Page 10 of Riding the Line (Steel Saints MC #1)

My alarm went off at eight, and I stretched as I reached for my phone.

There were only two texts, one from “Uncle Tommy,” reminding me about our dinner date on Friday—which was just a chance for me to update him on my progress.

Another was from Dalton, letting me know that Maria was going to meet me at the clubhouse at nine to give me a tour.

I yawned, then padded towards the kitchen to start the coffee.

If I was going to make it through day two, I’d need caffeine.

As the smell of Folgers permeated the apartment, I shuffled through the clothes in my closet.

It had been stocked for me, and whoever did it had picked things that helped me fit in my role.

I grabbed a Rolling Stones t-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans, then hopped in the shower.

By the time I left the bathroom, I felt ready to take on almost anything.

I slipped on a pair of Vans and braided my still-wet hair.

I had about twenty minutes before I had to go, but I didn’t feel very hungry.

I flipped on the TV, curled up on the couch, and sipped my coffee, relishing the quiet morning.

Mug washed and all ready to go, I used the number Maria had given me yesterday and shot off a quick text, letting her know I was on my way.

I grabbed my earbuds on second thought as I left.

Minutes later, I flew out of the parking lot, loving the rumble of my bike between my knees.

Turning the corner, I saw Agent Braxton sitting in a business suit at a local coffee shop, looking like any other morning commuter.

I shook my head. I didn’t know if handlers were usually this hands-on, since I didn’t have any other undercover op to compare it to, but the dude was borderline needy .

The clubhouse was about a twenty-minute ride from my apartment, but with morning traffic, it took me about thirty minutes to get there. As I pulled in, Maria stepped out. She must have been watching for me.

“Girl, I love your bike. Sexy mamacita ,” she said, winking at me.

I laughed in response. “Can you ride?”

She shook her head. “Not my thing, to be honest, though I sometimes ride with Diego.”

She and I headed toward a side door that circumvented the garage and kitchen areas. Leading me into a small foyer, she made a grand sweeping gesture. “Ta-da, welcome to the home away from home for Steel Saints and company.”

I looked around—there was a small table with a few magazines on it, plus a couple of cushy armchairs, a water cooler, and Diesel, who was in the middle of a big stretch. He ambled his way over, his fat orange belly swinging, and then head-butted Maria’s leg, looking for pats.

“He likes you?”

She gave me an odd look and scratched the cat under the chin. “Of course. Diesel’s a big lover boy.”

I frowned. “Dalton told me the opposite. He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

She murmured something to Diesel and turned to me.

“Dalton is a big, fat liar. Sorry chica , but I think he was just trying to make you feel better. I’m sure Diesel will warm up to you.

” She headed out, leaving the cat and me alone for a moment.

We stared at each other until he made a low, rumbling, angry sound, so I flipped him off and head after Maria.

It was my first week, and I already had beef with the cat.

Maria led me down a hallway to a small living area that branched off in several directions. She pointed to our right and said, “That’s the hallway you’ll find yourself in on the way to and from the kitchen or garage.”

I nodded. “The one with all the motel rooms. ”

“An odd but fitting description. So, yeah.” She pointed to two other hallways.

“Those also have motel rooms. They’ll usually be empty.

Dalton told me to tell you that all you’ll have to do is vacuum, dust, and whatnot in there.

Just general upkeep—don’t worry about making the beds unless you’re told by Bossy Pants One or Two. ”

I assumed she meant Mac or Dalton, and I laughed.

In the corner was the set of stairs I’d seen last night. Maria noticed me looking at them. “Don’t go up, but down is kind of a hangout spot for whoever.”

“Bossy Pants is an interesting choice of nickname for my second-in-command, Mrs. Gonzales.”

A hulking shape rose from one of the recliners that had its back to us. The darkness had kept him completely obscured. Maria yelped in surprise, and I looked from her to the mystery man and back.

“You must be Nicole Moore. The newest thorn in my side.”

The man stepped into the light, giving me my first in-person look at the club president. Silas Greyson was shorter than Mac, but built like a bull. His salt-and-pepper crew cut had a little more salt than pepper, and stubble lined his jaw. He looks me over, his dark eyes hard and unwelcoming.

“So sorry, sir, I didn’t see you there.”

To break the tension, I said, “Nice to meet you—I’m Nicky.”

He hummed. “Hiring you isn’t exactly what I would’ve done if I had been the one to catch you setting bikes on fire. Lucky for you, Maverick was there and not me.”

I cleared my throat awkwardly. He stood there for a minute before nodding to Maria, who led us out the way we came.

I turned back to her. “Holy crap, that dude is intense with a capital I.”

She giggled nervously. “Yeah, Mr. Greyson is a bit…”

I raised my eyebrows. “Terrifying? Intimidating? Asshole-y?”

I offered up a few other choice adjectives, and she giggled again.

“Don’t let him hear you say that.” Just then, her phone dinged with an incoming text, and she glanced at it with a grimace.

“I hate to ditch, Nicky, but I gotta get home to the kids. Hey, you know what? We should go on a girls’ date.

Shopping, mani-pedis, drink too much and spill dirty secrets—” She wiggled her eyebrows at me suggestively, and I smiled in response.

“I would love that. You let me know when, but go on. Get home to your family. Thank you for showing me around.”

She surprised me with a hug, and then headed out towards the kitchen.

I sighed and looked around, not really sure where to start.

I decided that I wasn’t going to get anywhere until I found some cleaning supplies, so I made my way to the kitchen.

Sure enough, under the sink, I find what I need.

I grabbed a bucket, a clean washcloth, some Pledge, and a few other odds and ends, and headed back to the motel rooms. I cleaned like my life depended on it for the next couple of hours.

Singing along to Nickelback, I tried to force myself to find some sort of enjoyment in a task that felt utterly mundane compared to the job I was used to.

I nearly dropped the bucket when I turned and found Mr. Greyson lurking in the doorway. Pulling my earbuds out, I shove them in my pocket.

“You sure do have a habit of sneaking up on people.”

He started towards me, and I had to stop myself from backing up or spraying him with the Windex. I realized that now may be a good time to get some answers, so I said, “I haven’t seen you around the club for the past couple of days. Were you out of town?”

He stopped less than a foot from me. “What I do is none of your business, girl.”

Okay, so the guy was a douche—no surprise there. But I nodded meekly. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Sir.”

“What?”

“You call me sir, or Mr. Greyson. But you will address me properly.”

I wanted to call him an asshole, and suggest that maybe he calls me Nicky instead of “girl.” Instead, I bit my tongue and said, “Yes, sir.”

“Oh, so you can follow directions. Amazing.” His tone was bone dry.

“I’ve done what I’ve been told since I got here.”

“You shouldn’t even be here. Maverick must have lost his mind.”

“I’m sure he did what he thought was best. Sir .” I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help but add, “Besides, he’s your second-in-command, so wouldn’t his state of mind reflect on you?”

Before I could blink, the man backhanded me so fast that I dropped my bucket and stumbled back. Holy shit, that hurt. I placed a hand on my tender cheek and, this time, didn’t hide the glare aimed in his direction. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back, forcing me to look up at him.

“If you want to continue working as some pretty little maid, you will learn your fucking place. Or I can find a job much better suited for a woman like you.” His other hand roamed my body, and I couldn’t suppress my shudder. He smiled, then abruptly let go before leaving the room.

My cheek wasn’t the only thing burning as rage blazed through my body.

Not having much of a choice, I went back to cleaning the rooms but kept my earbuds out in case he decided to show up again.

I cursed my temper. As Katie, that fire was something I had grown skilled at restraining.

As Nicky, I was clearly growing comfortable with letting it loose.

I should have known better than to goad him.

His file literally dripped evil. The man was a murderer—he bought and sold people like trinkets, and he had fought his way to the top of this club.

And my dumb ass had to go and sass off.

Mac and Dalton weren’t good men, but they weren’t anything like that from what little I’d seen so far.

How in the hell had those two ended up working for a man like Silas Greyson?

Stupid club loyalty bullshit, probably. I stopped scrubbing the bathroom floor and rocked back on my heels, taking a deep breath and reminding myself why I was doing this.

I was just heading to the next room when a hand landed on my shoulder from behind, and I swung my bucket like a weapon as I spun around. Dalton jumped back with a startled, “Whoa!” and I dropped the bucket to the ground with an, “Oh shit!”

He put his hands up and said, “Jesus, Vixen, remind me never to come up behind you ever again.” Then his eyes landed on my soon-to-be bruised cheek, and his eyes darkened to a shade of blue not unlike his brother’s. “Who the fuck hit you?”