Page 11 of Riding the Line (Steel Saints MC #1)

I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing you can do.” I went to grab my bucket off the ground, and he frowned at me.

“Like hell. Who fucking hit you?”

I refused to look at him, pretending to be intently focused on getting everything back into my bucket.

Dalton made an angry sound in the back of his throat, and kicked it down the hall, all my cleaning stuff rolling off in different directions.

He hauled me up and said, “Vixen, don’t make me ask you again. I want a name.”

I laughed—part nerves and part anger—and he blinked in surprise. “There is nothing you can fucking do.” I enunciated each word carefully. “It was your boss. What are you going to do, Dalton, huh? What can you possibly fucking do to Silas Greyson?”

His frown deepened, and then he swore under his breath. We both knew that I was right, and he wasn’t too happy about it. I went after my things, gathering everything up before turning back to him. He just stood there, watching me.

I shook my head at him. “And what does it matter? Why do you even care about what happens to me? We don’t know each other. I’m just here to do a job and pay off that stupid Harley. You don’t give a damn about me, and I don’t give a damn about you.”

I marched into the nearest room, and slammed the door behind me.

I slid down the door and buried my head in my hands.

I was shaking. I really hoped each day wasn’t going to be like this.

What was I going to do? And why did telling Dalton that I didn’t care about him feel like such a lie?

When did his easy smile and quick laugh become something that mattered to me at all?

I knew I shouldn’t care—that distance was key.

It had to be. Seriously, it’d only been three days.

I needed to grow up. I had a job to do, and it wasn’t being a maid.

Silently, I went through their names in my head. Mia Huntington. Anastasia Little. Gabriella Santiago. Kelly MacIntyre. Ruby Johnson. I said their names over and over until I heard his footsteps disappearing down the hall.

My phone buzzed, and I read the text from Mac: “Lunch was a bust… let’s try not to forget dinner by five.” Evidently, I was expected to make every meal of the day, no matter how busy I’d been cleaning. Which, to be fair, was the job description of your typical maid, but give a girl a break!

After putting my bucket back under the sink, I grabbed the whiskey off the shelf, and a lowball glass.

I downed my first glass and poured another.

I’d frozen all the meat out of habit, and with nothing pulled out ahead of time, the only thing that could thaw quickly enough was some kielbasa.

I pulled out a few and tossed them in some warm water.

I glanced at the clock on the wall as I gathered together pasta, cream, cheese, some sundried tomatoes, and a few other odds and ends.

I had about thirty minutes to throw something together for the whole crew.

I found a pot big enough to cook a whole chicken in, with room to spare, and started tossing in ingredients. I put some garlic bread in the oven and made a tossed salad, and by the time five o’clock rolls around, I had a delicious meal all laid out.

One of the guys, Rodney, came in rubbing his hands together. “Oooo baby, what we got today?”

A few other bikers, Jackson and Tony included, followed him into the dining room. I already had a river’s worth of beer sitting on the table, and they flocked towards it.

“Hey, Robbie, right? I made a sort of Cajun cheesy pasta with sausage. Sound good?” I tried to be friendly, figuring if I could win over a couple bikers, it would be easier to gather intel.

“Hell yeah, better than some frozen pizza.”

The group laughed, and I smiled at them.

I continued setting up the island, laying out plates and bowls.

As I do so, more guys pour in, including two brothers I’d kind of been hoping wouldn’t show for dinner.

But Lady Luck was not on my side. Dalton basically ignored me, but Mac stood by the fridge.

I pretended not to notice him, but my treacherous body heated under his gaze. Nerves, I told myself, just nerves.

Only a few ladies joined the throng of guys this time, and I smiled again when I saw Maria, who made her way over to me. “Shit girl, wanna come cook for me when you’re tired of being here?”

I laughed. “You say that like I’m here willingly.” She looked pointedly between me and Mac. “Yeah, I can see how horrible this must be for you. Two hunks who can’t keep their blue eyes off you.”

I felt a blush creep up the back of my neck. “They’re probably just worried I’ll set another bike on fire.”

She made a sound of agreement. “Yeah, they don’t quite trust you yet. But they don’t have my built-in radar. Not their fault.”

I glanced at Mac, who’d heard the whole thing, but his face gave nothing away.

There was some silent signal, and everyone started making their plates. This time, Jackson’s old lady pulled me into the line with the rest of the women.

“Hi, I’m Holly,” she said.

I smiled and replied, “Nicky. But, um… I don’t think I’m supposed to be in line.”

“Ladies eat first, and those are Mac’s rules. So grab some food.” She handed me a plate and moved down the line.

Maria was already at the table, the seat next to her empty again. I joined her and asked, “What the heck was that about?”

She took another bite of pasta before answering.

“First, this stuff is freaking to die for. Second, that’s just Holly.

She’s a bit… odd. Trust issues galore. But she’s good people once she opens up to you.

We’ve been besties since high school. She and Jackson are really good together.

They met when we were all kids, and there was a running bet for a while.

Would they kill each other, get it out of their system with some hot, angry sex, or settle down?

I am pretty sure I was the only one who put my money on settle down.

And, what do you know, I was right. Shocker.

Built. In. Radar.” She grabbed a water bottle and took a sip before noticing my expression. “What?”

I started laughing. “Hot, angry sex? Really?”

She joined me, her laugh loud and boisterous. “If you’d seen those two back then, you would get it.”

Suddenly Maria fell quiet, as did most of the table. Silas had walked in.

He grabbed a plate of food, and sat in the empty seat next to Mac.

He didn’t say a damn thing, and eventually, the conversation around the table resumed.

I watched him and noticed him looking up at me, slowly smiling.

It was the kind of smile you saw on See No Evil , that true crime show Shelly liked to binge-watch.

I clenched my fork so hard, a weaker metal would’ve bent.

Maria grabbed my knee under the table, and I turned to look at her. She shook her head, a silent warning. I glanced over one last time to see him conversing with Mac. Dalton sat across from them, and was making no effort to hide the rage in his eyes as he stared at his boss.

Maria whispered, “Look, I don’t know what this is about, but Mr. Greyson isn’t the one, Nicky. Most of the guys in here wouldn’t touch you, but he took over the club about three years ago—honestly, he terrifies the shit out of me. He should scare you, too. He’s bad news, Nicky. Don’t push it.”

I pushed the last bit of pasta around on my plate, my appetite gone.

“How, Maria? How did he become president?”

Her eyes took on a sadness. “It should’ve been Mac. But that’s not a story for the dinner table. Some other time, I promise.”

I looked over again, stealing a brief glance. Dalton was still glaring at Greyson like he could kill him with his bare hands, but then he caught my eye. I grabbed a few nearby plates, and got up, hoping he would follow.

I was bent over the dishwasher when I felt a hand on my lower back. I straightened and found him so close I could smell him—a delicious combination of sweet-smelling motor oil, musk, and leather.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed looking at him like that.”

The muscle in his neck twitched as he ground his jaw. “You don’t have to worry about me, Vixen.”

At that moment, I accepted—despite my better judgment—that in a matter of days, I’d come to care for him.

I hadn’t met a biker I didn’t like—other than Daniel and Silas, of course.

In the few quiet minutes I’d found for myself, I’d watched them interact with one another.

They were more than just some club. They joked and rough-housed, knew each other’s families, and I knew by now that when you messed with one man, you messed with them all.

They had each other’s backs. Which left me even more confused about how in the hell some guy like Silas Greyson had ended up in charge.

“Dalton—” I started, but he interrupted me.

“Don’ t. I’m serious. For once, just listen. For whatever fucking reason, you’re on his shit list, so, for once, just… be a good girl and keep your head down.” With that, he walked out the door towards the motel rooms. My eyes followed him, and after he left, they returned to the table.

Both Mac and Greyson were watching me. Greyson said something to Mac, and I saw a vein in his jaw twitch.

Our eyes met, and I saw the same anger in Mac’s gaze, but his was more tightly leashed than his brother’s.

I turned back to the dishwasher, busying myself as people started leaving the table and handing their plates to me.

But Dalton’s words rang in my ears, and I swore I could still feel his hand on my back.

That night, before I climbed into bed, I examined the slight bruise Silas had left. Again, I found myself repeating the girls’ names until they were the only thing on my mind. Mia Huntington. Anastasia Little. Gabriella Santiago. Kelly MacIntyre. Ruby Johnson.

I had to remember why I was here.