Page 92 of Goose

We paused, caught our breath, and removed our headgear. Goose sent Cash and Reno a pre-written text message. Tito opened the door. I drew a deep breath and stepped through it.

The well-illuminated alleyway gave full view of the adjoining parking lot, where the SUV was parked. So far, everything looked like it was going our way. Doing our best to look like three people on a leisurely stroll after a night at the bar—but probably walking faster-paced than we realized—we made our way toward the vehicle, which was fifty yards away.

Despite the operation’s lack of obvious fault, my heart was beating out of my chest. Based on experience, I knew it would continue until long after I got home and into bed.

On our way to the car, Reno and Cash stepped to our side.

“Good haul?” Cash whispered.

“It was a bust,” Goose replied. “Ally couldn’t get the safe cracked. You were right.”

“I fucking knew it!” Cash said through his teeth.

“Just kidding,” Goose said, mid-stride. “We got a huge haul. No idea how much until we get where we can see it. It was dark as fuck.”

I reached for the door handle. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

The car’s key fob was programmed to open all the doors and illuminate no lights as soon as I touched the handle. The door locks clicked to the open position. We were so close to escape I could taste it.

Cash opened the rear door. “I can’t take that bitch seriously when she’s wearing that cheerleader outfit.”

My muscles tensed upon hearing him call me a bitch. I realized many men—especially bikers—used the term loosely. Regardless, I detested it—and I wouldn’t stand for it.

I opened the door, tossed my bag on the passenger floorboard, and hopped in. After pulling the door closed, I sat with my jaw clenched tight.

“C’mon,” Goose said. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

I reached for the rearview mirror and adjusted it, so I could see Cash’s reflection. I drew a long breath and let it out. “I’m not going to stand for you calling me a ‘bitch’, asshole.

“Whatever.” He glanced over each shoulder nervously. “Let’s go.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you apologize.”

“Fuck that,” he snapped. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll sit here until the cops show up,” I assured him. “Apologize.”

“What the fuck’s wrong with her?” Cash asked, directing his remark to Goose.

“God damn it Cash, apologize!” Goose snarled.

“All I did was say I can’t take that bitch seriously. So fucking what.”

“Apologize,” Tito insisted.

Cash leaned forward so close I could feel his breath against my neck. “Drive the fuck out of here, you mouthy little Bitch.”

I was a woman that had been tossed into a testosterone-rich all-man crew. I didn’t regret accepting the offer. In fact, even after Cash’s comment, I remained elated that the club had given me the opportunity.

But.

I refused to work with someone who treated me disrespectfully. Cash didn’t have to respect me, but I wouldn’t allow him to openly disrespect me.

Tension was mounting. Everyone started shouting. Some demanding we leave, others that Cash apologize.

“Everyone stop!” I screamed.

I turned in my seat until I was facing Cash. Reno and Tito, seated beside him, stared at me with wide eyes and open mouths.

“Out of respect for the other men in this crew,” I said through my clenched teeth. “I’m driving out of here. Before we leave the clubhouse tonight, you will apologize. If you don’t, you’re not going to have to worry about how you’re going to spend your cut.”

He stared. Apparently, he wasn’t used to having a woman stand up to him. Satisfied, I turned around.

“What the fuck does that mean?” he asked.

I didn’t respond.

If he didn’t apologize, he’d simply find out.