Page 6 of Devil's Queen
“Heard through the grapevine you reached out to Rene’s daughter. That true?”
I shake my head. “Those guys are worse than a bunch of women at a hair salon gossiping away.”
“So, you did call her?’
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a conversation if that’s what you’re after.”
“You think that’s a smart move reaching out to her now?”
“I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He shuffles forward in his chair and puts his hands on the top of my desk, clasped together. “Far be it for me to tell you what you should and shouldn’t be doing with that woman, but I think you’re jumping the gun a bit, son. You’re just now finding your footing as president. Dredging up old wounds may not be the best idea. The club needs to be able to trust you, and hooking with the woman who has been such a point of contention may not be the best move to make right now until the club is on better footing.”
Old wounds being how the club treated Rem and her mother after Rene died, and Rene’s betrayal after he pulled the financial rug out from under the Zulu Kings by willing his business to his surviving child instead of the club. Wolff, VP under Rene and later president when Rene died, wanted to take them both out and steal the business back. Rem may not love me anymore, but I couldn’t let him go after her. It took years of working my way through the ranks, but when Wolff got Skinner killed with a drug sale gone wrong, the club put him up for a vote. With the swing of the gavel, his patch and status were ripped away from him and handed to me. Wolff hadn’t been seen or heard from since. Good riddance if you ask me.
“Wolff’s gone as far as we know. She deserves to know the truth.”
“Sometimes the truth hurts more than the lies.”
Pike may be able to live with them, but I’m not sure I can anymore.
REMY
“What in thehell are y’all doing?” I shake my head, hoping to all that is holy that what I am seeing is just a figment of my imagination. I blink once. Twice. The sight of one of my club sisters straddling Diaz’s custom bike order like she is riding a bull in a bar with the others flanking her with cell phones at the ready is not an illusion.
I clear my throat, but not even one of them looks up or acknowledges me. The racket of my helmet being tossed onto one of the stainless-steel workstations finally gets their attention.
“Shit,” Tinley, my club vice president exclaims with a wide-eyed jolt. “You can’t sneak up on people like that, Remy. You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“You do realize this is my shop, right? I don’t have to announce my presence when I own it.”
“Someone’s bitchy this morning,” Cheyenne, my enforcer, notes with a shit-eating grin.
“Who pissed in your cereal this morning, Prez? Sun’s barely up, and you look like you’ve been up all night.”
“I have been busy,” I reply curtly, fuming about that phone call. As far as I’m concerned, it had never happened, and I didn’t hear his deep voice saying my name after all these years. He can go to hell and take his whole being with him.
“Did you get some?” Tinley grins. I shoot a sharp look in her direction.
“I’m going to have to go with a no on that one.”
“Must not have been that good of a night if that’s the kind of morning-after face she has,” Cheyanne inserts into the conversation like I am not even there. I swipe my hand over my face in frustration.
I can’t even hide the rolling of my eyes. Sex was the last thing on my mind these days, not with the pressure of my father’s legacy bearing down on me. Dad has been gone for years, but even in death, this shop and my performance are scrutinized by even my oldest clients. One wrong move and their patronage will follow them right out the door, adding to our string of shit luck the last few months.
“Enough,” I growl. “Do you know what’s pissing me off? Two people playing around on a half a million-dollar bike like it’s a merry-go-round at Walmart.” Crossing my arms, I glare at them.
Both look at each other and slowly move away from it with their hands in the air.
“This is that bike?”
“Sure is. The bike I worked on all night and finished in just enough time to go home, get Beaux off to school, and back here.”
I move closer to the bike, taking in the details I missed. The customized handlebars, the leather seat, and the black and purple paint job glistening in the light.
“What’s the deal with that bike, anyway?” Cheyanne asks, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not like the others. You won’t tell us who it’s for or what it’s for.”
I eye her for a moment before replying, “It’s a private request. And it’s none of your business.”