Raw and Dirty(3)

“Screw you, Royal,” I murmur, pulling out of my parking space and heading towards the front gates. It's not until I hit the highway that it starts to really pour, drops splattering against the roof of my car. I could go back to the office, but my dad's going to want to hear all about my meeting, and I have even less to report back on than Toni Gladstone did. She got laid by the president; I got dismissed like a stray dog.

My hands tighten around the wheel and my eyes wander to my cell phone, plugged in and laying across the passenger seat.

I press the dial button on my steering wheel, connecting with the Bluetooth in my phone.

“Call Royal McBride,” I say and listen as the phone rings over the speakers in my car.

“Wolf Cycle Service and Repair, this is Janae, how can I help you?” The sugary sweet voice of Janae, the club secretary, fills the quiet car and forces me to take a breath to clamp down on my anger. It isn't directed at her, isn't her fault that her boss is a dick. I think—though I'm not certain—that she's an … an old lady or something. Isn't that what bikers call their wives? A small shudder goes through me, but I make myself smile. People can hear it in your voice, you know.

“Hi Janae, this is Lyric from the mayor's office, I was wondering if you could get ahold of Royal for me?” There's a small pause as she considers my request. “I know he said he's busy today, but—”

“Busy?” Janae repeats with a small laugh. “Is that what he told you? Oh, bless his heart. Did he dodge out on your meeting?” My smile fades from my face. “There's a party tonight at the clubhouse. The boys are swearing in a new VP tomorrow.” I don't bother to ask what happened to the old vice president—I know she won't tell me. Club business stays club business. “He's probably just flirting with groupies and hauling in kegs.”

“Uh huh.” I can feel my mouth twitching with frustration. “Is that so?”

“That's so,” Janae says with a small laugh. “But I can try to wrangle him up for you if you want.”

“No, that won't be necessary. What time is the party tonight?”

There's a pause on Janae's end of the line.

“Could you hold a moment for me?” she asks.

“Sure thing.”

I'm already at my exit by the time she comes back.

“The party starts at six here at the clubhouse,” Janae begins, her voice holding a strange sort of hesitancy. “Although I'm not sure that this is the sort of party that you'd be interested in.”

I narrow my eyes, even though I know she can't see me, my gaze focused out the windshield on the wet pavement and the green of the trees flickering by on either side of the car. It's easy to see why they call this the Lost Coast; even with the fairly recent population boom, the area's still wild enough that I feel like it wouldn't be too far of a stretch to catch sight of some sort of Jurassic period monster—like Royal McBride.

“Six at the clubhouse,” I say, just to reconfirm. Not the kind of party that I'd be interested in. Please. If Royal thinks he can use his secretary to scare me away, he's dead wrong. “I'll be there.”





Holy hell.

Talk about a shit fest.

I slide a cigarette between my lips and feel my mouth curl into a smirk. Somebody hired strippers—not me, too busy dealing with my ex VP—but I owe whoever it was a favor. Fifteen minutes to six, and I'm already enjoying the show, watching my boys piss away two weeks worth of rage and frustration on alcohol and leather lovers. One of my favorites, a slim waisted brunette with legs for days, is smiling at me from across the room. I give her a wink and a silent promise to check in later. Right now, I've got business to take care of.

“You invited the mayor's daughter to one of our parties?” Smoky asks, lighting up and giving me a sideways glance that says he doesn't approve. “You think that's a good idea? On so many levels I can see this going wrong.”

“I'm not planning on shagging her,” I say, raising my brows and exhaling. A quick glance over my shoulder reveals a sea of leather cuts and scantily clad women, not a single gray skirt suit in sight. “I'm not a complete idiot, you know.”

“Only a half-wit,” Smoky says with a smirk, his green eyes narrowing as he shakes his head at me. “You never pass on a beautiful girl, even if fucking her's likely to get you tossed in the slammer. So tell me, what's wrong with this one?”

Royal McBride. I can still hear that girl's voice ringing in my head, the mighty punch she packed into the four simple syllables of my name. I have to admit, it was a fucking shock to turn around and find Pint-Sized and Pretty glaring up at me, not even a hint of concern for where she was or who she was talking to.