Page 8 of Riding the Line (Steel Saints MC #1)

I was cleaning the kitchen up when Tony and a couple of his buddies came back in.

They were all laughing loudly at something, ruining my moment of peace, and I side-eyed them.

Tony was the only one to notice, and he waved me over to the table as they all took a seat.

Sighing, I wiped my hands on the dish towel hanging from the stove and said, “What’s up, Tony? You need something?”

Tony shook his head. “No, but figured you might want to meet some of the guys. Since you somehow managed to live after smoking Mac.”

I frowned, trying to decide if that was a compliment or maybe even a warped attempt at being friendly.

Tony listed off names, and I tried to commit them to memory as best I could—if only for the sake of the case.

One of them asked if I could make a bit of late lunch, and I gritted my teeth in response.

From detective to making fucking sandwiches for a bunch of leather-clad nitwits.

Wonderful. One of them, Luke, must have seen the sour look that crossed my face.

He was one of the friendlier ones, but his eyes bore into me as I went over to the massive fridge.

“Oh, what the fuck… hey guys, what do you normally eat for lunch?”

A skinny guy with a crooked nose—Rodney, I think—shrugged. “I dunno, sandwiches or sometimes we’ll get pizza delivered.”

I held a moldy pack of cheese aloft between two fingers and brandished it at them. “In that case, moldy grilled cheese, anyone? That is, if you have bread?”

They all grimaced at me and looked at each other.

Tony said, “Yeah, I think I speak for everyone when I say no thanks. But sweet of you to offer, really.”

“Well, then someone needs to go grocery shopping.” I was met with a bunch of blank looks. “Who does the grocery shopping?” More blank looks. “You know what, I’ll figure something out, but for now, I think there are some chips in the cabinet.”

I looked at the door that leads to the garage, and then at the other door I’d seen a few bikers come in and out of, and chose the latter.

Making my way into a long hallway, I squinted at the sudden change in light.

The dim hallway was lined with doors, and I peeked into a few open ones, finding small rooms that made me feel like I was in a motel.

The hallway led to a sort of sitting area, which was empty, so I followed another that ended in a set of stairs, and headed down toward the distant sound of a TV.

Sure enough, within a few minutes, I found a big room filled with comfy couches and recliners, and one giant flat screen.

In one of the recliners sat Dalton who, to my shock, appeared to be reading a book.

He looked up as I entered, almost like he sensed the presence of someone new.

He smiled at me, put his book down, and got up to greet me.

“Exploring are we, Vixen? Interested in a personal tour?”

I shook my head at him. “No. Well, actually, yes. Just not right now, I have a question.” He raised a single eyebrow at me, which I assumed was my all-clear. “Your fridge has old orange juice, moldy cheese, and beer in it. And I think I saw a lemon, or what used to be a lemon.”

“That’s not a question, Vixen.”

“Well, I can’t make you guys dinner with that. I already offered Tony and a few other guys a moldy grilled cheese, and they turned me down.”

“Rude of them.”

I couldn’t help but smile a little. “Yeah, so my point is, when I asked them about grocery shopping, I might as well have asked about going to the moon.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Home etiquette isn’t really our thing here, unfortunately. But I can take you to the store if you want.”

“Really? I mean, I can handle it myself. I am a big girl.”

“Maybe one day, Vixen. But not yet. For now, you get an escort. It’s either me, or I can have someone else go with you.”

I sighed. “Right, got it. Can we go now?”

He nodded. “Yup, let me grab my jacket and the keys, and I’ll meet you outside.”

About ten minutes later, Dalton insisted on holding my door open as I climbed into the same truck from earlier that morning.

Soon, we were roaring down the highway, and I stared out the window as Dalton turned on the radio.

The silence, much to my surprise, wasn’t tense or awkward.

I turned from the window and tried subtly watching him as he drove with one hand on the wheel, and the other on the center console.

After a few minutes, he glanced over at me, and I felt my cheeks redden as he caught me looking.

“It’s alright, Vixen. I know I’m pretty.”

I scoffed. “Why do you and your brother call me that?”

He glanced at me again, and the light bouncing off the dash made his eyes look like bottomless pools of tropical water.

“It fits. You walked into our bar last night looking like every man’s dream. I knew you were trouble the moment I laid my eyes on you. Then you set a prospect’s bike on fire, bit me, and spent your entire evening raising hell like you were its queen. We certainly weren’t gonna call you Angel.”

I raised my chin defiantly. “I’m nobody’s angel.”

He winked at me. “Don’t I know it, baby girl.”

My blush came back with a vengeance, and I looked out the window again. He laughed, a low sound that went straight to my core—a feeling I promptly ignored.

At the store, I meandered up and down aisles, at a complete loss on what to grab. It’s not like I’d made a list or anything. Dalton followed me and, after our third aisle, said, “Hey Vixen, usually when someone goes grocery shopping, they put things they need in the cart.”

“I dunno what to get,” I admitted.

He grabbed a box of Frosted Flakes off the shelf and tossed them in the cart. “Get whatever you want. I got the club’s card from Mac before we left. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a woman like you in the house. We’re long overdue for a stock-up.”

“A woman like me?”

“You’re not a patch bunny. Women with class don’t tend to linger.”

“Oh.” I pursed my lips and then grabbed a couple other boxes of cereal off the shelf, tossing them in blindly.

We spent the next thirty minutes getting things I thought we’d need. Every time I hesitated, he encouraged me to just buy it so I didn’t have to worry about it later. By the time we got to the meat section, the cart was pretty damn full.

I bit my lip. “Dalton, this is going to be a very expensive trip if we get meat.”

He shrugged again. “And you’re gonna have a bunch of pissed-off bikers if you try and make us go vegetarian. Grab a few steaks, Vixen, and whatever else you want. Don’t worry about the cost.”

When we got to the truck, he made me get in the cab while he loaded the bed with our haul.

I read over the mile-long receipt, wincing at the price at the end.

Dalton hadn’t even blinked when the cashier read our total, just handed over a shiny black card and gave her a million-watt smile. I’m pretty sure she swooned.

I looked up as Dalton climbed in next to me. “I could’ve helped with that, you know.”

He reached over and patted my thigh in a surprisingly familiar gesture. “Yeah, Vixen, I know. But that’s not my style.” He sent a quick text, and then we headed back.

He honked as we pulled up in front of the warehouse, and a small herd of bikers came flooding out.

They swarmed the truck like ants, and next thing I knew, they’d grabbed all the groceries and headed into the kitchen.

This display of chivalry seemed positively medieval, and it threw me off.

The file I’d read didn’t prepare me for all this.

They work with me, putting up all the groceries and following my directions as to where I wanted them, all the while joking around with each other.

Occasionally, one of them would hold up an item he found particularly pleasing, and the others would cheer.

As I stood there, watching a bunch of bikers cheering over a bag of mandarin oranges, I realized something that shocked me—they were a family. Maybe a little different and a whole lot of fucked up, but a family all the same. A unit. It was kind of amazing.

When everything had been put away, I couldn’t help but smile.

I loved the sight of a well-stocked kitchen; it filled me with a sense of peace.

What Mac and Dalton didn’t know was that I loved to cook, and I was damn good at it too.

The kitchen was my happy place. I was less enthused about the cleaning aspect of the job, but I could do this—I think.

I glanced at the clock, and noticed it was just past four.

A few of the bikers still mingled in the background, but I paid them little mind as I set to work.

I wasn’t quite sure how many I was cooking for, but from what I’d seen, it would be a full house.

While I was cooking, Mac came in and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

He started to walk away, and then stopped.

Looking from me to the fridge and then back to me, his brow furrowed.

I tossed a pan of sliced veggies and watched him go back to the fridge.

Opening it, I heard him say, “Huh.” I guess it had taken him a second to comprehend the fridge had suddenly become fully stocked in his absence.

He came up to me and leaned on the counter, watching me.

I glanced at him with raised eyebrows, but he just sipped his beer.

Finally, I broke the silence. “Can I help you, or are you just trying to become one with the rooster decor?”

To my surprise, he actually laughed. “Am I bothering you, Vixen?”

Sighing, I added some more seasoning to the pan. “No, I’m just not used to being watched. Can you hand me that bowl?”