Page 6 of Riding Dirty

“One year?” he asks.

“One year. A weekly cleaning of a ten-thousand-square-foot building, with bedrooms.”

“How much?” Alex demands.

“Three grand a month.” I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, unable to contain my smile as I wait to hear his response.

There is a long moment of silence. I think about just hanging up so I can talk about this in person, but then he speaks, and when he does, I wish I could keep some things about this job a secret, but I won’t be able to, at least not from him.

“You’re fucking with me right now?” he says with a gasp.

“I’m not. Not even a little bit,” I state.

“Holy shit,” he hisses.

Then his breath hitches and his next words come out in a whisper, as if he’s afraid to even ask the question… and maybe he should be, because I have a feeling he’s going to absolutely hate the answer.

“What’s the catch?”

“There’s only one little one.” I take my time to say the words.

Turning right, I make my way down the street where I know, on the right side, at the very end, Alex is likely standing in the driveway talking on his phone to me. He starts to say something, but then pauses, and that’s because I pull up to the house, behind his car, which is parked beside the curb.

He ends the call, then marches straight toward me. I almost laugh at how focused and intent his annoyed little march is. It’s hilarious, but as much as I want to burst out laughing, I know it would piss him off even more than he already is.

Turning the car off, I open the door and unfold from the front seat, then walk around the front of the car. I stop as he closes the short distance between us. Alex crosses his arms over his chest, tipping his chin down as he furrows his brows, pressing his lips together as he watches me, waiting for an answer.

“The only snafu, per se…” I begin, but the words trail off because I really don’t want to have to say them out loud, although it’s not like he won’t figure it out, considering he’s going to be doing the job with me.

“Fucking elaborate, please,” he urges.

“The job is for the Iron Flame Motorcycle Club.”

CHAPTER

FOUR

WRATH

Leaning back in the office chair, I think about that hot piece of ass who just left here. I watched her walk all the way back through the bar, climb into her fucking Ford Fiesta, and drive all the way down the long dirt and gravel driveway until Blast opened the gate for her, and she turned out onto the main road.

“What did you find out?” a voice calls out.

Lifting my head, I look up to see Dare standing in the doorway. This is really supposed to be his office, since he’s the club’s president, but since he fucking despises anything that might resemble paper or computer work, it’s mine.

“We got someone to clean this place, three grand a month, a weekly clean.”

He frowns, then lifts his hand to his jaw and rubs the scruff there. It’s his tell. He’s confused and thinking of how to proceed. I’ve known him for almost thirty years, and I can typically read him like a goddamn book.

“That doesn’t seem like enough.”

Placing my hands on the desk, I push myself up to standing and make a grunt in the back of my throat. Getting older is for the goddamn birds. I’m making noises now that I used to make fun of the old bikers for making twenty years ago… now I’m that old fucker.

Sonofabitch. I don’t know when that happened, but it fucking did.

Instead of bitching about my age, I walk around the desk and make my way toward Dare, who is still standing in the doorway. He doesn’t come in, but he’s not moving out of my way, either.

“It’s not enough. I’m going to see what she and her employee do, and I’ll pay extra if they’re worth it.”