The Biker and the Loner (Oil and Water #3)- S. Ann Cole Page 0,49
I wanted to be with Zac I would’ve done so a long time ago."
Trailing two fingers up my throat, he tells me, "Not gonna try to control you and tell you what to do, but just so you know"—he gently curls his fingers around my neck—"I don't like it."
Wrapping my fingers around his wrist, I pull his hand away from my neck, then press a kiss to his palm. "Well, I don't like you entertaining these Club Cats either, but you don't see me whining about it."
I straighten from his lap and drop the food bag there instead, then turn and walk out.
"Don't be a stranger, Pretty Ley," Bully calls after me. "We love it when you come around."
"You mean you love your gut, you lickerish shit," Mask jabs at him.
When I get back to the jeep and fire up the engine, my phone pings from the passenger seat.
Scratch: I WOULD NEVER.
Scratch: I SWEAR.
Me: Neither would I.
Scratch: IT’S JUST YOU FOR ME. ONLY YOU.
And it’s only ever been you for me. I don’t text it, but I do think it.
Chapter 12
Scratch
I'm buzzed into the building of the imposing three-story, matte-black edifice of Red Cage Investigations. The location is somewhat remote, and I've only ever ridden through those giant electric gates outside once, about seven years back when the club needed RCI’s assistance with tracking down a double-crosser.
The Garza brothers are some cocky shits, but are also well-respected and indisputably the best at what they do. Won’t lie, I'm dirt confused about this supposed meeting. The hell would they want with a shithead like me?
The cute brunette behind the circular chrome desk in the reception area stares at me with widened eyes as I approach.
"You good?" I ask as I prop my forearms on the cold metal of the desk, wondering what the hell's her deal.
"Oh, um..." She clears her throat. "You're just, um, really huge."
"Hmm. Yeah, get that a lot." I wrap my knuckles on the chrome. "Landon Michaelson. Got a meeting with Trent and Tripp."
"One moment." Her fingers fly across her desktop keyboard for a few seconds before her mouth forms in an ‘O’. "Oh, you're Scratch." She looks up at me and gives me a proper once over this time, her expression telling me she likes what she sees. "There's been a lot of talk about you. Also, you're late."
I know. That was on purpose. To stick it to these dipshits who stalked me for days, “testing” me or whatever the fuck.
She holds down a button on the desk phone as she voices, "Joe, Mr. Michaelson is here for his meeting. Please come down to escort him to the conference room."
As we wait, I lean over the desk and ask, "Since there's been a lotta ‘talk’ about me, you got any idea what this meeting's about?"
She gives me a wink and an ‘I'm not telling’ smile as she shrugs and replies, "How would I know? I'm just the receptionist."
A few minutes later, the elevator opens with a dude in a navy-blue security uniform complete with a gun, baton, taser and all. He's got a thick ass neck and a couple pounds of muscle on him, but he's still not a threat. I could take him in one go.
Familiar with the protocol from my last visit, I lift my arms for him to search me but still voice out loud, "I'm packing."
He waves me off. "I was given strict instructions not to search you. C'mon."
Dropping my arms, I stride to the elevator. "Well, that's stupid."
Thick Neck slides me a side-eye as he punches the number three. “You plan on using it?”
I shrug and fold my arms, watching the doors slide close. "Only if I have to."
He chuckles and shakes his head.
A few seconds later, we're out of the elevator and he’s escorting me through a work area filled with cubicles and heads peeking over them, down a long hall with doors on both sides, and straight to the end to a door with "Conference Room" embossed in chrome.
Thick Neck opens the door and gestures for me to walk in, then closes it behind me and leaves.
I stride into the spacious room with a large twelve-seater conference table, a wall of floor-to-ceiling glass windows, and dual flat-screens on the north wall. Seated around the table are the four Garza brothers—Trent, Truman, Tripp, and Torin.
In the corner on the right, a tall blonde stands beside a loaded coffee cart.