Page 3 of Riding Dirty

Rich-people shit is what it is.

I know that just as well as he does, but that doesn’t mean I want to leave and turn my back, at least not yet. I want to watch it go down, and I need it to be a one-hundred-percent loss before the fire is put out.

It should be, because that’s my goddamn job. Our job. It’s how we make our money, how the Iron Flame MC got our name honestly, if nothing else. And anyone who needs our services knows exactly who we are and how we get shit done right the first time.

Just like these people with their three-million-dollar house. At a hundred-percent loss, they’re looking at getting a nice chunk of change from their insurance company, and all we ask for is the agreed-upon amount, a twenty-percent cut.

Shifting my attention away from the fire, or more like tearing it away, I look over to Hippie, who is just as mesmerized by the black clouds that have now begun to hang over the house, almost as if they’re a halo. But when you look past it, you can see the River Mountains in the distance.

“Let’s fuckin’ go,” I announce.

Turning away from him, I walk down the street. We’re behind the house, and then we turn down another street, then another. I know the cameras around the area have been disabled, so we won’t be seen climbing onto our waiting bikes—a part of this job that’s become a bit more cumbersome over the years, since everyone fucking has them.

Straddling my bike, I jerk my chin at Hippie, who does the same before I speak. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. Get a smoke, a beer, and a bitch.”

“Hell fuckin’ yeah, brother.”

And that’s what we do. We ride straight toward the clubhouse and to the plethora of smokes, beers, and bitches, all of which will be waiting for us in abundance. A perk to being who we are and a bigger perk of being the vice president of the club, they’re always waiting for me—always.

I’m not sure I would ever want my life to change. I’m living a fucking dream.

CHAPTER

TWO

ELODIE

Smoothing my hands down my jeans, I look around and wonder not only if I'm in the right place, but if I’m even in the right city. One thing is for certain: I might actually be dressed up for this meeting, and here I was, worried I’d be too dressed down—I needn’t be.

But aside from all that, I can’t imagine this is where I am supposed to meet my client. Well, prospective client. Looking back at my car, I wonder what would happen if I just climbed inside and drove away.

Would the man who stopped me at the front gate not open it for me?

Would they try to keep me here until I did what they wanted, demanded?

Am I getting myself into some serious shit?

My heart begins to race, no, it gallops. Is that a thing? Do hearts gallop? Because if they do, that’s exactly what’s happening to me right now. My heart is getting ready to take off, leaving my body behind.

My life flashes before my eyes, which is really sad because I’ve lived a pretty pathetic existence. My sister is the one who has a whole life. A great one, actually. She’s thirty-one, married, a nurse, and has two kids. She does it all. My niece and nephew are great, too. One is two, and the other is almost one.

That being said, we were raised by different parents. She by her father and I by our mother. We aren’t that close, even though I wish we were. I can’t blame her for keeping her distance, though. She’s built a beautiful life, whereas I was raised in hell.

There’s me, the complete opposite of her, single, no kids, and while I started my own cleaning business, it does well enough to put food on the table and pay my rent, but I’m not going to be lavishing myself with Dior or anything similar anytime soon.

I take a step forward, then stop again, my breathing coming out in short pants. I’m not sure what to do here, and every second that I stand out here in the hot-as-hell desert sun, I get a little bit more lightheaded and ready to climb back into my crappy eleven-year-old Ford Fiesta.

Before I can work up enough courage to take another step, the door to the rundown building in front of me flies open. I watch as a man steps out. Squinting, I lift my hand to shade my eyes so I can attempt to see better.

Although I don’t have to because he continues to move toward me one step after another until he is so close to me I can smell him. Leather, oil, and… cigarette smoke. Tilting my head back, I look up into his face.

His lips are pressed together in a thin line as he looks down at me. A grunt escapes his lips, his eyes searching mine, and then he grins. My god. He’s absolutely amazing.

Gorgeous.

Breathtakingly gorgeous.

Seriously. I can’t breathe, and it’s not just because I’m scared shitless. Because I am that. Scared absolutely shitless. But at the same time, he’s so beautiful I can’t look away from him. Call it charisma, call it whatever you want, but this man, no doubt, has broken a million hearts.