Page 11 of Ordinary Girl

“Who’s she?” Kasper jerks his head in the direction of Skip and a blonde-haired woman talking at the bar. She’s pretty, but the way she’s dressed, all business-like, she’s not really the kindof woman we usually see hanging out at the clubhouse, which makes me wonder what she’s doing here.

“No idea. Never seen her before.”

Kasper continues to carve away at the seat of the wooden chair he’s sitting on with a pen knife. “Looks like it’s important, whatever they’re talking about.”

He’s right. It does. But Kasper’s concentration span times out as one of the regular club girls saunters past, all tits and legs that she’ll quite willingly open for any one of us. I should know. I’ve had her. She wasn’t all that.

“I’m off.” Kasper jumps up out of his seat and heads off in the direction of the girl who’s name I can’t even remember. He’s a good man, is Kasper. One of the best. Been here with the Vikings for a few years now, started out as a prospect and worked his way up to Sergeant-at-Arms. Originally from Sweden he made Denmark his home after leaving Stockholm a fucked-up kid who couldn’t cope with the death of his parents. Reminded me of me, when I first came here: first joined the Viking Bandits. I never set out to be a biker either, the life kind of just drew me in. I like the loyalty. The feeling of brotherhood. The freedom.

“Hey, Joel. Come here!”

I look up as Skip beckons me over. Looks like I’m about to find out who our mystery guest is.

“Joel, this is Sofia Sorenson. Our new accountant.”

I didn’t see that one coming. Whatever. I don’t question Skip’s decisions, he’s the president. My job is to support him. Still not sure why he got rid of Ulrich so quickly and replaced him with this hot blonde, but, like I said, I don’t question.

“She been briefed?”

“He’s told me all I need to know. And I’d appreciate it if you spoketome while talkingaboutme.”

Whoa! This one has a mouth. But, y’know, pushovers and easy bitches do nothing for me. I like a woman who isn’t afraid to have an opinion.

“Okay…” I lock eyes with her: hold her stare. “You know that everything we ask you to do, if it isn’t legit you need to make it look like it is.”

“I’m fully aware of everything, Joel.”

I throw her a slow smile, flip a cigarette between my teeth, lighting up without even asking if she minds. Fuck her. This isourclubhouse, she plays by our rules, although, I’m sure Skip’s told her all that, too.

“Good to meet you, Sofia.”

I take a drag on my cigarette, blowing smoke up at the ceiling as I back away from her, smirking.

I head outside: join Wade and Kai in the workshop. Wade is one of our American brothers. Followed a girl out here to Europe, and never left. Ended up at the Viking’s clubhouse after the girl dumped him for her college lecturer, leaving Wade a bitter young man needing somewhere to let off steam. This club gave him that outlet. It also turned out that he’s something of a genius when it comes to numbers, which is why he’s been the club’s treasurer for a while now. Kai’s Swedish. Our road captain. A good-looking son-of-a-bitch who’s constantly surrounded by club girls, and rarely misses an opportunity to play on that. I’m surprised there are none hanging on his every word right now.

“You done something to piss off the women, Kai?”

He looks at me, frowning slightly. “Huh?”

I wave my hand around, indicating the fact it’s just us guys out here. “The lack of female attention.”

“Piss off… Whoa! Who isshe?”

Both Wade and I follow Kai’s gaze, watching as Sofia sashays across the compound to her car, ignoring the whistlesand completely inappropriate shit being yelled at her from the barbarians hanging around outside.

“Our new accountant. Apparently.”

Kai looks at me, his frown deepening. “Seriously?”

I shrug. “Skip just introduced me to her.”

“What the fuck did Ulrich do?” Wade asks, lighting up a joint and dragging deep. “Mind you, there was this rumor of embezzlement at the last club he worked for… He hasn’t tried that here, has he?”

“He wouldn’t be breathing if he had,” I shoot back.

I was there, last night, when Skip sacked Ulrich. There were no accusations of wrong doing. No lengthy, drawn-out explanations as to why the club was ceasing our working relationship, just the threat of death if he breathed a word of anything he shouldn’t, and the request that he send all the books over to us first thing this morning. The books arrived bright and early, and Ulrich’s now on his way to Munich, with his P.A.

“Joel. A word.”

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