Page 19 of Mile High With the Bikers (Screaming Eagles MC #10)

RORY

My room in the clubhouse is fine, though I’d rather stay in one of the guys’ apartments.

At least they have windows. All I have is the basics: a bathroom, a bed, a kitchenette with a table, and a sitting area with a big screen TV where Bull and Diesel have a basketball game on in the background while they’re playing chess.

It’s basically a dorm crossed with a studio apartment.

There’s a basic ceiling light, and the walls are a soft, masculine brown.

I clear off the kitchen table so I can use it as a desk.

The folding chairs it came with would suck to sit in for a full day at the keyboard, but it’ll work for what I need it to for now.

Someone came to help me set up the Wi-Fi, and if I can find an HDMI cable, I can probably use the TV as a second monitor if I feel like it.

The best part of the whole thing is that I finally have some of my own clothes again and I could change into shorts and a new shirt.

I turn on my phone after letting it charge for a while.

It’s the first time since the crash, and just as I expected, there’s a slew of worried messages from Mason, Dad’s bodyguard, and then a few from Dad.

Not a whole lot else. There are a few headhunting emails, including one from Watchsmart, Mary Haney’s company.

I tag it for later. The timing seems odd, but when this is over I can check to see if I was targeted specifically or if everyone in the R&D department got one.

Could I switch jobs?

A year ago I wouldn’t have considered the idea, but maybe it’s dumb not to look into it.

The Hermes project was fun when we were figuring out if it was even possible.

I love the problem solving part of my job, but nothing has been the same since our first successful test. Dad transferred almost everyone off the team to keep information from leaking, and I’ve been feeling dirtier and dirtier ever since I went to him with my concerns and he told me he understood, but thought the ultimate goal was more important.

I pull out my laptop and set it up. Sitting cross-legged on the folding chair, I stare at the screen until I work up the courage to type ‘Howard Westminster’ into the search bar.

The first hit is an article about his suicide attempt.

It feels morbid to have it there in black and white, but there were too many witnesses to his jump to keep it quiet. The third result is an update.

Howard C. Westminster passed away this morning, surrounded by family. Please respect their privacy in this trying time.

Did I kill him? Not directly. Is it my fault? Definitely partially.

I didn’t make him funnel company funds into his private account.

I’m not the one that told him to store sex videos of him and his business partner on the work servers.

He was the one that chose all of the things that made him decide it was easier to check out than to try and repair his life.

But I’m the one that designed the system that made that information public, even if I didn’t know he existed until it was too late.

“If all information is available, none of it has power!” Dad's weird brand of capitalistic idealism makes him impossible to reason with.

He truly believes that this is the future.

That all secrets should be exposed for the good of mankind, but he also sees nothing wrong with stuffing his wallet on the disruption it will cause in the meantime. To the victor go the spoils.

I don't want this responsibility.

I glance over at Bull and Diesel, who are totally absorbed in their game. They don’t pay any attention when I go to my backpack and pull out a small circuit board with a USB plug on the end. Dad doesn’t know it, but with this one tiny dongle, I can—at least temporarily—stop the entire project.

At the risk of my career, my relationship with my father, and after this demonstration, the anger of very dangerous people.

A person died after our first official demonstration.

I need to move. Slamming the laptop shut, I stand up and shove the dongle back in my bag.

“I'm going to the common room for a drink. I need a little change of scenery.” When Bull starts to get up, I put a hand on his shoulder. “It's fine. I’m not a prisoner, right? Watch your game. Shrapnel said he’d be there.”

He looks up at me with a scowl. “You don’t go wandering, and you don’t leave the building.”

“Yes, sir.” I salute.

“I like how you’re following our orders already.” Diesel grins, his blue eyes glittering with amusement.

“Yeah, that’s going to last.” Bull chuckles.

“I promise to behave. Just getting a soda and doing some biker watching.” I squeeze his shoulder, surprised at how solid the muscle is under there. “Jeeze, do you keep rocks under your shirt or something?”

“No, just in his head,” Diesel says. “When you get there, find Shrapnel first.”

Someone does a sports thing on the TV and the boys get distracted, pointing excitedly.

“Got it.” I close the door behind me, leaving them to it.

The common room seems to be gearing up for a party.

I've gotten the impression the Screaming Eagles throw a lot of those, with or without a specific reason.

The music isn't super loud yet, and people are just filtering in, a couple at a time, so for a biker hangout, it's still relatively quiet.

Not that there isn't action. Someone's put porn on the big screen TV in the back, and if I'm not mistaken, that's Jasmine's bare back I see as she grinds on top of a guy with a bright red mullet while they both watch.

The whole place feels like an erotic amusement park, so it’s hard to feel shocked at any one thing. I’m more like a tourist from a small town on their first trip to a big city, marveling at all the tall buildings, or in this case, men.

A purple-haired woman is manning the bar together with Chef. She bumps her hip playfully into his as she moves past him. When he grumbles, “What the fuck, Jewel?” she just smiles.

She spots me and comes over as I slide onto one of the stools.

“Hey there. I don't think we've met yet. You must be Rory.” Putting her forearms down on the bar, she leans over and looks at me with perfect smoky eyes. “You look like you need a drink. Are the boys treating you right? If not, just whisper in my ear and I’ll find you some new volunteers. A pretty new face like you would have plenty to choose from.”

“Thanks, but they’re fine. It’s just a heavy situation.” The sluts said Jewel was nice, and I see what they mean. She seems perfectly comfortable here, without anything to prove.

“You want to talk about it? Sometimes someone who's not involved can be a good sounding board.”

I shake my head and hope my smile doesn't look too tired. “Thanks, but I just want a soda, if that's okay. Have you seen Shrapnel?”

“Soda? Fuck that! Three margaritas, please!” Opal slides onto the stool next to me. “What is it they say? The best way to get over something is to get under something else?”

“That’s about men,” Cherry says as she joins us on my other side.

Opal shrugs. “Yeah, well, most problems are caused by men, right? I think it still works. Time to get under the influence of tequila!”

“Limes and salt too, please.” Cherry cuts me off before I get a chance to object. “Don't worry, we're taking her under our wing tonight.”

“No, but I’m supposed to find—” I try again.

“You took one for the team so we could get out of sight.” Opal pulls me into a hug so tight, I'm sucking for air. “We owe you one.”

“Exactly. And now that you’re going to stay for a little while we can make good on it!” As soon as Opal lets go, Cherry pulls me in.

Chef walks by with a couple of beers. “You know we have cameras in here, right?” he says in passing. “Nobody’s gonna rat you out for a couple sandwiches. Grow up.” The three of us blink at each other. I'm not sure who laughs first, but once we get going, it’s hard to stop.

Jewel puts the drinks down in front of us with a smile.

“Here's to sandwiches.” Cherry holds her glass up, the salt on the rim catching the light and reflecting it.

“Sandwiches hooray!” Opal adds, and then they both look at me expectantly.

Maybe this is exactly what I need. A distraction with fun people who have no idea about my issues whatsoever. And as someone who's rarely had the chance to make real friends, there’s no way I’m turning down a girls’ night. I raise my glass to clink it with theirs. “To sandwiches!”

“That's the dumbest fucking toast I've ever heard,” Chef notes as he passes by, but it only makes us laugh harder.

Before I know it, we're on a second round, talking about absolutely nothing and having a great time doing it, and by the time that round is done with, I'm already woozy. I'm not used to drinking alcohol. Not that I can't, but my father doesn’t drink at all, and I left boarding school when I was just starting to hear about the cool parties. It’s only the second time I’ve tried margaritas.

They go down so easy that you can hardly tell they're alcoholic.

Opal's all ready for a third, but Cherry stops her. “Want to go over to the Roost? There's more room to dance, and if I'm lucky, Beast is working tonight.” She grins, her big blue eyes sparking with hope.

In the background, Jasmine lets out a moan so loud that a cheer goes up in response. Biker life is wild.

They've got me off the stool before I remember I'm not supposed to leave the clubhouse. “I shouldn't?—”

“It’s fine! The Roost is just across the street and it’s still club property. We'll have fun!”

In my alcohol-addled mind, that sounds reasonable enough, since I could definitely do with more fun today. “Okay.” I'm safe with Opal and Cherry. I'm sure the guys won't care.

No one stops us as we slip out the front door. It's still early in the night, just starting to get dark, and the summer heat hasn't let go yet. Even lightly dressed, we're fine as we dart out the gate past a couple of bikers I don't recognize. They wave. “Meet up later?” the taller one calls.

Opal giggles. “If you’re good!”

“Depends on who's working,” Cherry calls over her shoulder as we're already walking towards the bar that the guys brought me through my first night.

The twins are guarding the door tonight too. Lightning and Thunder? Kinda cheesy, but I dare anyone to say it to their faces. “Hey girls,” says one of them—I have no idea which is which. “Don't break too many hearts tonight.”

Opal blows him a kiss.

“Twins, huh?” I say when we get in, wiggling my eyebrows. “Have you ever…”

Cherry laughs. “Don’t get any ideas, they’re taken. Harper got to them first.”

“Both of them?” Why that surprises me I’m not sure.

“AND Shadow and Outlaw,” Opal says. “Four is just greedy if you ask me, but I wouldn’t turn it down, you know?”

What kind of woman is amazing enough to end up with four guys? But when I think about Diesel, Shrapnel and Bull, if someone asked me to pick one, I’m not sure I could. They seem like a matched set in my head, even if that doesn’t make sense.

Just like last time, the bar is thick with the scents of leather, sweat and beer.

We have to shout over the music to hear each other, but we're laughing while we press through the crowd.

Opal is briefly side-tracked by a burly guy with more hair on his face than his head.

He swoops her into his lap while copping a feel, just to get an elbow to the gut.

He's so surprised he drops her, and when his face twists in anger and he makes to get up, his buddies pull him right back into his seat.

I think they just apologized for their friend, but the music's too loud to know for sure.

She shakes her head as she walks away from him. “Asshole.”

“I thought…”

“What?”

“Aren’t you supposed to go with whatever guy?” I ask.

“Fuck no!” Opal snaps. “For starters, you see his cut? He’s not an Eagle. And even if he was, we’re not free-use hookers or something. We can still say no. I’m here with you guys right now. It’s not my job to play hood ornament on some rando’s lap.”

At the bar, a massive guy with short hair, a short beard, and a nice smile comes over when we approach. “Hey girls. Thought you'd be at the club tonight.”

Opal shakes her head. “Badass, this is Rory. We're giving her a tour and wanted to dance. Make us something that'll fuck us up!”

Cherry looks past him. “Beast working tonight? Just… curious.”

He laughs knowingly. “Not tonight. Sorry, babe. Give me a minute, and I'll fix you girls something strong.”

I probably shouldn't. If Opal thinks it's a fuck-us-up level of alcohol, it's probably going to floor me. But I'm having fun, and Cherry and Opal don't even seem to be angling for anything. They’re just having fun and want me along.

Either the people in motorcycle clubs are more straightforward and honest than average, or I might have to completely reevaluate what I thought was normal for how people act.

So I drink the drink Badass puts in front of me, clink glasses with the girls, and when we finish those, we all get another.

By the time the girls drag me out to the dance floor, I don’t even care that I know nothing about dancing.

Something bubbles up inside of me. I think it might be joy.

I throw my hands up and laugh. Real life can wait.