Page 7 of Devil's Queen
Tinley rolls her eyes. “Ooh, spoken like a true CEO.”
Ignoring her, I run my fingers along the handlebars, admiring the way the metal glints under the fluorescent lights.
“It’s a special build,” I say softly. “Different from anything we’ve ever done before. A game-changer if our client likes it. A bike like this could put our bike shop back on the map.” My dad had been the industry leader for years until he began to focus more on the club than his business. The free pussy and drugs were worth far more to him than the income to support his ol’ lady and teenage daughter.
Cheyenne arches a brow. “How so?”
I narrow my eyes. “Again, not your business.”
I reach out to run my hand over the cool, purple metal.
“Careful, Prez. That’s a one-of-a-kind paint job.”
“I know that,” I snap, brushing off her hand. “I spent half the night working on this thing. And now look at it.” I gesture to the bike, my anger building. “Smudges everywhere.”
“It’s fine,” Cheyenne says, coming to stand beside me. “We’ll fix it up… make it shine like new.”
I can’t help but scoff. “You’re going to make it shine like new?”
She shrugs. “Fine. Tinley is.”
“Hey, how did I get roped into this? It was your idea,” she fires back.
“Just get the fingerprints off it before its new owner gets here.”
“Oh, can we stay for that?”
“No,” I answer flatly. “Clean it up. I’m running up to my office. I’ll be back down when the rest of the girls get here.”
Heading up to my office, I toss my messenger bag on the top of my desk.
I sit at my desk and close my eyes, trying to calm myself down. My mind wanders to memories of times when I felt most alive—racing down winding roads, feeling the wind on my face. A memory made with my dad the first time he’d taken me on his bike when I was three.
That’s why I love bikes and the lifestyle. I was born to ride and not on the back of a guy’s bike. My dad had instilled in me at a young age that I would never be the person who walked two steps behind anyone. Even with him being the Zulu president, he never made me feel less important because I was born a girl.
An MC is a tough place for a girl to grow up, but even with all the shit I’d dealt with back then, I am stronger for it now.
I open my eyes and gaze at the framed photo on my desk. It’s a picture of my dad and me taken just before he passed away. He was proud of me and everything I’d accomplished on my own. I pick up the photo and trace the outline of his face with my fingertip. I still miss him every day. He may have been a certifiable horse’s ass, but he loved Mom and me in his own way.
I put the photo back down, straightening it out so it’s perfectly aligned with the edge of my desk. I need to focus on the present, not the past.
A chime rings from my pocket. Retrieving my phone, I glance down, finding a message on the stupid dating profile that Maya had convinced me to sign up for a few weeks ago. I’d told her dating apps these days were nothing more than dick pics, but she’d bet me a week’s worth of babysitting Beaux to get me to sign up and go on one date, and I really wanted a few nights to myself. I’d been a single mom for seven years. Outside of club business, there isn’t any downtime, and I desperately wanted a few hours to myself.
A profile picture pops up above the message. The man in the image is older. Mid-fifties, if I hazard a guess. His image shows his naked beer belly and has horses in the background. Stupidity gets the best of me as I click on the message.
BigDEnergy54: Hello beautiful. You free tonight?
“Huh. No dick pic.”
My phone chimes again, and an image pops up.
“There it is.” I sigh.
I roll my eyes and delete the message.
My phone chimes again, and thankfully, this time it’s a text from Maya.
We’re all here.