“Not this time, brother. I learned my lesson.”
Speed slowly nods, but I know what he’s thinking. Makes me want to prove him wrong even more.
We push out of the booth and head for the door. “I’m gonna head over to Home Depot, price some shit out. Get an idea of what we’ll need to make the place livable.”
“Sounds good, but don’t you think you ought to settle the deal first?”
“Have faith, brother, I’m gonna make this work.” My smile is more confident than I feel.
I head for my Harley, throw my leg over the saddle, and wheel out of the lot. Somehow, some way, I would get that feisty female to come around to my way of thinking.
Chapter Six
DEUCE
Two days later, I pull into the cracked parking lot of The End, and it looks just as bad as the first time, but this time, I have a plan. I’ll approach her calmly, put a check on my bad-ass biker vibe, and try to be calm, winning her over with my charm. Then I’ll go over all the reasons she should sell the bar to me.
Only problem—I’m not charming, and calm to me is—well, fuck, I don’t know calm, but maybe I could make her see the overhaul is too overwhelming for one person. Shit, I have some carpentry skills thanks to the last five years, and I remember Fist and Scratch have some talent with electrical and plumbing. It could all work out, and I have no doubt we could get this place up and running, but first my mystery woman has to sell it to me—and tell me her damn name.
When I get close to the door, I see it’s ajar. Better yet, saves me having to convince her through a closed, locked door. I enter the main room and look around. The floors have been swept, and most of the dust has vanished. The scarred wooden bar top is also dust-free and actually has a shine. The ripped linoleum hasbeen torn up, and the room smells of pine cleaner and antiseptic. A big step up from the moldy smell and dirt of the other day.
I stop and listen to mumbled voices coming from the back hallway. As I get closer, the mumbling grows louder until I’m standing outside the same door as the other day when she was beating the safe with a hammer.
I press my back against the wall and listen. Definitely a male and female arguing.
“I don’t give a shit what you want,” a rough male voice barks. “I thought I made myself clear the other day.”
“And I told you, I’m not selling.” Definitely the sassy female from two days ago.
“You don’t seem to get it, bitch, I’m not playin’.”
“And neither am I. You can’t make me sell.”
The male barks out a harsh laugh. “You’d be surprised what I can do.”
Her sass and spirit make me smile. The male voice is familiar, but I can’t place it. Pressing my back against the wall, I side-step closer to the door. When I get as close as I can without being seen, I slowly crane my neck and peer through the crack.
Shit! My eyes are glued to the back of a worn leather cut with a bottom rocker readingPhiladelphiaand a top rocker readingRabid Dogs. The rough male voice has a name—Viper. The psycho president of the Dogs. An enemy with no boundaries who would stop at nothing up to and including knifing his own mother to make a buck. Rumor says he pimped out his sister to another club just to get a better deal on some guns.
I lean back against the wall and stay perfectly still, listening.
“Fine, you don’t wanna sell me this shit-hole, then just give me what I want?”
What could she possibly have that Viper would want?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Something smashes, and my back stiffens.
“I’m getting tired of this game, bitch. I want the flash drive, and I want it now.”
“What flash drive?”
“The one your deadbeat old man gave you.”
“Sorry, but he was bullshitting you, ‘cause he didn’t give me anything.”
Another crash, and I push off the wall. No matter how much I want to stay in the shadows and hear this play out, I’m not gonna let Viper’s bullshit go down.
