He smirked at me, then swaggered into the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him.
Jerkface.
• • •
Later that afternoon, I still held out hope that our new friend zone status meant I might get taken out for dinner, given that we’d missed breakfast. Then my phone buzzed.
PAINTER: Hey—I have to leave town for a week or so. Not sure how long. You can reach me by text if you want, or call if anything comes up.
MEL: Since when do we text?
PAINTER: Since I’m allowed to have written communication that hasn’t been screened by a guard first. You know, to make sure you weren’t sending me secret code messages about global domination or something in your letters
MEL: You mean you didn’t figure out the messages? But I thought they were so clear. First you get the guns, then you get the women . . .
PAINTER: No wonder the revolution didn’t pan out. Prob for the best. Knowing my luck I’d be first up against the wall.
Okay, so I wasn’t getting dinner. But at least things weren’t weird anymore. This friend zone thing wasn’t all bad.
CHAPTER NINE
PAINTER
“So tell me more about this guy, Pipes,” Gage asked, staring ahead at the highway. We’d been driving for nearly four hours, and I knew we had to be close to Hallies Falls by now. Damned good thing, too, because I was more than ready to be out of this fucking cage of a semi cab. When I suggested we set him up as a long-haul trucker, it’d seemed like a good idea. Gave him an excuse to come and go, a place in the back to sleep if he needed it, all good shit. I hadn’t been thinking about how small that sleeping space was, or that I might get stuck in it, too.
Small spaces made me think of prison.
Of course, so did talking about Pipes.
“So, he was in our block with us,” I said. “Probably about thirty years old, and with our club alliances, partnering with him seemed natural enough. He prospected when he was eighteen—Dad was a patch holder. Things started going downhill when their old president died about two years ago. Marsh was their VP at that point—he’s the president now. Seems weird that we’ve never met him at a rally or anything.”
“That’s enough to raise red flags right there,” Gage agreed. “We’re supposed to be allies, but they never come to any of our events. I knew Rance was on it, though, so I never gave it much thought. Always been a profitable partnership. In a weird way, I’m glad it came up—gave me an excuse to get away from The Line.”
“What’s up with that?” I asked, curious. Gage rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then answered.
“Guess I was bored,” he said. “Been looking for a reason to step back for a while. As fun as it sounds to be surrounded by bare ass and tits all the time, those tits are attached to a lot of fuckin’ drama. I’m burned out on it.”
I gave a laugh, because you couldn’t argue with that.
“I have a feeling that we’ll be involved here for a while,” he continued. “This situation will need watching, and I wanted a change of pace. Timing was good.”
He slowed the truck as we reached the outskirts of town. Buildings started to appear alongside the road. Not much farther to the truck stop where we planned to set up shop for the night. The bikes were trailered behind us, along with some basic furniture and shit—just enough to set up an apartment or something. We’d debated that approach initially, because showing up in a semi underloaded with motorcycles would make us stand out. But standing out wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. We needed to make contact with the club, hopefully sooner rather than later. Our cover story pegged Gage as a trucker looking for a new base of operations after an ugly divorce. I was his cousin, here to help him find a new place and get settled.
If we played it right, they’d hear about us hitting town but wouldn’t give it a second thought. Just a couple of independents—no threat to the club.
Up ahead I saw the lights of the truck stop. It wasn’t as big as I expected—more of a souped-up gas station than anything else, although I knew from their website that they had a convenience store with showers around the back. Gage slowed the big rig, pulling behind the building, where they had parking for the trucks. We rolled to a stop, then climbed out to look around.
“Not a whole lot here, is there?” I commented.
“Population is about three thousand,” he replied. “Small, but not so small that they don’t see the occasional stranger. Rance filled me in. He stops by every couple of weeks to check on Marsh.”
I nodded—Rance was smart. We could trust his intel.
“Rance thinks the best way to get in is through Marsh’s sister, Talia. Apparently she’s always bringing home some new guy. She and Marsh are close, so he puts up with it. Even lets ’em in the clubhouse, which seems wrong somehow. Perfect way to get in as a hangaround, though. Collect some good information that way.”
“No shit,” I said. “You planning to fuck her, or is that on me?”
Gage snorted.
“Get right to the point, don’t you?”
“Saves time,” I replied. My phone buzzed, and I looked down to see Melanie’s name pop up with a text.
MEL: Jess dragged Taz home again this afternoon. I’m going to strangle her—turns out he’s a screamer, too . . .
I snorted, not thrilled by the fact that Taz was at her place, but at least she didn’t sound interested in him.
“What’s that?” Gage asked.
“Melanie,” I replied. “Says Taz is loud during sex.”