Chapter Two

Megan

 

 

 

 

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

My alarm sounds and I groan, not wanting to wake up but rolling over and swiping the screen to make the deafening sound stop anyway.

A bang sounds on my door, making me jump. “Get up before you’re late!” Chrissy yells from the other side.

“Coming, Mom!”

It would be too much to ask for privacy so when I’m standing underneath the shower and the door opens, all I can do is shake my head. “Can’t a girl get a minute alone? You’re worse than living with my parents, you know?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t love living with me.”

“I do, but I’d also love to be able to shower without an audience.” I turn the shower knobs and reach out to grab my towel, but it’s gone. “Give it to me!”

She laughs. I peek around the curtain and even through the steam I see her dangling the towel from her finger, a wicked look in her eyes that says she’s in the mood to tease. It’s times like these where I wonder how she ever made it to best friend status because, in all honesty, she can be as annoying as hell. “First, apologize for letting the red death corrupt your soul and make you bitchy this morning.”

 “I’m not on it yet, and if you weren’t so intrusive I wouldn’t be so bitchy.”

“Maybe you need some intrusion to make you less bitchy.”

I release a sound that almost resembles a growl. “I will cut you.”

Her eyes widen. “Whatever man you end up with is gonna need balls of steel.” She tosses me the towel and by the time I’ve wrapped it around me, she’s out of the bathroom.

Chrissy and I were roommates freshman year of college and have been best friends ever since. She’s the first person after Ryder that I ever thought I could trust.

When she met me I was a mess. I’d lost myself. Chrissy helped me put the pieces back together with her particular mix of caring and sarcasm. She helped me dig myself out of the hole I was in and I swore to myself there and then that I would never let someone have enough of me to destroy me.

I get dressed and then head into the kitchen to fill my travel mug with coffee. Chrissy is sitting at the counter finishing off her breakfast. “You gonna be home for dinner?”

“Unless I get stuck.” Chrissy is a social worker, which still blows my mind sometimes. She is always so blunt, imagining her working with kids almost makes me laugh.

“Want me to bring home Thai?” I grab my purse and head toward the door.

“Miss Hendrix, are you trying to seduce me? You know that’s my favorite.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

I laugh, wondering how she manages to have this much energy in the morning because Lord knows I don’t. “Jesus, do you ever stop?”

“Yep, the entire time I’m at work. Although, I’m making dirty jokes in my head so I don’t know how true that is.”

The journey to the office isn’t a long one, but morning traffic makes it a bitch of a commute. I play the game where you try and switch lanes but every time I do, mine of course comes to a direct halt.

I went to school for accounting, wanting to have a stable job that would help me support myself. Ever since I was younger, that has always been a goal of mine, independence. Once I decided to leave my house and live at college, my parents basically disowned me. They never thought I’d go, so the fact that now they had to take care of the kids probably scared them. I miss my brothers and sister, but they refused to let me see them after I left.

Leaving them was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but I had to do something for me. I spent my entire senior year waiting for Ryder to come back. He promised he would and I had no reason to doubt him. I even held out hope when he didn’t show up after I graduated. By the time August rolled around without any sign of him, it was clear I’d been a fool. First chance I got, I split. I couldn’t wait to get as far away from that place as possible.

I pull up to Duncan & Shie Accounting Offices and grab the first spot I see. I’ve only got an entry level position, but I’ve been trying to be really efficient and proactive so when a spot opens up with a higher title, I might get it. I stash my purse in the bottom drawer before powering up my computer.

“Megan.”

I look up to see Connor. He just started here a few months ago and he seems really nice. He’s asked me out to lunch a few times but I just can’t bring myself to say yes.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“Good. I wanted to come and let you know they just called a meeting.” He walks toward the boardroom, not waiting for a response. I stand up quickly, following him into the large office at the end of the corridor.

Mr. Duncan is sitting at the head of the table. “Good morning. We have a new client coming in this morning. I want him taken to my office as soon as he checks in. This account is high priority. Some of you may be familiar with our local motorcycle club, the Deathstalkers, but I ask you to put aside any prejudices you might have. They have a number of businesses and will bring in a lot of money.” He looks around at each of us. “I’ll need someone running point on this, so make sure to be performing at your best.” He stands up and walks out of the room, all eyes on him. A hushed chatter begins the moment the door closes behind him, everyone thinking the exact same thing as me.

I want this account.

Working on a complex account like this is the kind of thing that can get you noticed and advance your career. I have no idea what a motorcycle club entails. I know there’s one in town. It would be hard to miss given the presence of motorbikes in town, but I’ve never spoken to any of the guys. The closest point of reference I have are the books I read, and I don’t know how much of that is realistic. I mean, let’s be honest, those things aren’t real life. Not every girl gets kidnapped, saved by Prince Charming, and ends up married with babies.

I go back to my desk and Google the club to try and gain some insight. Being prepared is one of the things Mr. Duncan takes very seriously, so the more I can find out, the more opportunity I have to prove to him that I’m the best person to run this account.

After an hour of searching I still can’t find much, and what little there is I find intimidating.

The results are mostly articles about crimes they are suspected of. An image search brings up multiple mugshots of known members, none of them looking like the sort of people you’d want to take home to meet your parents. The more I read, the more I wonder why the firm wants to associate with them. They don’t seem like the clientele we would normally accept.

The elevator dings and I hear the secretary speaking to someone, telling them she’ll page Mr. Duncan.

It must be the guy.

I stand up, deciding to welcome our new client and introduce myself. I brush down my skirt and smooth my hair, taking each step toward the desk slowly to try to calm my nerves.

It’s only saying hello, I say to myself. You can do this. You’re a professional.

His back is toward me, the leather vest he’s wearing bearing a symbol comprised of a scorpion, a skull, and what seems to be a pair of angel wings, the name Deathstalkers MC stitched into the leather in bold letters. He is tall, much taller than me, and with his hair long up top but buzzed on the sides, he’s quite unlike anyone I’ve seen before.

“Welcome to Duncan & Shie,” I say, using the most professional voice I can manage.

When he turns toward me my entire body freezes and my fingers grip the reception desk to keep my knees from buckling. My heart is beating three times its normal pace.

It can’t be.

He can’t be here.

Why is he back?