode and I was going to be collateral damage. She turned around and began to harp on to herself, “I’m going to go get my gun, this asshole does not know who he just told to shut up. I obviously need to pistol whip some common sense into his head.”
She was halfway down the steps before I caught her wrist. I tugged her back but made the mistake of using too much force as I brought her back full against me. She was small but seemed to fit just right, and at this stage of exhaustion, I wasn’t able to reel in the sudden surge of lust that went through me at the feel of her. Granted, I probably didn’t have the energy to do anything more about it.
“Stop,” I grumbled in her ear. “You can’t talk about this shit outside. Shut up, don’t be stupid. Come inside, and we’ll talk.”
Tara was stiff as a board against me, her ass was against my hips and able to feel the quirked interest of my cock. If my words weren’t enough for her to put her foot in my ass that definitely was.
“Fine,” she finally grunted.
That was a dangerous word from a woman, even if all she was just a partner. I kept a firm grip on her wrist as I walked her back to my apartment door. I tugged her inside and closed the door.
“This is undercover work, right?” I demanded more than asked. She nodded, suddenly looking at me wide eyed. “That means don’t be making demands for a report out in the open. Even if it's,” I paused to squint at the clock I had on the wall. “Almost four.”
“I have been asleep out in my car for I don’t know how long,” she immediately switched back onto the defensive. “Where the hell have you been?”
I tapped the patch on my cut, “Working. Where the hell did you think I’ve been?” Exhaustion crept up on me, and I just left her to stand in my living room. I went back to flop on my bed, and I groaned. “I really didn’t need you to show up to ride my ass.”
“I thought you were working at the shop,” she followed me and then she made a noise. “So you got a vest. Does this mean you’re in it now?”
I rolled over and tapped the left side. “Prospect. Not in it yet, but I’m working on it. And this is a cut, not a vest.” I closed my eyes and stretched out, I was wore the fuck out. “Anything else you need to know so I can sleep?”
“Do things feel off with them?” The bed dipped, and I peered at her through my lashes. She had come to sit beside me. “Any clues that they’re doing anything illegal?” Her hand brushed against the leather of my cut. “Have they asked you to kill anyone yet?”
I relaxed and scoffed, “It’s not the mafia. All I’ve done is work at the shop, work the kitchen in the clubhouse, and shine motorcycles.” I flexed my hands, they ached from scrubbing wax into every little nook and cranny that Ted had insisted I get on his chopper. “I haven’t seen anyone so much as light up a joint. Their business seems to be on the up and up, and they keep records for everything. I had to fill out an application and a w-2 form. This feels like a wild goose chase,” I admitted.
“Well that explains the french fry smell,” she snorted. Her hand drifted up my chest, and while I had closed my eyes again before, I fought the urge to look at her again when her fingers scraped through the hair on my chin. “There’s gotta be something. One of their guys was arrested for production and conspiracy to traffic meth. That’s not something good people do.”
Her fingers had me distracted as they scraped my cheek now.
“Maybe it was one bad egg,” I hazarded.
“Maybe,” her voice was soft, like all the fire from earlier had died out. It was enough to get me to open my eyes to see her expression. My room was dark, I hadn’t bothered with turning any lights on, and she hadn’t either. The only light was from the street light that kept the parking lot lit. “This,” she whispered to me as she touched my face. “This looks good on you.”
“Really?” I was transfixed now, half wondering if this was a dream. Did I fall asleep on the ride home?
She leaned down to me, and I felt a rush of excitement go through my body. All the blood flooded down to my dick so fast that I felt dizzy. Her lips brushed against mine and my breath caught, it was like she shocked me. I leaned up just a little, wanting more contact. I wanted more than just a brush of lips. I pressed ours together and opened just enough to taste her, swiping my tongue along the seam of her mouth.
Kiss me back, open it up, baby. The thoughts went through my head feverishly. I had been tired before, but the spark that went through me before when she first kissed me was enough to shake me awake. I reached a hand up to her hair, trying to apply more pressure, wanting to coax her into opening her mouth so I could come in for a good taste of her.
But, she jerked back. She let out a little gasp, and my hand was out of her hair. She stood up.
“Yeah, uh…,” she cleared her throat. “I’ll keep tabs on you. I guess I’m supposed to be around as often as you’d expect a girlfriend to be. So uh… maybe two to three times a week. I think?”
The spitfire that I usually associated her with seemed to disappear, she was flustered and shy just from a kiss. I sat up a little, trying to figure out why she pulled away.
“Okay?” I asked though it wasn’t acceptance of the babbled words. It was a few short kisses, and then she pulled away so quickly. “Are you okay?”
She hadn’t been close enough, I doubted she felt how hard I had gotten in such a short time. That couldn’t have been what chased her off. Did she feel just as electrified as I did from that kiss?
“Pfft!” she waved a hand. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll let you sleep now. See ya.”
She was out of my room and slamming the door to my apartment faster than I could get up.
What the hell just happened?