Page 7 of Riding the Line (Steel Saints MC #1)

Uncle Tommy had written to welcome me back to Atlanta—Braxton’s way of saying congrats on not dying on your first day, I guessed.

It also reminded me to keep in touch, and boy did I have an update for him.

But now that the adrenaline had worn off, I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open.

I threw my keys and the letter on the counter, kicked off my boots, and stripped as I headed down the hallway.

I tossed the bundle of clothes in the corner of my room, and fell into my bed.

It’s not the soft, cushy one Kaitlyn McGrady had splurged on back in her old apartment, but I was out almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

When that stupid phone rang the next morning, I groaned and snuggled under the covers I’d evidently crawled under at some point during the night.

Those assholes couldn’t have given me a full eight hours of sleep?

I resisted the urge to throw the damn thing through the window, and climbed out of bed to get it from the pile of laundry I had thrown it into.

Pressing it to my ear, I snapped, “What in the fuck? It’s the ass crack of dawn! ”

I heard a low chuckle on the other end of the line, and Dalton’s overly cheerful voice greeted me. “Ah, good morning to you, Vixen—lovely to hear that sweet voice so early. Gets the day started off right, you know?”

I decided that the next time I saw him, I was definitely punching him in the throat. Seemed like a Nicky thing to do. And it’d certainly make Katie feel a lot better, as well.

Sitting back down on my bed, I ran a hand through my hair as he continued. “So, here’s the plan. Tony is going to pick you up and bring you back here. So be ready at 10:30. Cool?”

I glanced at the clock on the phone. “Not cool, asshole! It’s already past ten. And it’s Nicky! Nicky, not Vixen or baby girl or whatever.”

I swore I could hear him grin through the phone. “Whatever you say… Vixen.” I growled, and he laughed again. “Wear something you won’t mind getting dirty. See you soon.” Then the twat hung up on me.

Swearing loudly, I stomped to my bathroom and groaned.

I looked like an angry, fuzzy red panda.

I hadn’t taken my makeup off before bed, not being used to wearing any.

My mascara and eyeliner had smeared, and my hair looked like I’d stuck my finger in an electrical socket.

I glanced at the clock on the wall, swore some more, and started scrubbing at my face as quickly as I could.

I found Nicole’s potty mouth oddly freeing, and tried to plan my next move.

As I got ready, through my sleep-addled brain, I wondered how in the fuck this Tony knew where to pick me up.

Someone must have followed me home, and I’d been too tired to notice. Well, that’s just fantastic.

I was waiting outside my apartment building with my helmet under my arm when a black Ford F-250 pulled up. The window rolled down, and I found myself looking at a guy who was definitely Italian. Tony, I’d assumed.

“You getting in?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I’m riding my bike.”

He raised one eyebrow at me. “Yeah, I doubt that.”

I frowned at his tone and spun on my heel towards my bike. It wasn’t until I got closer that I saw her leaning in a way she shouldn’t be. Some douche had slit my tire while I was sleeping! Probably the same douche who followed me home. That’s it, I decided—someone was absolutely getting punched.

I marched back over to Tony and climbed into the truck after throwing my helmet in. Fixing him with my most intimidating glare, I said, “Who slit my damn tire? I want a name!”

He gave me a look that told me he was entirely unimpressed with me.

“Lady, you lit a prospect’s bike on fire.

You’re lucky that’s all they did to you.

” Then he turned up the radio and proceeded to completely ignore me as he drove towards the warehouse.

I pouted in the passenger seat, deciding maturity was something for after coffee.

The bay door was wide open this time, and the yard was a lot busier.

There were a couple of members smoking and pushing each other around.

A few other guys were working on the bikes I saw the night before, and there were even a few women wandering around.

I took note of everything with a careful eye.

Tony parked and climbed out, still not saying a word.

I decided the best thing to do was to follow him.

As he made his way through the building, a few of the guys greeted him, and one of them stood from where he was kneeling next to a dismantled Indian Scout.

He looked at me like he smelled something bad, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

It came as no surprise to see Mac and Dalton both in the kitchen, talking with a few other guys.

There was a steaming cup of coffee in Dalton’s hands, so I made a beeline straight for Mac instead.

They turned to me when I reached them, and I used every ounce of strength in my body to slap the ever-loving shit out of Mac.

There was dead silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tony take that as his cue, and he beat a hasty retreat back into the garage.

The rest of the guys followed him, leaving me with just the two brothers.

“You motherfucker! You had me followed?!” My head just barely comes to his chest, so I couldn’t get in his face like I wanted to, but that doesn’t stop me from being royally pissed off. “And then you had one of your buddies slit my fucking tire?”

I went to shove him, but then he grabbed both my wrists.

Before I could blink, he’d spun me around.

My hands were behind my back, bent at a painfully awkward angle, and I was shoved up against the wall.

I raged, trying to stomp on his damn foot, but while I’ve got training, he’s got brute strength.

I threw my head back in an attempt to knock him away, but all he did was take both my wrists in one hand, using the other to grab the back of my neck.

He forced my face into the wall and leaned into me, his mouth at my ear. “Are you fucking done, Vixen?”

I couldn’t move if I fucking tried. I was so angry, I could feel my whole body flush with heat, but all I could do was stare daggers into Dalton’s soul. He was standing to the side, observing the whole thing with a smirk. Looking like he wished he had popcorn. Assholes. Both of them.

Mac squeezed the back of my neck. “I asked if you were done.”

I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but I know when I’ve been beaten, so I nodded. He let me go and stepped back as I spun around.

“I’ve done much worse things to men for much less, Vixen. Don’t do that again.”

Dalton came up beside him. “Actually, please don’t hesitate to ever do that again. That was entertaining as hell. Starts a man’s morning better than sex, I think.” He pursed his lips like he was thinking. “Well, almost better than sex. Anyways, coffee, anyone?”

I was still pissed as I followed Dalton to the coffee pot; the look on Mac’s face could have wilted a spring flower. Dalton refilled his cup and stepped to the side. “Mugs are in the cabinet above the pot.”

I quickly filled a cup with the steaming jet-black liquid.

I hesitantly opened the fridge in search of cream, and frowned at the almost-empty half-gallon of milk.

I grabbed it and then looked around for the sugar, finding it marked on the counter next to the flour and tea canisters.

Except all three canisters were empty. I turned to the two men.

Dalton raised an eyebrow at me. “Sugar?”

I nodded grudgingly at him, and he pointed to the cabinet next to the fridge. Who the heck put sugar there? My coffee made, I took a sip and groaned. I can do all things through caffeine which strengthens me—or however that saying goes.

“So, what now?” Mac was still glaring at me, but I ignored him and focused on Dalton.

Dalton glanced at Mac, who didn’t seem in any hurry to answer me. He looked between me and his brother, then took a seat at the head of the long table like he did the night before. I sat next to him, and Mac stood behind me and said, “Do you know how to be anything other than a pain in the ass?”

I smiled sweetly at him over my shoulder. “No. Next question.”

Mac made some sort of sound that I could have sworn was a growl—as if I needed any more convincing that the guy was unhinged. I sipped my coffee and waited for one of them to break the silence.

Dalton cleared his throat and looked at his brother pointedly, but when Mac made no move to start the conversation, he set his coffee down and said to me, “Mac wasn’t exaggerating about how much that bike was worth last night.

You’ll need to pay that back. And we know exactly how you’re going to do it. ”

I frowned at the bottom of my cup when I realized it was empty, and then jumped when Mac came up behind me with the pot.

I stared at him as he filled my cup and then set the milk on the table next to me.

I opened my mouth to suggest he see a shrink and get tested for bipolar disorder, but then he said, “You’re going to come work for us.

Cooking, cleaning, whatever. Eight a.m. to whenever we say you’re good.

You’ll get paid, and a good portion of that will go to paying for that bike.

You can do whatever you want with the rest.”

I watched him as he came around the table and sat across from me.

“Cooking, cleaning. That’s it? Nothing… else?”

Dalton smirked. “Did you want there to be something else?”

I ignored him, and Mac said, “Nothing else.”

“Any other options?”

“What do you think?” Dalton said, and at the same time his brother said, “None you would like.”

A job inside a job wasn’t exactly how I’d pictured this going. But it worked. If I was going to be there every day, it would be the perfect opportunity to keep an eye on things.

“Okay, deal. But no nasty shit, okay?”

Dalton laughed at me. “You’re working for a bunch of bikers. Good luck with that.”

I sighed and pretended not to notice the way Mac watched my every move as I stood to put my cup in the sink. I turned my back to them to give myself a moment to think. A moment later, I heard the door shut, and when I looked behind me, they were both gone. Discussion over, I guess.

I’d been at this less than three days, and I felt like I was in over my head. But I was in it for the long haul, and that meant becoming a glorified maid for the Steel Saints.