I look up to find Callum staring at me. I see the worry in his eyes, and I force a smile on my face. “Sorry, I was miles away fora moment. I’m in my head, trying to figure out the design I want on the bike Grifter sent over.”
I’m totally lying out of my ass. I already know what I’m going to do with Grifter’s bike. He took over the Kings of Anarchy a couple months ago. He has his hands full. Word is the club is having some problems. Still, Grifter keeps pushing work my way and paying a hell of a lot for it. I moved him up on my list because the money is welcome since I’m turning down shit from the Devil’s Blaze. It helps that I like Grifter, too. At least he’s never called me a cunt after spending the night wringing orgasm after orgasm out of my body.
“You need to go out there and talk to them. I’m tired of being the one that does it. They’re starting to get pissed and I can’t deal with that shit. I’m liable to fuck them up and if that happens, we’ll have them coming after me and the garage.” I roll my eyes and pin him with a look as I lean on the counter. I wait him out because we both know he’s not going to do that. “Damnit,” he growls. “You know I don’t like dealing with people. Ineverlike dealing with people. I’m more of a recluse than you are, Beau. I’m asking you to quit making me deal with these assholes because I’m at my fucking limit,” he huffs.
Shit.“Okay, fine. Who is it?” I ask, because there’s no way I’m going out there if Hunter is the one that showed.
“The head honcho.”
“Send Sean. I don’t know King and don’t really care to.”
“Shit, sorry. I can’t get used to the changes yet. It’s Skull and the crazy guy with the T-shirts.”
Okay, double shit. This sucks, because I actually like Skull and Torch …like a lot.It will be hard to tell them no and I hate to be put in this position. I mentally put another mark against Hunter in my diary. Side note, I don’t have a real diary, it’s all make-believe. I was taught to believe we don’t write our emotions down and work through them. Hell, my dad raised meas a boy and I’m content with that. I didn’t have a pink room filled with girly shit. Mine was neutral with varied accent colors—depending on what I was into at the time. I also had posters of hot cars on my wall growing up. To this day, I still don’t have girly shit in my closet—except maybe my underwear cause a girl has to have a few surprises. Which leaves credence to the fact that I’ve never owned a real diary in my life. So, mentally I open up my diary which has a picture of the kickass bike I’m going to complete for Grifter on the cover and not a bunch of hearts and roses. Inside the plain white pages—because seriously, I’m not a hearts and roses kind of gal—I write reason nine hundred and ninety-nine on why I hate Hunter is because he’s making me hurt two men who are like family to me. Two men I love and one of those men who has been through hell, losing his son.
I push the chaos of my mind away. Then, I lift up the service flap, making the hinges groan in protest. Once I walk through it, I lower it down, so it connects to the rest seamlessly allowing me to get from behind the counter quickly and onto the main shop floor. I’m proud of this place. I haven’t changed much of anything in this garage. It has all my childhood memories, and I like it the way it is. The one thing I did update—once I started showing good profit—was redo the parts area. When you walk in the front door now, there are cement floors that I painted a brown that kind of swirls into different hues all through the room. I like it. It hides dirt, it looks awesome and since I did it myself, the paint is first class. Just to note, I’m not full of myself, I do, however, know my talent and my worth. If I decided to chuck painting vehicles and take up floors, my shit would be in high demand in that market, too.
The garage is filled with filters, oil, transmission fluid, wiper refills, lights, and a million other things. We have a fully stocked parts bay in the back that you can only access behind the counter. If we don’t have a part, we can order it. Usually, we havethe package delivered the next day. We’re also the only place in the area that specializes in motorcycles as well as parts for classic automobiles.
The counter runs about twelve feet across the room. In the front, the counter faces the front of the store. It’s an L shape and the smaller end is about eight feet long and presses against the wall. On it is a coffee pot, travel cups, and various other accoutrementssuch as creamer, sugar, stirring sticks etc. The coffee is free to customers which is a double edge sword, because more often than not we get old men who come in for the coffee and conversation. There are also some fresh baked goodies that I set out daily. Painting is my happy place but cooking and baking calm me. I also love all the old guys gathering around and shooting the shit. It kind of reminds me of my dad.
“Thanks, Beau,” Callum says, lopping his arm over my shoulders and walking with me.
“You’re buying tonight,” I grumble.
“You got it. Leave about six? We’ll go to Remi’s. I’ll buy you dinner too.”
“Damn straight you are,” I huff. We go out the front door—which is all glass, but I have these cool metal doors that come down and protect the building when I close. We break apart as I make my way to Skull and Torch who are standing by their bikes. Callum goes out to a three-bay garage in gray-blue tin and white doors with a row of small windows that run up the side of them. My personal garage—where only the painting and body work are done—looks the same and is the same size. The lone exception is that I’ve made it only two bays, so I have more room to move around. My garage also has an office inside it. I rarely use it for anything other than scratching out my designs or catching up on paying bills, but it’s there just the same.
I paste a smile on my face—this one is mostly sincere as I approach Skull and Torch. I go to Skull first and don’t evenspeak. I just wrap my arms around him. He does the same and I squeeze him tightly, breathing in his scent of leather and dust. That doesn’t sound like a great combination, but it is. Add in some motor oil and that’s exactly how my dad smelled.
“Skull,” I whisper, emotion thick in my voice. I really loved Diego. He was like the younger brother I would have loved to have.
“Missed you twinkle toes,” he mutters, making me laugh. He used to visit with my dad, so he knows a lot about me—like the fact that I used to dream of being a ballerina. Okay, maybe I had a small trace of girly inside me.Whatever. On his visits, he caught me dancing more than once, and that’s how I got the nickname from him.
“I was at Gabby’s wedding, though I stayed in the background. It was a day for family. I didn’t want to intrude.”
“You are family, Beau. You know that.”
I grin, kissing his cheek. I can’t help but realize that I don’t smell alcohol. That’s a stench that had become way too prevalent on him since Diego’s death.
“Get your ass over here, Beau.” I laugh looking at Torch. “Does Katie know you wore that shirt out of the house today?” I ask. His tee is black and in big white letters it reads,“Ask about my free drinks for blow jobs program.”
“She’s given up trying to change me. Besides, she knows she leaves me so worn out my dick won’t work when I leave the house,” he jokes.
I laugh, shaking my head as he hugs me.
When I pull back, I look at the two of them and sigh. “I guess I don’t have to ask why you’re here.”
“I guess you don’t, cariño,” Skull answers.
“You two know I love you, but I’m not going to change my mind.”
“I don’t understand. We’ve always worked well together,” Torch says, and damn it. I can hear that he’s more than a little hurt and that just pisses me off. In the midst of my anger, I open up my mental diary making reason one thousand for why I hate Hunter because he made me hurt his dad and Skull.
“We did, but you two aren’t in charge any longer,” I point out.
“King says you won’t even meet with him. You would like him, Beau.”
