Bounty (66 page)

“Well?” He’s growing impatient, but who the hell offers a candidate a job right at the end of an interview and expects an immediate answer? I need a job badly, and I would be crazy to turn this down, but everything about this just feels wrong.

After leaving the bar on Saturday night, I realized that I’m not ready to start taking more risks, but I don’t even know which decision is more risky anyway. Not having a job at all, or working for this man. But it’s decision time, and I have to make one.

“No,” I finally say, pushing up from my chair. “This… this isn’t for me.” Before he can say anything more, I turn and yank open the door, trying to get away fast enough before I change my mind.

“
O
kay
, so what the fuck do you want us to do with it, then?” Ripper, Snake and I are standing in the large back room of Axle’s that we use as our common room whenever the bar is open to the public, staring at the crates of parts that are still lined up along the back wall. A handful of other members are here as well, the rest of them out in the main bar. This room is far enough back from there that we can barely hear the music from the Tuesday night live band coming through the walls.

Ripper is glaring at me, and not punching him in the face is one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in a long time. He’s mad because I told him we aren’t using the parts from the Piston heist to stock our bike shop. And I’m mad because I told him this on Sunday after Snake dragged his ass into the club. And yet here we are, going over it again.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you jacked that truck in the first fucking place?” The anger in my voice can’t be contained as easily as my fists. Some of the younger recruits look over from the game of pool they’re shooting, but I don’t care at this point. I’m getting fed up with Ripper’s shit. He’s turning into an insubordinate ass. A quick look over at Snake just makes me angrier when my VP just shrugs his shoulders. He should have been on Ripper’s ass about this as well, but I know that despite their differences, he doesn’t agree with the new rules either. He’s just not as obvious about it.

“What the fuck is happening to this club, man? Are we a fucking MC, or are we a goddamn knitting circle?”

“Don’t give me that shit. We’ve been over this already. We have a plan.”

“Your plan. Doesn’t mean we agree with it.”

“Who’s we?” I watch him closely now, waiting to see if he gives anyone up. I’ve been trying to root out the dissension in the ranks for the last month but I feel like I’m no closer today than I’ve ever been. Ripper for sure, but even with him I don’t know how far his dissatisfaction goes. Is he going to make a move against me, or is he just blowing off steam? He can be like a four-year-old that throws a tantrum when you discipline him for kicking the cat.

He licks his lips as his chest moves up and down, faster than normal. But a deep breath calms him down and he gives nothing away besides muttering, “Lots of us.” That’s about as much as I ever get out of him, but is it true? Are there a lot of brothers that don’t like the new direction I’ve laid out? The club isn’t big. We only have about twenty full-time members and a few recruits. How many are lots? Or is he saying lots as a smokescreen, trying to seem like his opinion means more because it’s being repeated by mouths that don’t actually exist?

I take another look at Snake, but he’s all of a sudden decided to study the floor very carefully. I know he doesn’t love the plan, but does he hate it enough to make a move against me?

Or am I just being paranoid?

I’ve spent so long looking over my shoulder, it’s hard not to imagine that there might actually be someone there.

“It’s not going in the fucking store, and that’s that. Find some other way to get rid of it. Quietly. Ask Knox for help.” I don’t even wait around for an argument. I need some time away from this before I tear Ripper’s head off, and heading to my office for some down time seems like the right idea. I’d love to just take the stuff back to Piston, but there’s no way I can do that without a ton of questions, and questions lead to interest and investigations and the last thing I want is bringing heat down on us right now. Especially about anything connected to Piston. If that happens, my cover’s blown for sure.

Knox will figure out how to get rid of it. He’s our hook-up artist. If there’s a contact out there that’ll be able to move high end engine parts quietly out of the city, he’ll find it. I already told Ripper I don’t care what price we get for them. None of these guys have any idea how much that shit is worth, anyway.

To Piston, it’s worth far more than the parts themselves. We have a major deal with Velocity Motors about to fall about because we don’t have those parts. A deal worth millions now, and millions more in future business. Not being able to deliver might mean losing that deal completely. And now that we’re a public company, that will look bad. Maybe bad enough that people will start asking questions. Questions that might uncover secret deals or figurehead CEOs. Another headache I don’t fucking need.

For about the hundredth time since going public, I wonder if it was the right idea. Hans pushed it through, not me. Hans is a more traditional CEO type. He’s helped run businesses before and made them successful, which was why I hired him in the first place. Going public has been his baby since he started, and I know the board wants it. I shouldn’t have let them convince me. I have far less personal control over a public company. Regardless of the secret deals I have internally, the company still has to ultimately answer to shareholders now. But Hans was adamant that we needed to go public to grow, and I’ve taken to deferring to him in most business related issues.

It’s not until I get to my office that I realize I’m being followed. Snake is right behind me. I sigh, pushing open my door and motioning dramatically for him to enter. So much for some down time.

“What?” I say, as soon as the door closes. It’s obvious he has something on his mind; his fingernails are digging hard into his braided beard, threatening to unravel it. What the hell would Snake look like with an unbraided beard? I don’t want to find out. He’s ugly enough as it is.

“Listen, Bash… I’m the last one to defend Ripper, but what the hell is going on? The parts are already stolen. We have the shop that can always use parts. If we slip those pieces into bikes that come through our doors, no one will ever fucking find them. And we still charge full price for the job, it’s 100% profit. Where’s the downside here?”

The shop he’s referring to is an auto body shop that I hooked the club up with in an effort to move them into more legitimate enterprises. It specializes in bikes, but we do cars as well. But what these guys don’t realize is that the shit they stole don’t go into your typical Harley or Honda.

“Have you even looked at those parts? That shit is custom. The shipping labels say they came from Germany and it was destined for Piston. These aren’t OEM parts, man. This isn’t even your typical aftermarket upgrade. Even if someone walked into our shop with a bike that could use those things, what do you think would happen when we put a fucking five thousand dollar set of specialized shocks into a bike that’s not worth half that much?”

The blank look on Snake’s face means it would be a waste of time waiting for him to take a guess, so I try to make it more obvious.

“What happens the next time he takes that bike somewhere for service other than us?”

“They’ll be impressed, I guess?” He shrugs. He’s got his beard wrapped around his index finger and he’s tugging on it.

“They’ll ask him where he got those parts. They’ll ask him what he paid for them. They’ll ask him any number of things that we don’t want him to fucking answer, because those parts are fucking stolen and so fucking unique that there will be no question where they came from. And then that’s it. Busted.”

“Well, shit, why didn’t you just say that then? The guys know you know more about parts around here than anyone. They probably just had no idea what they were dealing with.”

“Why didn’t I tell them? How about why the fuck do I need to tell them? Why isn’t
because your president said so
a big enough downside anymore? Where’s my fucking respect around here, Snake?” It’s an honest question, and I really would like my Vice President to answer it.

The big man screws his face up and for a minute, I think he’s going to spit onto the floor of my office. Finally, he just shrugs, but he’s carefully avoiding my gaze. “I don’t know what to say, boss. It’s an MC. Some guys just don’t respect any authority.”

That’s true, but it’s not really an answer. That’s always been the case, but in this club, the president gets respect, otherwise he stops being president. Does Snake really not know, or does he just not want to tell me? Is he part of this, too? I’m starting to feel extra paranoid again.

My phone beeps and I slip it out of my pocket, giving Snake a nod toward the door. “Just fucking make sure that Ripper talks to Knox and they get rid of that shit quietly, all right?”

I wait for him to close the door behind him before I look at my phone. I already know it’s from work. The texts and e-mails haven’t stopped coming as everyone is running around trying to save the Velocity deal. I’ve considered hiring someone to buy the parts back from the MC through Knox, but I haven’t a clue how to get them back to Piston without raising suspicions. Every move I make seems to have too many risks lately. This whole thing feels like a juggling act where I’ve kept the balls in the air just a little bit too long. They’re all liable to come crashing down onto my head at once, if I’m not careful.

The e-mail is from Hans, telling me that he still can’t get a straight answer from Germany on when we’re going to be able to get new parts. Considering the supplier there was his contact to begin with, that frustrates me to no end.

Than get yur ass on a plane and talk too them in person
, I reply, angrily typing so fast that I make three typos that I don’t bother to correct. I’ll probably need to call his assistant directly to tell her to make travel arrangements for him, otherwise I know he’ll make up some excuse. This is what I need my own goddamn assistant for in the first place. I don’t have time for this shit.

I’ve already got Catherine bringing in some other candidates, but I’m still annoyed that Evelyn turned the job down. Why the hell did she do that? I got the feeling she was pretty desperate to work, and I know Edward isn’t making it easy on her in the market. I’ve heard from a number of colleagues that he’s been talking her down everywhere. Is it because we fucked? Was it because I was teasing her? I had the feeling she was tough enough not to take that shit personally, but maybe I had her pegged wrong.

If my attitude turned her off, then she wouldn’t have been a good fit anyway, but how can that be it? She worked for Edward Stonewall, for fuck’s sake. I might come off a bit rough around the edges, but that guy is a true asshole. But the fact is, if he hired her, presumably before they started fucking, she’s probably pretty good as an EA, which was the main reason I had Catherine call her in for an interview.

Once she walked through my door, though, my reasons changed. She instantly became a threat in that she’s the only one I know that can link me to both the MC and Piston. And I don’t like threats.

The best way to contain that particular threat would be to keep her close, and hiring her on the spot seemed like the best way to do that. Now that she’s turned me down, I feel like I have to watch my back even more. If word got out that a motorcycle club president was secretly running a billion-dollar public company, there’d be a serious problem. I may be the majority shareholder, but I don’t own even close to 50%, which means I’ll always have to be careful. My ideas were the ones that got that company off the ground, and next to the MC, it’s the thing I’m most proud of. Hell, some days I think I’m even more proud of Piston, because I didn’t start the MC myself—I just took it over.

But the MC is family more than Piston will ever be. So I need both, and there’s no way I’m going to let some blond corporate type take that away by flapping her lips or trying to use that knowledge to trade herself into a better job. I don’t care how hot she is.

No, I let Evelyn walk out of my office too easily yesterday. The stakes are too high for me, and not high enough for her. She needs to keep her mouth shut about me, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that happens.

“
T
hose lousy assholes
.” I mutter as I slam my front door. The chain lock rattles against the wood, reminding me of its existence, though I never bother to use it. One of the benefits of renting an expensive apartment is that I don’t have to worry much about crime. The downside is that without a job, I can’t really afford to live here anymore. And judging by the interview I just had, my situation isn’t about to change for the better.

I should have probably been suspicious when I was called in for a last minute interview at Bitner Incorporated, a company that does very similar things to VI and is thought of as one of Edward’s competitors. Truth is, they’re smaller and rarely beat VI in a deal, and Edward doesn’t think much of them.

I guess I fooled myself into thinking that maybe they were interested in hiring me to get a leg up on VI, and although I’m not the type to divulge company secrets, even from a company or CEO that has treated me so poorly, I would probably be a very good fit for them. As it turned out, the interview was more of a big joke. On me.

Right away, all of the questions were about Edward. Not even about VI, but Edward himself. And me. And our relationship. It became clear very quickly that they had heard about the circumstances around why I left and were curious. Edward’s twisted version of the circumstances, anyway. I didn’t even bother to ask what he’d been saying, it was obviously not flattering from the questions that were being asked.

I’m angrier at myself for almost losing my composure. I didn’t exactly burst into tears, but I could feel them brimming at the edges of my eyes and I wasn’t the only one that noticed. At least they apologized at that point.
“It’s not that you aren’t qualified,”
they explained.
“We just can’t risk crossing Edward right now. But maybe in the future…”

Turns out they really only called me in as a curiosity. To see someone that pissed him off in ways they wish they had the balls to do themselves. They aren’t willing to go to war with Edward. Certainly not about this. Not about me. It was a complete waste of an afternoon.

Not that I had anything better to do.

I yank on the straps of my pumps as I balance myself against the armrest of my couch, and then fling them into the hallway. The rest of my suit comes off on my way into the bedroom. I’m not one to give up on something easily, but after the day I’ve had, followed by a discouraging couple of weeks of job hunting and knowing that there is someone out there actively bad mouthing me, I can’t help but throw myself down onto my bed and let the tears finally fall.

I don’t like to throw myself a pity party too often, but sometimes just letting it all out is cathartic, and this time is no exception. It only takes me about ten minutes before I’m feeling better and push myself up.
Come on, Evelyn. You’re stronger and smarter than this. Figure it out.

I just need a plan.

I pull on some comfy sweats, now that my little breakdown is over. I’m not planning on going anywhere for the rest of the day, and the only person that is going to see me is the pizza delivery boy that I’m now dialing for. Pizza always helps me think.

I spend about fifteen minutes absently browsing the job boards, but there’s nothing I haven’t already applied for that is in my field. It may be time to think outside the box, though. I can’t imagine that Edward’s reach, however impressive, spans every job and company in the city. Maybe I’ll ask the pizza guy if they’re hiring.

I let out a heavy sigh as I pull up my finance spreadsheet, realizing that the only reason delivering pizzas is a bad idea is that it wouldn’t come close to paying my rent. I have enough money saved up for another couple of months, but that will pretty much clean me out. Obviously, waiting that long to do anything would be a terrible idea, since by then my desperation would be even worse. I haven’t even replaced my cell phone yet since I want to wait until I have a steady paycheck first, or at least the promise of one. If this goes on much longer I might even start to seriously consider moving in with Jackie.

She offered, of course. But as much as I like hanging out with her, and she’s probably my closest friend since moving here, I know we’d be terrible roommates. Jackie is all about partying and sleeping around and drinking. I know I could maybe use a bit more of that in my life, but it would just be too much with her. She has very little sense of boundaries and a love for loud music late into the night. If I did get a job where I had to do get up early or do any work from home, it would be impossible.

So, what are my other options?

I could move back home to Toronto, but what do I have waiting for me there? My mother lives in a little condo in the suburbs, and I know she’d take me in, but that would be a temporary solution, at best. I couldn’t live with her for too long before I’d want to tear my hair out. She’s even worse than Jackie, but for much different reasons. I can just imagine how she’d expect me to call her every time I was going to miss getting home in time for supper.

Moving out with my best friend, Lila, once we started college, was the best thing I ever did, and I can’t imagine losing that freedom again by moving back home. But Lila isn’t an option anymore, either. She moved to Vegas to live with her new husband, Chase. I’m sure she would take me in, but what the hell would I even do there? Besides, he’s a professional poker player, and the two of them are always traveling the world. I don’t really want to stay in their house when they aren’t around. I’d feel like a freeloader.

But I’m not sure that staying in Chicago is going to work, either. Not unless I can find another job, and fast. I’m on a work visa that I’m sure Edward has already reported as being terminated. That means if I don’t find another job quickly, I’ll have to leave the country anyway, whether I want to or not. And considering I’ve only had two interviews in as many weeks, that’s looking less and less likely. I can’t even count today’s interview as a real one.

Which means I’ve only had one actual interview.

An interview where I was actually offered the job on the spot.

Working for a man I can’t possibly work for.

How did I manage to screw things up so badly? The one time I finally let loose and have a one-night stand with a badass beefcake, and he turns out to be a secret CEO of the only company willing to take a chance on me. Why the hell was he willing to do that, anyway? Maybe the only reason he offered it to me so quickly was because we slept together. Was it out of guilt?

Something tells me that Bash doesn’t let regret drive any decisions he makes. He probably forgot about me the moment I walked out of that back room at the bar. If I were smarter, I’d forget about him just as fast. Yet he’s all I’ve been thinking about.

Not just the sex. Of course, that was fantastic. I don’t know if it was the forbidden nature of doing it with a leather-clad outlaw, or that he’s so gorgeous, or if he was just that good, but every time I think about that night, I have to push it out of my head before I need to change my panties.

But I think about our meeting at Piston almost as often. The things he told me. He spends his days at Piston and his nights with his motorcycle gang. He’s like a reverse batman or something. It’s amazing that he can do both, but I guess that’s why he needed to hire Hans. And who knows how involved Sebastian really is in his club.

Maybe most shocking of all is how he manages to live with those secrets all on his own.

Can it really be true that no one in the whole world knows about his dual identity? How lonely must that be, to have no one to confide in? You can tell some people some things, and other people other things, but no one knows everything. How does he keep those lives so separate? It would drive me crazy. No wonder he acts like such an asshole all of the time.

So, why did he tell me?

Because he had no choice. Our accidental meeting at both the bar and the office left me able to connect him, so without a deeper explanation, I might not have realized how important the secret was. How serious he was about me keeping it. It might not mean as much to me, but it means everything to him, and it must be tough knowing that a complete stranger like me knows about it now. I can’t imagine how stressful something like that would be. Especially if he really has spent so much time and energy keeping that secret for so long. Bad luck for both of us, me showing up at Axle’s on Saturday.

As much as it sucks for me, it might even be worse for him. That’s something I hadn’t even considered, but for some reason as soon as I do, a chill runs through my spine.

Before I can consider why, my apartment phone rings with the special tone that tells me it’s the downstairs security. As much as I appreciate how safe the building is, sometimes they’re a little excessive. I’ve told Charlie, the guard on duty most afternoons, to just let the pizza guys through without calling, but he always seems to forget. More likely he’s worried about getting in trouble if his supervisor sees him waving someone through without a verifying phone call.

I answer it. “Hello?”

“Good afternoon, Miss Silver, it’s Charlie here at security.”

“Hi, Charlie. Yes, I’m expecting him. Please send him up.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you, ma’am.”

I absently hang up as I try to refocus my thoughts. What was it that caused that thrill of fear a moment ago? The fact that knowing Bash’s secret would be worse for him than it is for me. Why should that worry me? It’s really more his problem than mine.

I mean, I can see why it’s so important for him to keep it. If the wrong person links him to both parts of his lives, it could be catastrophic. He could lose his business and his club. Or his family, as he puts it. Although, calling a motorcycle club a family is probably similar to calling a group of mobsters a family. They’re both just as dangerous.

He’s lucky that it was someone like me that figured out his secret. Not everyone can be trusted. Not that he knows that he can trust me. Despite having been inside me, he doesn’t know me at all.

The knock at the door seems to jar my thoughts, this time dropping them into the right order instead of distracting me. The thrill of fear is back as I grab my purse from the table. Bash doesn’t know that I’m trustworthy. He doesn’t know me at all. And he’s a dangerous man with millions to lose. In that context, I’m surprised he let me leave Piston at all, but how long until he comes to the conclusion that letting me go was a huge liability?

My appetite has suddenly gone, but the pizza is waiting, so I yank open the door, wallet in hand.

My heartbeat disappears just as quickly as my appetite as I stare into Bash’s eyes, glowering at me from the other side.