Page 13 of Stone

“Guess we need to look further afield,” Wolf exclaimed when the third person still hadn’t turned up fifteen minutes after the appointment time. Smoke held up a finger while he answered his mobile phone.

“Yeah, let me check,” Smoke barks down the phone. “She’s here,” he announces. “You still want to see her, or shall I tell Rush to send her away?”

“She’s late,” I growl out. “Which is no fucking good to me. I need someone who’s going to be reliable.”

“Come on, Stone,” Wolf spoke up in the women’s defense. “At least hear her out. She might have a perfectly good reason why she’s been held up.”

“And it could just be another waste of my time,” I huff out while pacing the floor. “Okay, get Rush to bring her up.”

We talked business for the few minutes it took for Rush to arrive, along with a petite female.

“Hey,” Wolf stepped forward to greet her, blocking my view. “I’m Wolf, who you spoke to on the phone.” I understand he’s been upfront with the possible candidates, making it clear that we’re an MC club. Which, of course, was probably the reason why the number of people coming forward for the position was limited. He turns and sidesteps and continues with the introductions. “This is Smoke, the president of the Young Outlaws.” Smoke nodded and replied with a grunt of acknowledgement. I think, like myself, he’s still pissed at her lack of punctuality. “And this is Stone.” The young woman stands rigid and stares back at me. “Stone is looking to employ someone to take care of his niece.” No words leave her mouth, but her lips snap together, and she swallows. “Brothers, this is Oriana Lee.”

“H… Hi,” she stammers nervously. Her eyes flashing my way for barely a second before they move around the room, looking anywhere and everywhere other than at the three of us. It’s totally understandable. She’s nervous, and you can tell by the barely-there shuffle of her feet. She’s not the first person to walk into this place and shit their pants. It sure is one hell of an eye-opener. Especially if you’ve never been in an MC clubhouse before. The dark and dangerous feel it has with a full-length bar, Harley motorcycle parts, badges and other various paraphernalia decorating the walls. It stinks of beer, sweat, oil and leather, like a shoddy bar in a seedy rundown town.

Having the meetings up at the cabin wasn’t an option because I’m not willing to let just anyone into my and Sasha’s home. At least until I’m confident they are the right person for the job. Besides, if the clubhouse scares them off, then they ain’t going to cut it.

So, it’s a case of suck it up, buttercup or leave and don’t waste my time.

“Come take a seat while we ask you a few questions.” Wolf gestured to the couch that’s opposite the wall-mounted TV. We follow her as she makes her way over and takes a seat, balancing right on the edge of the cracked leather couch. I slide into one of the two high-backed armchairs that we place adjacent. Smoke takes the other while Wolf stays on his feet.

She’s young, maybe too young. Her chocolate brown hair has been tied up into a high ponytail, and her hair must be quite a length as the tail of it that lays forward over her shoulder and down her chest comes way past her ample tits, almost to her waist. Eyes the shade of rare cerulean sea glass look back at me but struggle to keep eye contact, and quickly, she drops her gaze.

She is wearing loose-fitting jeans, an oversized varsity jacket that drowns her, and a dark purple pair of beat-up Dr. Martens boots. You can tell by her stance that despite her streetwise apparel, she is far from confident.

There’s no doubt that she’s a timid little thing; I’ll be surprised if she makes it through the interrogation. I mean the interview.

“Not the best first impression turning up late,” I bark out to break the oppressive silence. “Punctuality is one of my bug bears.”

“I’m sorry. My car broke down, so I went to catch the bus, but it didn’t turn up, and…” She’s talking so fast that I’m sure she’s going to get lightheaded if she doesn’t take a breath soon. “The only option I had was to walk, but I was already late, so I ran, but then I tripped over the curb and banged my leg…” At last, she takes a deep, lung filling breath and rubs her hand over her knee and down her shin. She grimaces at her touch. I’m sure she’s talking to herself in her head. No sound comes from her mouth, but her lips are moving in the most subtle way. “I appreciate it’s a pitiful excuse, but I’m not one for tardiness. If anything, I’m usually early for everything, so if I am lucky enough to get this position, I can assure you that my punctuality won’t be an issue.”

“If you say so,” I reply unsympathetically. If truth beknown, if what she says is true, and by the looks of the dirty mark on the leg of her jeans has anything to go by, it is, then credit where credit is due. She’s done everything she could to get here. Some would have given up on the first hurdle and tried calling to reschedule. “Wolf tells me that you’re doing a Bachelor of Arts in child development. So, what makes you think that you’ll be able to fit looking after a small child around going to class and not falling behind with your studies?”

“The course that I’m currently on, which I only have six months left to complete, is extremely flexible, and I only have to be on campus twice a week for half a day, if that. Most of my classes are done via zoom.”

“Yeah, a lot of the lectures are done over the internet,” Smoke speaks up for the first time. I cast him a questioning scowl, wondering how on earth he’d know this. “Some news reporter mentioned it while talking about the virus a year or so ago.”

“That’s right and I’ve already spoken to my professor, who is willing to send me any course work and lectures via a link, so it will give me more flexibility with my remaining studies. In fact, she’s very supportive. She thinks that this hands-on experience and interaction with your child would help me immensely. Especially when it comes to writing my final dissertation.”

I watch her while she continues to babble on about how she’s confident she can do her job during the day and spend her evenings studying. She might be all shy and unassuming, but fucking hell, she can talk.

I’ll give her one thing; she has a pretty face. Flawless skin, slightly pinked and dewy, possibly from the running or nerves due to the fact that she’s sat here having to face three big-ass bikers who no doubt intimidate the hell out of her. The color of her almond-shaped eyes that are surrounded by thick dark lashes, is the most incredible shade of blue I’ve ever seen. High cheek-bones, delicate nose and plump rose lips placed perfectly on her heart-shaped face.

She’s still talking, and while she’s continuing on her mission to try to convince us that she’s perfect for the job, I see a flash of a silver ball in her mouth. Well, that’s surprised the shit out of me. A pierced tongue. That’s a bit of a contradiction to her goody two shoes, college girl exterior.

“Why do you want this job?” I say loudly over the top of her constant ramblings. I’ve been listening, and I’ve noted all the shit about her fantastic grades, and it’s her dream to work with children and help them grow and reach their full potential. “What you’re saying might be partly true, but do me a favor sweetheart, cut the bullshit and tell me why getting this job means so much to you?”

We all fall silent. A minute or so ticks by as we wait for her to respond to my harsh outburst.

Oriana sits up straight, throwing back her shoulders and pierces me with those crazy sexy eyes of hers. For a moment, I forget myself as I find myself falling into the ocean blue of her eyes.

“Truthfully?” she says firmly, her voice holding more gravity. “I’m struggling to pay my tuition fees and I’m behind with my rent.”

“So why not get a job waiting tables in the local diner or something?” Smoke jumps in to ask before I get the chance.

“Don’t you think I’ve not already tried that?” she snides. “But the money is garbage, and you can’t rely on tips to bump up your wages. Besides that, looking after your child would give me the much-needed hands-on experience that fits alongside my degree, a stable income and accommodation. It’s, well… the perfect scenario.”

“Sounds like you’re desperate. No home, no money…” I snigger. “Typical student. Won’t the bank of mom and dad dig you out of the hole you found yourself in?”

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