Undercover at the MC

VANESSA

After I clean up the kitchen, I head to my bag, stowed in a closet in the back, and peek surreptitiously at my burner phone in its zippered compartment.

There’s a message from Jack, so I walk into the pantry and close the door behind me. I haven’t spotted any cameras in the kitchen, but I can’t be too careful. Any suspicious little detail could give away my identity.

Okay, that wasn’t my plan until this minute, but I feel as if I need to give Jack some sign that I’m making progress.

As I wait for an answer, I take the opportunity to assess the supplies in the pantry to see what I can make for dinner. I spot canned tomatoes and refried beans, so I decide to go with Mexican. My phone vibrates, and a message from Jack comes in.

What a jerk. Since when does he make derogatory comments like that?

Not waiting for an answer, I walk out of the pantry.

My heart jumps into my throat when I spot Morgan standing by the snack cupboard. Casually, I slide the burner into my back pocket, hoping she doesn’t notice.

“Oh, shit, you scared me. I thought the kitchen was empty,” she says with one hand on her chest and a bar of chocolate in her other hand.

“I was looking in the pantry to see what we could make for dinner,” I say, shrugging nonchalantly. She seems to believe me right away.

Of course, she has no reason not to trust me, but I have to stay on my guard around her.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t see that I was planning on eating a whole bar by myself,” she says sheepishly, and I laugh and put my hands over my eyes.

“I didn’t see a thing. As far as I’m concerned, you weren’t even here,” I say, and Morgan bursts out laughing.

“Good! I’m going to help Hammer with the paperwork. God gave that man a handsome face and a big heart, but paperwork is not his strongest suit,” she says, shaking her head, and I giggle.

“You go keep an eye on your husband—and no messing around during work hours,” I say with a wink. She waggles her eyebrows, then walks out.

Sighing deeply, I quickly put the burner back in its zippered side pocket and stow my bag away. Then I walk over to the bar and start getting everything ready for lunch and dinner.

Time flies, and soon it’s lunch time. As expected, only a handful of men come in to eat since the rest are at work.

Toward the end of the day, West and Navy walk in and plop down at one of the tables. They look like they could use a drink, so I grab two beers.

It’s time for some action.

The two of them are wearing work clothes covered in dirt, oil, and grease stains. I’m guessing they work in a garage.

“Aaahh, just what the doctor ordered,” Navy says with a sigh, and I laugh.

“I wonder where your doctor did his training,” I say.

“Our doctor only wants what’s best for us,” Navy says, grinning.

“Do you guys actually have your own doctor?” I ask, and he nods.

“Certainly. Sometimes we get injured, and hospitals have a habit of asking questions—questions that we can’t always answer,” he says.

Seeing the (exaggerated) surprise on my face, West taps the couch as a sign for me to sit down. I take a quick look around. Everyone has a drink, and no one seems to need anything, so I take a seat.

This is good. After four months, it seems like they’re finally going to tell me something about the club—and all information is valuable.

“Obviously, you still have a lot to learn about club life,” says West. “We aren’t involved in anything strictly illegal these days, but there are always rivalries between different motorcycle clubs. Sometimes, things explode.”

I nod, making my eyes wide and innocent.

“There was a time when we dealt in drugs and guns,” he goes on in a low voice, “but since Hammer’s been president, all our business has been legal.”

His words make me think. He seems very sure of himself, and it’s hard not to believe him. But Jack was very adamant that they are involved in something illegal.

Maybe these two just don’t know about it?

“What do you do during church? It seems so secretive,” I dare to ask, and they shrug.

“This and that,” Navy says. “Church is only for members with a patch. Prospects aren’t allowed in until they’ve proven themselves to the club. I can’t go into detail, but mostly we discuss the different companies the club owns or invests in.

“Every member is involved in at least one of the companies, and the prospects help where we need them.” Navy takes a sip of his beer.

It’s not much, but it’s a start.

From day one, the guys have been very tight-lipped around me. Not surprising. They seldom let outsiders into their ranks.

Until now, I’ve been focused on getting them used to me being around. I want them to see me as part of the furniture. Obviously, it’s working. These two, at least, are beginning to open up.

I didn’t expect them to give away any real details about church. They don’t trust me enough—and probably never will. But that’s okay—I have other ways of gathering information. They just need to trust me enough to let me fade into the background.

“MC culture is so cool,” I say with a smile, and they hold up their beers to me and grin.

I’m doing a round of the room to collect empty bottles and dirty dishes when the door opens—and Steel walks in.

He, too, is wearing stained work clothes. His pants have clearly seen better days but are still tight around his legs and ass.

I catch myself staring at the man for a little too long and shake my head to snap out of it. I don’t understand why somebody as grumpy and badly dressed as Steel can stop me in my tracks—but this isn’t the first time he’s done it. It must be the tiredness.

I look around and see Navy winking at me.

Shit… He caught me.

That’s okay. It could even be useful if Navy thinks I have a crush on his brother.

I roll my eyes at Navy and give him a tiny head shake. Then I walk to the bar and start washing up my tray of dirty glasses.

It’s the end of the afternoon, and I’m about to start dinner. If all goes well, Abbey will soon relieve me of my bar duty.

Abbey is a Devil’s girl and apparently already a veteran. At thirty years old, she’s been working here for almost eight years. She is one of the few who reached out to me, and I appreciate that.

Morgan told me Abbey hopes to become an ole lady one day, but so far, the men only want her for what’s between her legs.

She has told Morgan she won’t be doing this for much longer, that it’s time to get serious and find a man to marry.

“Whiskey.”

The growl comes from behind me, and I am jerked out of my musings. I turn around to see Steel sitting at the bar with a steely face. Ha… See what I did there?

“Please,” I say with my sweetest smile as I pour a shot of whiskey into a glass and add ice.

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze still somehow emotionless despite his questioning look.

“Can I have a whiskey, please,” I say to clarify, and he rolls his eyes and turns to look at the TV.

“Asshole,” I mumble as I walk into the kitchen.

I start slicing the mountain of onions and peppers—I like to prepare the dinner vegetables ahead of time. The door opens, and a woman with a short blonde bob walks in.

“Hi!” she says cheerfully.

“Hi. Nice to see you again,” I say happily, and she giggles.

“Shall I take over the bar right away?” Abbey asks.

“Please! Then I can get on with dinner,” I say, pointing to my cutting board.

She gives me a salute and walks out of the kitchen.

I continue to slice the vegetables. The knives are brand new and razor sharp.

Before I know it, I’ve cut my index finger while slicing an onion. I drop the knife to the floor, uttering a few choice swear words as blood begins to drip.

Flinching, I put my finger under the faucet. The onion juice stings, and I hope I don’t need stitches.

Suddenly, a huge hand reaches in and grabs my bleeding hand—and I smell a wonderful masculine scent.

Steel stands close to me and inspects my finger, dabbing at the blood with a paper towel. Silently, he walks to the pantry and returns with a Band-Aid. Without a word, but quite expertly, he puts it on my finger. I almost feel like a naughty child under his stern gaze.

“Thanks,” I blurt out awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.

“I thought you were experienced,” he mutters, and my head snaps up to look at him.

“Anyone can accidentally cut themselves!” I say. “Please keep your judgments to yourself.”

What a jerk.~ He thinks I’m inexperienced just because I cut myself?~

Look,~ technically I’m not that experienced, but he doesn’t need to know that. In fact, he definitely shouldn’t know that, given that I was taken on here on the basis of my long career as a restaurant worker~.

I stomp out of the kitchen and head toward the bathroom. There, I take some deep breaths…before I bite a big, grumpy giant’s head off.