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I give him a surprised look. “You’re letting me out of this room?”
“Under strict conditions,” he says. “One wrong move and you will spend the rest of your time here.”
He’s serious. That much I can always tell solely from his tone of voice. These are men I don’t wish to cross. Regardless of their intentions, I’m still a prisoner, I’m still at their mercy, and they can still do the unthinkable in order to protect themselves and their mission. Spike has been pretty clear about that more than once in the days since I’ve been here. They’re good men until they’re not, is what he alluded to.
“Fine. How are we going to do this, then?” I ask, choosing the peaceful path.
I’ll remain vigilant. I will analyze every single option while I’m out of this room. If I see an opportunity to flee, I will absolutely take it. But until then, I’ll do as I’m told. I’ll play nice and obey my captors if only to gather more information about what they’re doing.
Maybe I’ll get my hands on a better tool for these stupid bars, too. The screw isn’t working fast enough, and I’m not sure how much time I’ve got left before something inadvertently goes sideways.
“You’ll never leave my side,” Sky says.
“Not even if I have to use the bathroom?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.
“I’ll be right outside the stall.”
“Talk about a breach of privacy,” I mutter.
“It’s either that or you can just stay in here. But I’d much rather you see for yourself the kind of people we are. Maybe then you’ll understand a few things.”
“What am I supposed to understand, exactly?” I shoot back. “You’re violent, ruthless criminals. You broke into my home and abducted me. I already have all the information I need.”
“You’ll see,” Sky replies with a half-smile.
Ten minutes later, we’re walking down the stairs.
It’s the first time that I get to actually see the clubhouse with its sprawling bar and leather seats, dining booths, vintage jukebox, dart boards, and pool tables. It’s actually kind of nice and homey.
From what I understand, the Steel Knights MC is relatively new on the motorcycle scene, with about ten or twelve years of activity—a lot of it illegal—according to my father and the press. But this looks like a legitimate place of business, with biker memorabilia and famous memoirs occupying every single decorative space.
It’s also pretty busy, and there’s an inviting smell wafting from the kitchen. Servers are bringing out all sorts of wonderful-looking plates and baskets for their customers, including burgers and fries, pecan or cherry pie, pizza, and pasta.
Speaking of their customers, they strike me as an interesting mixed bag.
There are the Knights themselves, easily distinguished by their ragged jeans, black shirts, and black leather vests with the appropriate insignia. They hang in groups and occasionally exchange banter between one table and another. Some of them are busy around the pool tables.
Then there are the locals. I’m guessing they’re from the edges and outskirts of Everton, most of them working folks who tend to the gas stations, the production plants, and the factories nearby. There are also a few barflies, and judging by their skimpy outfits and the way they giggle with the bartenders, they’re regulars looking to bag themselves a biker so they never have to work a stripper pole again.
It’s the usual recipe for any clubhouse, or so I’ve been told.
“There she is,” Spike exclaims from behind the bar as soon as he sees me, a wide smile brightening up his face. “How are you doing, honey?”
“Just peachy,” I bluntly reply.
Rule number one, according to Sky, is that I stay in his line of sight at all times. Fine, I can live with that. For now. Rule number two is that I have to wear a cap and an oversized plaid shirt while I’m down here to avoid being recognized.
Sky doesn’t want anyone to know it’s me, which makes sense and leads me to rule number three—don’t talk to anyone. There’s a voice in my head telling me to be grateful that I’m getting this much out of this wretched deal and to keep my big mouth shut, no pun intended.
“Remember rule number four,” Sky says as we take a couple of seats at the bar.
“Don’t try to escape or signal I’m in distress to anyone, including club members,” I mutter, reciting the rules he insisted upon prior to leaving my room. “Yeah, I got it.”
“I’m glad you brought her down here,” Spike tells Sky.
“Limited time only,” he replies. “I wanted Randy to meet some of the folks here.”
Randy. That’s rule number five. My name is Randy, if anybody asks. I give Spike a dry smirk. “While I’m visiting, he wants me to be nice and social,” I say with a Southern twang, hoping to mock it enough to piss Sky off just a little bit.
