I hadn’t seen Holly around before, because I would’ve definitely remembered her. She looked like a model. She was at least six feet, and somehow still managed to look completely feminine and graceful. She wore old jeans that looked painted on and a tank top that showed off a delicate sleeve of tattoos, and her long blond hair hung in a sheet halfway down her back. “You must be Calla.”
And to top it off, a crisp, brilliant British accent.
She gave me a head-to-toe once-over. “You’ll do, but maybe you can dress a little sexier?”
“I thought I was just taking appointments.”
“Nothing around here is ‘just’ anything.”
Rocco put a hand on my shoulder and he’d disappeared before I could turn around. When I faced Holly again, she said, “I didn’t really want you working my shop tonight, but I owe Preacher. So let’s try to not make this a miserable experience.”
“Wait—Vipers doesn’t own this?”
“They own the building, but this business is mine,” she said, her eyes cutting me like daggers.
“Okay, wow. That’s cool.”
She pursed her lips together, like she’d heard it a thousand times, and pointed to the phones. “Just answer and check the book.”
I stared at her, then walked behind the counter. The book didn’t look particularly full and I made the mistake of saying so.
“Lots of walk-ins,” Holly told me, sounding bored at having to deal with me. “And a lot of them just want to get close to the club, so they come to hang out. Makes the place look busier, which attracts more business.”
She shrugged and pointed at the appointment book. “Before you schedule, you’ve got to find out what exactly they want. And if they don’t know, they need a fifteen-minute consultation appointment before they can book the real thing.”
“Do a lot of people back out?”
“A lot of women come in for their consultation and end up having sex with the artist in the back,” she said with a shrug. “It’s a big deal to be marked by a Viper, but a one-night stand doesn’t get you in the club as an old lady.”
“What does?”
She smirked. “You’re really interested, honey?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“For now. But we both know that you don’t really belong.” Holly’s tone was clipped and condescending. “You don’t know anything about this MC or any MC.”
“Cage brought me here.”
“Guys do all sorts of dumb things for gash,” she conceded.
“I’m working here tonight, so if you’re not going to show me how to run this, is there someone else here who can?” I asked sweetly.
“You look like you’ve never worked a day in your life.”
“I’ve worked every day of my goddamned life, so cut the shit,” I hissed under my breath, then smiled as the man in leather approached the counter. “How can I help you?”
Holly snorted and walked away. Bitch.
I’d figure it out myself. How hard could it be?
Chapter 25
The ride Cage was supposed to take with Preacher the night after he’d arrived back in Skulls had been pushed off until things were calmer.
Unfortunately, losing the detectives’ tail took a bit of work, but they were able to use all of their very distinctive bikes to throw them off track. Rocco and Tals headed in the opposite direction—on Preacher’s and Cage’s bikes—while Cage rode Tals’s bike and followed behind Preacher on Rocco’s Harley. It was just like the first time he’d ridden behind the head of Vipers, wondering if Preacher was bringing him into the woods to kill him.
He’d been sixteen. That’s how fucked up his life had been. That’s how he’d thought, even after so many years of Preacher paying for his school, his clothes, his life.
That night, Preacher had given him a probie cut. “Nothing will change if you don’t put it on, Cage. You’ll still have my support—financially and otherwise—until you’re eighteen. After that, the financial shit stops but nothing else does.”
He’d stared at the cut for half a second before nodding and letting Preacher help him shrug it on. Because he believed in Preacher, and the Vipers. And he believed in the MC life, since that was all he’d known.
He’d followed Preacher’s example, had gone into the Army and done his time. Between Preacher and the Army, he’d become the man he wanted to be. The man he’d need to be to shoulder the responsibilities of being second in command of Vipers, which was where Preacher told Cage he ultimately wanted him. For now, Tals was filling that role, and Tals himself told Cage he didn’t want it. Ultimately, Tals would be a much better enforcer, and he’d enjoy that job far more.
Before he could accept that, though, he had to take down his family. And now, it was finally time. “I should’ve been honest with you about going rogue. But after that fight . . . when we lost Cal and Marsh I . . .”
Jesus, he didn’t want to go back there. A night of celebrating, of being back in his element, the Vipers all around him, all shot to shit in an instant. A single Molotov cocktail flung through the window of the bar. He remembered the screaming, the choking smoke. He and Tals and Preacher easily made it to the doors, opening them to let people and smoke out . . .
Right into the arms of the waiting Heathens. And Cal and Marsh had taken the brunt of it.
“I know, Cage.”
“What do you know, Preach? That if it hadn’t been for my return, those guys would be alive? The bar wouldn’t have been destroyed? Women wouldn’t have been scarred and terrified?”
“Taking the weight of it all on your shoulders isn’t smart, Cage. The Heathens want to bring us down—you’re a convenient excuse.”
“You can’t tell me there wasn’t a vote called after that,” he said.
“Is that why you left?”
“I didn’t want to make any of you choose. If I thought I could let go of the cut, I would’ve. But that’s something I’d never do.”
The men stared at each other as Cage bared his goddamned soul to Preacher.
“Fine. I can understand that. But you still could’ve asked for our help in this, even though you were rogue.” Preacher crossed his arms and stared him down, and goddamn, the man still had the power to make him feel ten again. “Why didn’t you?”
“It’s not your fucking responsibility.”
Preacher nodded. “Never said it was, but maybe I’d want to help.”
“Not your battle. You’ve done enough for me. More than enough. I couldn’t ask—”
“You could’ve. You should’ve. But since you didn’t, I’ve gone ahead and started working toward it. Guessing you’d like to help.”
Cage’s head shot up. “Don’t get involved, Preach. If something happened to you or the club again—”
“Something will happen. Something is happening, Cage. Can’t keep the meth out of Skulls on a wing and a prayer. You saw those men the other night—they might’ve followed you and Tals into Skulls, but Tals isn’t stupid. He recognized them. They’re the ones working with the Heathens to push the meth in here, to scare the shit out of the residents and the cops, so no one says a word. We’ve got to do some major damage control. Now.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Follow me.” Preacher walked a few feet, then moved behind some trees and pointed. “Go lift the trap door. Disarm it first.”
“Are there cameras?”
“Waiting for you to tell me, Army guy.”
“Fuck off,” he muttered, since Preacher was one himself. “What the fuck is this?”
“Drug tunnel,” Preacher said. “Now you know why I needed the C-4.”
“I know they dig this shit in California, but here?”