Brock took another puff. I looked at everyone else. Zack and Garrett, for all his showboating, looked in full agreement with Brock. Connor and Mason, for whatever reason, always escalated shit from a five to a fifty in the snap of a finger. I knew Mason, being around longer than any of us, had seen more shit, and I’d always heard rumors about Connor’s fighting, but I’d never asked about it. It wasn’t like I needed to know.
“Second order of business, and something that needs immediate attention,” Brock said. “As of tomorrow, Tara Rogers will no longer be coming to the office south of here, but Elizabeth still is. Elizabeth has not requested help, but Tara has insisted that we send someone to do so. I’d like to create a security detail of sorts.”
Good. She’s away from all the bullshit.
“Why, so we can get practice hearing someone complain about how we smell?” Garrett said, leading to laughs.
“You guys have no idea,” I said. “You’d think to her, the smell of gasoline and oil was as bad as poisonous gas.”
“Christ, Brock,” Connor said. “Really indulging the lady, huh?”
“You want me to apologize for it?”
Even Connor seemed surprised by Brock’s bluntness.
“All of you know the Rogers girls,” Brock said, not looking at me. “Regardless of how we may feel about Elizabeth’s prudishness, we know they are good people. And I’m more than happy to let some old fuckheads die here. But not the good ones.”
He sighed.
And then he looked at me apologetically.
“Steele, you’re the only one who is consistently free in the mornings and afternoons right now. I need you to do it.”
“What, not Garrett?”
“I’m working here now, bub,” Garrett said.
Brock’s eyes expressed sympathy. Too bad his words did not.
“Everyone else here is working their own job or working with the club. We need someone who can go around and provide security. In time, I’d love for Connor and Mason to do it, but Connor’s got to do recruiting for the clubhouse, and I have other plans for Mason. Can you do it?”
God fucking damnit.
Really?
“Won’t be the first time he’s done a Rogers girl,” Mason said.
“Now he’s two for two!” Garrett shouted.
I shook my head.
“I fucking hate you, Brock,” I said. “If this bitch causes me any—”
I stopped when I heard the high-pitched wailing of a cop car.
“No one’s got any weapons on them, right?” Brock said.
Everyone shook their heads no. Brock sighed, kept his cigarette in his mouth, and led us through the back entrance of the shop and through the garage doors.
Sheriff Davis got out of his car. I didn’t think there was a man I hated more in Santa Maria than this asshole.
And it wasn’t just because of how he treated the Bernard Boys collectively.
“Gentlemen,” Sheriff Davis said in his usual fake polite tone. “How are we doing tonight?”
“Fine, Sheriff,” Brock said. “What can we do for you?”
“That’s Sheriff Davis to you, boy.”
