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She must see the shocked, slightly horrified look on my face and nods. “No kidding. I’m happy for her and her boys, but no thank you. I’ll stick to being cool Auntie Jewel.”
Drink in hand, I take my laptop over to one of the tables and dive back into my research. Right now, I’m back to sorting through the files on the flash drive that seemed the most likely to have useful information. I don’t imagine we’ll see Mullerby again, not while he’s on his “leave of absence”. I still have a vague sense that I should feel bad for what we did, but then I remember Danny and all the other people behind bars and I struggle to dig up any sympathy.
“Studying not going great?” Scrapper slides into the chair next to me and starts rubbing my back with the flat of his strong hand.
I shake my head without lifting it. “Not studying. Well, not really.” I turn the laptop his way and show him the files.
He squints at the screen, then reaches into his vest and does the very last thing I can imagine. Pulls out glasses. “Babe, I don't know much about computer shit, and file encryption or whatever you were calling it, but Snark’s one of the guys playing pool over there and we need to check in with him about that phone number anyway.”
I hear what he says, but I’m also too focused on how my hot biker guy just Clark Kent’ed himself into hot nerd biker guy. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”
His cheeks redden just a touch. “Yeah. Have done for years. I can see just fine at a distance, it’s reading that sucks. Did I ruin my image?”
“Not at all.” I lick my lips and lean back. “I kinda like it.”
“Hmmm. I’ll keep that in mind.” He wiggles his eyebrows and leans in for a kiss before walking over to the pool players and leaning in to talk to a wiry guy with short hair and colorful tattoos.
They come back over together.
“Mila, Snark.” Scrapper points to me. “Snark, Mila. She’s the girl with the phone number and she's got a flash drive with some files or something that she can't get into. You wanna take a look?”
Snark flashes me a little wink. “This is what I get for coming out of my den. Let me see.” I push the laptop over.
He clicks around a little, opens the files in some programs that I didn't even know came with my computer, then snorts in annoyance. “See those? They look like he’s backed up chat logs, but they're encrypted. I bet I can figure out what's in them, but it's gonna take me some time. How important is this?”
“Very,” Scrapper says, and for once, his voice is dead serious. “I know you got shit to do, but if you're able to prioritize this, there's a bottle of whiskey, your choice, in it for you.”
“Shit, bringing out the big guns.” Snark laughs. “I'll get on it as soon as I can. You heard him, right?” he asks me.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Excellent. I'll send you a link to the bottle I want.” He pulls the flash drive out of my laptop, tosses it once and catches it again, then shoves it deep into his pocket. I reach for it before I catch myself. “Don't worry,” he says more seriously. “I'm gonna take good care of this. Trust me.”
The confidence in his voice has my hackles down again. I have everything backed up onto my laptop now, but giving away the physical drive still feels wrong. But if he can crack some of the files, then it could be worth it. Next time I visit Danny, I want good news. So far I’ve just managed to prove him right, that this is too dangerous for me to mess with on my own.
Good thing I’m not alone anymore.
After Snark leaves, a much more imposing figure comes down the stairs from the office that overlooks the common room. Eagle-eye. I recognize him from the party where he was dancing with his partner. I have to admit I was pretty distracted by other things, but there's no mistaking the grizzled biker for anyone else. Tall, with a barrel chest, and wearing a black T-shirt with his cut over it, there’s a patch on the right side that says, “Prez.” The most striking part of him, though, is how he only has one good eye. The other is pupil-less, just white. I think most people would've worn a patch over it or something, but he doesn't seem to care. And the steely gray good eye is sharp enough for two. He comes our way. Reaper gives him a mock salute, but it's me he looks at first. I do my best not to stare.
“So you're the latest troublemaker. First girl in a while that had the sense to move in with her own clothes at least, I’ll give you that. Reaper, Mack and Scrapper are good men, and they seem to think you’re worth the danger, so I’ll be straight with you.” He's terrifying, but while his voice sounds like it's being churned through a stone quarry, the tone isn’t mean. “Give them your loyalty and we’ll have your back, but if you betray them or the club, you have twenty-four hours to clear town. And that’s being nice on account of them seeming fond of you.”
“Prez!” Scrapper says. “Was that necessary?”
Eagle-eye smiles. “I’ve gotten used to you fuckers shacking up with every girl with a sob story, and I even like most of ‘em, but my woman, my son, my daughter and my granddaughter are all inside these walls. Do you understand me?”
I swallow hard.
And I realize he's right. “I think I do. I'm very thankful that you've allowed me a space here. I'm doing my best not to cause trouble.”
He laughs, a sharp bark. “Well, that'd be a nice change. I’ve seen the reports on what you’ve been dealing with. Good luck with that. Try not to get my boys killed, will ya? I’ve barely got ‘em house trained.” I feel there's a lot going on here that I don't know much about yet, but what is obvious is that despite their harsh tone sometimes, this club is a family. I'm pretty sure any of these guys would do just about anything for another member if they had to.
Quick paw steps skitter over the linolium floor, signaling the rapid approach of a gangly boxer dog coming our way. If it didn't look so happy and its tail wasn't going like it was trying to lift off, I'd be terrified, but as soon as it gets close enough, Eagle-eye crouches down and pulls him into a rough wrestling hug. “Who the hell let you out, Jupiter? You were supposed to wait in the office.” Jupiter immediately shoves his head right into my lap, looking up at me with big brown eyes and drooling on my jeans.
Obviously, I scratch Jupiter behind the ears.
“Well, now you've gone and fucking done it. He’s your problem now,” growls Eagle-eye. “I've got shit to do.”
And with that he turns and stomps up the stairs. I glance over at Scrapper. “Are we dogsitting now?”
