Page 14 of Fire Meets Fire

“No, Harold. Harold?” But as I call out, he’s already striding off and his only response is his raised middle finger. I grimace.Damn it.That’s one more debt I’ll need to add to what I owe this grumpy bastard. On my part, if he’s really gone to get the money, and there’s nothing in me to doubt it—Harold’s not the type to come back all weapons blazing—I think he’s given in far too easily. Nothing about this suggests Chaz is a man to be trusted. Quits? I don’t believe him for one minute. Nothing is ever that simple. It’s a trick to get me to come down from my perch. Nah, he won’t be satisfied with his money. He’ll want his pound of flesh as well.

“Hey, biker boy,” I call down. Chaz, who’d been staring thoughtfully at the door through which Harold had exited, again looks up. I don’t need to see his hands fisting to know he doesn’t like the name I just called. “You going to swear on your fucking Harley that if Harold pays you the money that will be the last of it?” I use a warning tone to let him know I won’t be messed with.

His face reddens, that beam of sun emphasising the colour. “I believe we’re the wronged fuckin’ party here.” Again he seems to analyse the situation, examining me on the beam and then the rest of the barn. I can almost see him calculating whether he can get one of his men to sneak up behind me, but then clearly correctly dismisses he can’t. I’m the one holding all the cards.

Obviously, there’s a chance I’ll eventually need to come down if they stay and lay siege to my position, but I’m banking on they’ve got better things to do with their time. Eventually, with a slight grimace, a shake to his head, then, after he cups his hands to his cheeks, draws them down and away. I watch the tension leave his body and realise he can’t be bothered to fight. Then, when we all hear the sound of footsteps, he swings around.

As Harold approaches with a bundle of notes in his hand and his face set in a frown, Chaz makes a gesture to the man who was there last night.

“Legend, make sure it’s all there.”

Without hesitation, the man relieves a glaring Harold of the money and rapidly swipes through as he counts the bills. Once satisfied, he gives a chin lift toward his prez.

Chaz turns around and points to the door. Legend makes a move in that direction, but the other man holds back, leaning over I see his lips moving at Chaz’s ear. Watching carefully, what he says has Chaz stiffening again, and a stunned look appears on his face as if asking him whether he’s serious. He listens to him speak in an undertone a little more and while I strain my ears,I can’t make out any words. It’s enough to make Chaz snort a laugh. As if it’s a signal, both men look up.

Chaz calls out, “You want to make that money back? Find another way into our shop and you can have a refund. You hear me, little girl?”

He gives me a moniker meant to taunt me, but it’s not going to work. Try as he might, he can’t deny once again I’ve got one over on him. His attempt makes me grin, and it takes a moment longer than necessary to process what he means. Then it’s my turn to laugh. “You want me to check your security out?”

One side of the MC president’s mouth turns up. “I’m challenging you to find another weak spot.”

“Which you can’t,” Legend, who’d reversed his decision to exit, dismisses the possibility while giving his prez a sideways glance.

Hmm. I can’t deny that the challenge excites me, particularly as I’m certain I’d end up winning Harold’s money back. But I’m not stupid and sense a trap. They’ll be watching out for me and it wouldn’t be good for my health to place myself back in their hands. Still… The prospect intrigues me. Perhaps not for a while, but when they least expect it, I could give it a try.

They haven’t bothered to wait for my response. Chaz beckons and the other gang members move out. The man whose name I didn’t catch is the last to leave with one final look and a shake of his head in my direction. I wait until I hear the sound of three bikes start, then concentrate until the roar of all the engines have faded. For good measure, I pause a minute or two longer to make sure none have come back.

Then, finally, I put my gun into my belt and descend from the rafters to where Harold is standing with an apoplectic expression on his face. He’s as angry as I’ve ever seen him.

Wincing, I apologise as profusely as possible. “I’m so sorry, Harold. I didn’t mean to bring trouble to your door. I promise I’ll pay you back.” Somehow, eventually.

His cheeks puff out. “Fuck it, girl. I’m not concerned about the money. I’m worried that you’ve got the Wretched Soulz on your back. Why the fuck did you go and do something so stupid?” He kicks at the dirt. “If I had the slightest idea that’s where you were getting the parts, I would have stopped you. Have you a fuckin’ death wish? You don’t mess with that club.” He starts to list all the reasons I shouldn’t, and the shit they’re rumoured to have done. How the area is probably littered with bodies of those who’ve crossed them. How I’ve probably never come across their like before.

I wait him out, letting the words flow over me.

No. But while I haven’t come across the Soulz previously, I’ve come across far worse.

What I’ve been through makes the Soulz look like choirboys. I won’t underestimate them though, but I’ll have to be smart.

His final point is harder to argue.

“You could have fucking passed out up there, girlie.”

CHAPTER SIX

CHAZ

Sitting, perusing the club’s latest set of accounts, I glance up when a knock comes on the door. In one smooth action, I close my laptop, sit back and fold my arms, while simultaneously calling out for whoever it is to enter. To be honest, I’m glad of the interruption. While a necessary evil, I find the day-to-day running of the club boring and I’d about reached the point where the numbers were blurring and no longer making sense.

“Ah, StoryTeller,” I greet the newcomer, a smile curving my lips. My grin broadens as I see the two bottles that he’s holding. “Come on in and take a load off.”

Before he sits, he hands one beer over to me. “Am I interrupting?”

“Fuck no.” Then when guilt assails me, I am, after all, the prez and signed up for this shit, I add, “Well, yeah, but nothing I can’t pick up later.”

StoryTeller chuckles softly. He’s heard me moan about the mundane work before. He knows doling out a beatdown to some deserving fucker is much more my style. After opening his beer by using leverage against my poor abused desk, he raises a legand rests his foot against the wood. He leans back, takes a swig, then focuses his eyes on mine. “Sheri’s pregnant again.”

Again?Hell, can’t StoryTeller catch a break? Or, is this what he wants? To be tied down even when there are plenty of woman in the sea? Images of the woman I met a week or so ago flit through my head. It’s all too often I find myself thinking about her, having to stop myself getting on my bike and riding back to that farm which appears to be her lair. Then I remind myself that whatever pull I felt toward her was just because I found her lack of fear for the Soulz and her actions intriguing. Sure, I can use my memories of her as fuel for my spank bank, but I’ve no desire to see her again in person.Or shouldn’t have.Helo. Where the hell did she get that name? I give myself a mental slap and regard the man in front of me.

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