Page 12 of Riding the Line (Steel Saints MC #1)

By the end of the second month, I knew each biker by name.

I kept the rooms spotless and provided meals three times a day.

Lunch was simple, dinner I had yet to make the same thing twice, and I was having fun having a bunch of burly men try something new.

Breakfast was something I usually made ahead to give myself more time for cleaning.

In the quiet moments, I could almost feel my skin crawl with the need to do something more.

Being with Shelly, chasing down leads, busting down doors…

that’s what I was made for. This domestic housewife shit was about to drive me insane.

On Sundays, I would do a massive brunch spread.

A lot of the guys were Christian, and would come back from church half-starved, like praising the Lord took something out of them.

They would come roaring in on their bikes, or some of them would bring in their whole families.

Bacon, eggs, waffles, muffins, sausage… Rodney had even requested fried chicken once.

It was an odd choice for breakfast, but evidently, his mom made it every Sunday when he was a kid. So I added it to the rotation.

Once everyone realized I would take suggestions, the requests came timidly at first, and then it seemed like I had a new one every day.

Maria’s little boy requested tamales, and I spent half a day cursing the damn things until Maria got wind of it and stepped in.

She made it look easy and, at dinner time, my tamales looked like little deformed nuggets next to hers.

Still, Diego Sr. and Jr. ate their weight in food that night, so I took it as a victory.

I was cleaning the rooms one day when Maria and Holly came in, hollering like banshees and giggling their asses off.

They had raided Mac’s “special liquor cabinet” and were evidently quite proud of themselves.

Maria opened up her massive mom purse, which held a bottle of black-label bourbon, and Holly had grabbed as many snacks as she could carry from the kitchen.

I locked the door, and we spent the next three hours watching SVU reruns on the in-room TV.

Watching Lieutenant Benson close cases had me wondering if Shelly had been closing any recently.

I missed her. Back home, my circle was my badge, my gun, and Shelly.

Out here, I was learning what it meant to have friends.

I got a text from Dalton halfway through: “It’s adorable that you and your friends think y’all are so slick.” Maria and Holly teased me relentlessly, but I was adamant that he was just my boss. I was late with dinner that night, but I regretted not a damn thing.

Day by day, I grew more fond of the Steel Saints crew.

And, damn, it made things difficult—an internal war of sorts.

I tried to keep an emotional distance. But these guys…

they weren’t the criminals that the files I had read painted them to be.

Yeah, okay—they weren’t literal saints. But I had met much worse on the streets of Charleston back home.

Men and women who had killed without remorse, or given drugs to children without giving a damn about the lives destroyed.

Evil people with no humanity. These guys weren’t that.

More and more, I found myself joining in on their conversations, laughing at their dumb jokes, and even riding around town with them on club errands.

Dalton was more of a highlight in my days than I was willing to admit.

He greeted me almost every morning with a cup of coffee and a smile.

When I was cooking in the kitchen, he happily kept me company, telling me stories about his and Mac’s childhood, the adventures they’d had as they’d grown, the hearts they’d broken.

I did my best to pretend like I wasn’t listening.

But the dude had a way of making me laugh like no one else.

And when I asked him questions or expressed even the slightest interest, the way he smiled at me made me feel things.

Things I didn’t fully understand. I knew he was just watching me ‘cos they didn’t quite trust me yet.

He even admitted as much, when I pushed him on the subject one day.

But still, that didn’t stop me from enjoying his company.

Mac was much more distant. Unlike his brother, he made no effort to hide his distrust of me.

At first, I didn’t think I was ever going to win the guy over.

But as time passed, I began to pick up on the little things he would do for me.

I complained about being unable to reach the kitchen top shelf, and then the next day, there was a shiny new stepstool by the fridge.

One night, I showed Maria my sore and cracked hands from all the cleaning products.

Holding a gun did less damage than scrubbing floors with bleach.

The next day, there was a pack of rubber gloves in my bucket.

Despite riding it back and forth to the clubhouse daily, my bike never needed fuel.

Dalton was genuinely clueless when I asked him about it, and that’s when I realized—in the background, all the little details… it was Mac.

Always Mac.

I gathered as much intel as I could without raising suspicion.

My growing bond with the Saints members made it easier than expected.

In a way. Having their trust meant they weren’t as careful when talking to me.

It also meant that every little tidbit of information I passed to Braxton in my letters to Uncle Tommy felt like a betrayal.

But I was just doing my job. Still, while I was meticulous in my letters, I left out details of my growing friendships within the club.

That, I told myself, had nothing to do with the DiAngelos and was none of Braxton’s business.

I still repeated those girls’ names every night before I went to bed, promising myself I would never forget them.

Despite part of my check supposedly going towards Daniel’s poor Harley, I was paid well.

About three months in, Maria, Holly, and I planned a girls’ outing.

I met them at Maria’s, an adorable stucco house with a big backyard that had toys littered throughout.

Diego Sr. met me outside and opened the garage so I could park my bike off the street.

When I walked in, Holly was in the living room playing some game on the TV with little Diego.

She greeted me with a smile as I entered.

Diego ignored me entirely, completely intent on his game.

Jewel, Maria’s teenage daughter, lounged on the couch, reading something by John Green.

“Oh good, you’re here. My car or Holly’s?

” Maria said as she came in from the kitchen, holding the baby who she passed to Diego Sr. Manny gurgled and started chewing on the collar of Diego’s leather jacket.

I cooed at him, and he grinned. Little guy was a carbon copy of his mama, cute as a bug.

Diego Jr. started hollering in victory, which earned an irritated look from his sister.

Holly ruffled his hair as she stood. “My car doesn’t smell like children. No offense.”

Maria shrugged. “Fair. The other day, I found a mummified chicken nugget under Diego’s car seat.” Holly made a face, and I laughed.

Maria kissed her husband goodbye, and he slapped her rear as she turned to leave.

“Behave yourself, ladies. I don’t want to load up the minivan to go on a rescue mission.”

Maria winked at him and waltzed out the door without another word.

I turned to him as I shut the door and said, “A maid and two Saints’ old ladies. How bad could it possibly be?”

He groaned, while I smiled innocently.

We all piled into Holly’s Fusion, and Maria made a show of glancing around the small car. “Hm, I don’t know if this is gonna be big enough for all the shopping I have planned,” she teased from the passenger seat.

Holly turned towards the local shopping mall and said, “Oh, I don’t know about that. You can fit a body in the trunk. ”

I laughed, and she looked at me in the mirror. “I’m dead serious—no pun intended. I locked Jackson in the trunk once. He had come home wasted, and well, let’s just say he never did that again.”

Maria and I stared at her, and then our eyes met in the side mirror, and we fell about laughing.

“Girl, that is diabolical,” I said.

As we pulled into the mall, Maria rubbed her hands eagerly and then pulled out a list from her pocket. Holly glanced skeptically at it. “What’s that?”

Maria brandished it proudly. “My list! I’ve got us at the coffee shop first, then figured we could stop by Victoria’s Secret for a few and swing by Auntie Anne’s after for a snack then—”

Like lightning, Holly snatched her list, crumpled it, and threw it out the window where it blew away in the crisp breeze.

Maria made various sounds of protest and looked to me for support; I shrugged at her. “I’m on Holly’s side here, sorry girl.”

As we all climbed out of the car, Maria turned to glare at me, but her eyes softened when Holly came from the other side and put her arm around Maria’s shoulders. “Sorry, honey, but you are not going all ‘mom mode’ on our day.”

Maria sighed, and I linked my arm through hers. “Come on, it’s my first shopping trip in Atlanta. Show me how it’s done. Oh, and can we please go to HomeGoods? ‘Cos I have saved up some serious cash for a new mattress.”

Holly frowned. “While a body might fit in my trunk, a mattress sure as shit ain’t happening.”

“No, but Diego can come get it for you later—or I bet they deliver,” Maria said. “Besides, we could use some new bedding in the guest room. Diego got blood all over the sheets. Don’t ask.”