Page 89 of Guarding Glenda

I had a fairly decent idea where I was since we’d been scouting them, and were pretty sure we narrowed down their hiding spots. What I wasn’t sure of yet was if this place was just a spot they used, or their current headquarters.

Normally the Bloody Scorpions were disorganized and reckless. They tried to act like a club but they had no real code, and they all had issues deciding who was really in charge. But ever since the shit with Reggie had gone down, it seemed that at least some of them were attempting to pull ranks and take over towns. Not for long, though.

As my eyes adjusted, I took in my surroundings. It wasn’t pitch black, but there was very little light and no windows. My wrists and ankles were shackled to the metal folding chair I was slumped over in until I righted myself, shifting until I could sit straight.

The metal chair dragged on the concrete floor as I moved. Muffled voices were outside briefly, but I couldn’t make out what they said. Metal storage racks lined the walls. Some of them held boxes, others were empty or had loose junk and bottles on the shelves.

One of the places we’d narrowed down was an old print shop and its warehouse. They’d mainly catered to large companies, but were put out of business years ago. The owner tried to sell the building a few times over the years but never had any luck, and obviously had no other use for it. It’d been empty for over twenty years. The business had already gone under before the big hurricane hit.

I doubted I was in the warehouse, though. I was in a basement by the looks of it, and it smelled musty as fuck. Plus, it wouldn’t make sense to keep their paper supply below the ground level. Trying to look over my shoulder, I searched for a desk or some indication of where I was being held.

The chair dragged over the concrete again, echoing the screech in the enclosed room as I tried to turn.

Before I was able to turn anymore, the door opened, squeaking while light poured in.

I grimaced at the brightness, then blinked it away, and was met with a woman. She looked familiar but I couldn’t place her. She had the look of a biker chick: tight jeans with holes ripped in the knees, a black t-shirt with Poison in colorful type across her tits, and a black leather jacket. Her dark hair was up in a sleek ponytail and her lips and nails were brick red. She had on heels, and while most biker women wouldn’t wear them to ride, maybe that was just her thing.

She stared across, her eyes dark slits, made even darker by the heavy black liner that outlined them. My eyes fell to the pistol she grasped at her side, while the other hand gripped her hip that was jutted out. Great. A fucking diva.

“Well…” the woman said, annoyance in her tone.

My brow furrowed. “Well, what?”

She came closer, like she was heading down a catwalk, then stopped a few feet away. She cocked her head, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder, then sucked her teeth before taking her prior stance.

I stared up. “Do you need help with something?”

She rolled her dark eyes. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know me.”

“Listen, I’ve had a lot of women. You look like you’re familiar with bikers, so I’m sorry if we hooked up but I don’t remember you.”

She leaned closer, the gun pressing into my thigh as she braced her hands on my legs. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Lady, you aren’t making any sense. Have you been watching old Bond movies or something?” I asked.

She stood up. “So you do know me?”

My head rolled on my shoulders and I sighed. “Jesus Christ.” I looked at her again. “I just said I don’t. Are you on something?”

“I’m Lady.”

Shrugging, I said, “I meant lady like crazy lady. I didn’t realize that was your name. Can you just get to the point, Lady?”

She shoved the barrel of her gun into my cheek, leaning close again. “You’re either really brave or really stupid.” She gripped my chin with her free hand and pushed my face up. “Easy on the eyes, though.”

I jerked my chin from her hand. “Seriously, what the fuck do you want?”

“Justice. Or revenge. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, just like I’ve had a lot of women, I’ve killed a lot of people. And you know what?” I asked, leaning a little in the chair. “I’m not really sorry about either.”

She stared down, her arms crossed over the bright letters on her shirt. “I still can’t figure out if you’re brave or stupid.”

I was feeling pretty stupid for getting myself stuck here. Especially because she was making my headache worse. “Can you just shoot me? I’m sure it would be better than this conversation.”

“You’re not an officer with your club, Leigh.”

“And?” Snark dripped off the word.