CHAPTER SEVEN | SIENNA
As an undercover agent, I was no stranger to questionable nightlife establishments. Scoping out sketchy dive bars and seedy clubs was just part of my job description.
But tonight was different.
Tonight, I wasn’t walking into the Red Rock Tavern with any particular motive or pre-planned script. I wasn’t wearing a disguise or hiding behind a false identity.
Tonight, I was just Sienna.
I pushed through the heavy doors and was immediately greeted by the sights, smells, and sounds of the biker bar. Some heavy rock song wailed through the sound system. The air smelled like beer and gasoline. The lights were dim, and the amber bulbs washed the room in a warm, reddish tint.
The bar was crowded, mostly with bikers. As my eyes scanned the sea of leather, I felt out of place in my jeans and t-shirt.
The Red Rock Tavern was one of the known haunts that was listed in the High Rollers case file. It also happened to be less than a mile away from Lucky Brake.
Showing up at the bar felt like a lost cause. By now, the entire motorcycle club probably knew who I was. After my epic fuckup at the repair shop earlier that day, I was no doubt the laughing stock of law enforcement. And when my colleagues back at the Gaming Commission caught wind of what had gone down, I’d probably be the laughing stock of our office, too.
At this point, I had nothing left to lose. I wasn’t just going back to the office empty-handed; I was going back a failure.
I could kiss that promotion goodbye. At this rate, I’d be lucky if Kaplan didn’t fire me.
I need a drink, I decided bitterly.
I spotted an empty section of the bar all the way at the back of the room, and I made a beeline for it. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck prickle as the bikers turned to stare and glare at me, but I kept my head down and ignored the attention as I weaved my way through the crowd.
The bar was shaped like a square; three sides faced out, and the fourth side was the back wall lined with beer taps. Most of the tavern’s patrons had congregated around the front of the bar, leaving the back side completely empty.
All I had for company were the ten empty stools directly to my right, and the brick wall to my left.
A heavily tattooed bartender clad in leather swooped in front of me and greeted me with a fierce glare. At first I thought he was going to kick me out, but after a few seconds of silent glaring, I realized that he was just waiting for me to order a drink.
My mind went blank. Whenever I worked undercover, my drink order was just another pre-planned character trait. I couldn’t remember the last time I had ordered a drink as Sienna.
The bartender sighed impatiently.
“Uhhh…” I glanced over at the bar taps for inspiration, but before I could pick a brew at random, a booming voice spoke up for me.
“We’ll just take that 100 proof bottle of Jack and two glasses.”
I spun around to see who had snuck up behind me, and that’s when my jaw fell open.
It was him. The biker from earlier; the one that had called my bluff back at Lucky Brake.
Of fucking course.
In the orangey-light of the bar, he looked even more massive and intimidating than I remembered.
The bartender placed a bottle of Jack Daniels and two glasses in front of us.
“Thanks, Bull,” the biker thanked the bartender by name as he pulled out the stool next to me and took a seat. Then he passed a crumpled up hundred-dollar bill across the bar and added, “That’s all the help we’ll be needing tonight.”
“Understood,” the bartender nodded, and then he disappeared back to the other end of the bar, leaving us alone.
After several long beats of silence, the biker turned to me.
“I thought I told you to get lost,” he said.
“I don’t give up that easily.”
“I didn’t think you would,” he chuckled. “But I also didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Twice in one day? You must really like me.”
“I’m not here for you,” I scowled.
His lips puckered into a smirk and he cocked his head to one side.
“Oh really? So who are you trying to hunt down?”
I exhaled a heavy sigh, then I turned my eyes away from him and stared absently out at the opposite end of the bar.
“Come on,” he egged playfully. “You can tell me. Hell, if you ask nicely, I might even help you out.”
“You’d just love that, wouldn’t you?” I snapped. “The idiot agent begging you for help?”
“No need to feel embarrassed,” he grinned smugly. “It’s not like you’d be the first woman to beg for it.”
“Beg for what, exactly?”
He didn’t answer that. Instead, he reached across the bar for the bottle of Jack Daniels. He poured out two shot glasses and slid one of them across the wooden bar top towards me.
“No, thank you,” I snipped, sliding the glass back towards him. “I don’t accept drinks from strangers.”
He chuckled dryly, cradling his own glass under his chin.
“That’s smart, Blondie,” he said. “But I’m not really a stranger, am I?”
His ice-cold eyes flicked back to me.
“I bet you know all about me,” he continued. “The Gaming Commission must have a big fat folder with my name on it. You probably knew who I was before you even turned up at the shop this afternoon.”
“You really think you’re something, don’t you?” I scoffed. “You’re not that important, you know.”
“Is that why you got all dressed up to see me?”
“I was doing my job,” I countered. “And sometimes doing my job requires me to alter my appearance so I can blend in with my surroundings.”
“You call that blending in?!” he whistled. “Where’d you think you were going, a Hello Kitty convention?”
“I was trying to—” I started, but then I cut myself off. “You know what? Never mind. It doesn’t matter, anyways. Obviously I made a fool of myself. Laugh all you want.”
“Trust me, I don’t find any of this funny,” he said. He took a long sip of whiskey, then he dropped the glass down on the bar. “But for what it’s worth, I think I prefer your current look. What do you call this one?”
He nodded towards my t-shirt and jeans, and a blush spread involuntarily across my cheeks.
“I’m not wearing a costume,” I sighed wearily. “This is just… me.”
“In that case, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Sienna O’Malley.”
He remembered my name. My cheeks darkened several shades of red.
“Are you going to tell me your name, or do you expect me to beg for that, too?” I snapped.
“Ace,” he said. “Ace Boone.”
“Ace Boone,” I repeated.
He smiled, then he nodded his chin at my untouched whiskey glass on the bar.
“We’re not strangers anymore,” he said. “Drink up.”
I hesitated, then reached for the glass. Instead of sipping slowly, I downed the contents in one swallow. The 100-proof whiskey seared my throat and burned my lips, leaving behind a sweet residue. I quickly licked it away.
“Bad day, huh?” he teased, refilling my glass. “I don’t blame you. I had a pretty bad day, myself.”
“Oh yeah?” I scoffed incredulously. “Tell me, what does a bad day look like when you’re an outlaw biker? Did you have a bad ride? Did your leather jacket get scratched? Bike get a flat tire?”
“Well, let’s see. First, I had an undercover agent dressed like a Barbie doll show up at my shop to interrogate me. Immediately after that, I learned that a member of our club had been deliberately run over by an SUV and left for dead on a stretch of desert highway. And to top it all off, my little brother apparently found God.”
He got the words out in one gulp, only pausing long enough to throw back a shot of whiskey. Then he slammed the empty glass down on the bar and added bitterly, “But I didn’t get a flat tire, so I guess it was my lucky day after all.”
My mouth went dry and I immediately regretted my sarcastic retort.
“I’m sorry,” I said numbly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
I didn’t know what else to say, so I reached for the glass of whiskey and downed the second shot that Ace had poured for me.
“I know what you’re looking for,” he said flatly. “I know that you’re not going to stop until you find it.”
He didn’t meet my eyes; instead, he stared straight out at the bar ahead of us.
“And I know that you’re not going to believe this,” he continued. “But you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“I am?”
“Why are you worried about catching minnows, when there are sharks swimming all around you?” his eyes flicked up and found mine again. They were still that pale shade of blue, but they didn’t feel so cold anymore.
The whiskey started to settle in, and I felt my body growing warm and malleable. My shoulders melted, my spine relaxed, and staring at him was suddenly much easier.
“Are you calling yourself a minnow?” I asked, vaguely aware that my voice was starting to sound drunk.
“I’m telling you that the High Rollers should be the least of your concerns,” he clarified, pouring us both another round of whiskey.
My heart started beating faster. I thought about my conversation with Chief Kaplan. He wanted me to prove myself by bringing down the High Rollers… but what if I could give him something even bigger? Something—or someone— that made the motorcycle club look like child’s play? What if I could bring him a shark served up on a silver platter?
Maybe that promotion isn’t a lost cause, after all...
“Prove it,” I said, glancing back at Ace.
“How?”
“Show me the sharks.”
“Isn’t that your job, Blondie?” he teased. “I’m the outlaw, you’re the law. Remember?”
“What if I could make it worth your while?”
His eyebrows shot up and he grinned.
“Well that would depend on what you’re offering me,” he said smoothly. “You think you have something I want, Agent O’Malley?”
I pondered it for a couple of seconds, pursing my lips together thoughtfully.
“I think do,” I decided finally. “A deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“Protection,” I said. “Immunity.”
“I don’t think a field agent is qualified to be making offers like that.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“No way,” he shook his head resolutely. “There’s not a chance in hell I’m taking a government agent at her word. Especially not when she’s the same agent that is trying to take down my entire club.”
“I don’t think you have much of a choice.” I eased back into my chair and grinned. “Someone has to go down. If you don’t want it to be the High Rollers, then I suggest you help me find someone else to take the fall.”
“I’m not the kind of man you want to threaten,” Ace warned me. His voice was cool and his eyes were sharp. He wasn’t playing around anymore.
“It’s not a threat,” I told him. “It’s a promise. And you know it’s a damn good one, too.”
“Not good enough.”
I bit the inside of my lip as my mind raced.
There has to be a way, I thought desperately.
Then it hit me.
It was the ultimate trump card. He wouldn’t see it coming. It was crazy; almost too crazy. But I was drunk and slamming back another glass of whiskey gave me the extra dose of confidence that I needed.
I crossed my legs and swiveled around on my stool, facing Ace.
“What if I could give you something better than a promise?” I asked.
He turned his body to face mine and he mimicked my pose, crossing one leg over the other.
“Alright, Blondie. I’m listening.”