Page 10 of Smoke

“Imust have called here over thirty times only for the call to drop before I’d had a chance to get a word in edgeways.” I look pointedly at Smoke, knowing that the phone number I was calling on my earlier attempt was the one that went straight to the line in his office. As time went on, I would hear a distinctive clicking sound as it tripped to another handset when not answered. “I even tried calling from different numbers, withholding caller number but, that didn’t work either.”

“Neither did the different accent. I never got past the first sentence or two before one of you assholes on the other end of the line picked up that it was me and hung up. Not once did you give me a chance to outline what the interview was about, what direction I wanted to take with it. You just heard the words news reporter, and that was that.”

“You trying to say that because we spurned yourattempts to stick your nose into our business that we only have ourselves to blame for your blatant disrespect for private property?” Edge sneers. “Our private land.”

“Well, if you’d have listened in the first place, then you’d have realized it wasn’t about raking up trouble or putting a target on the Young Outlaws backs.”

“Bullshit!” Hurricane guffaws. “You really expect us to believe that?”

“It’s true,” I shuffle in my seat. I regret it instantly because I know it’s an obvious sign the nerves are getting to me. But I’m sure the only way I can convince the guys I’m not part of an undercover lynch mob, I have to be honest about everything. “It was at the time.” A rumble of negativity fills the room, so I carry on quickly before I let it escalate.

“In between the many failed call attempts, I started doing a shit ton of research on you guys. I have so many A4 sheets of information scattered around my small apartment where I prefer to work. It’s quieter and has fewer distractions than the office. If the city ever wanted to wallpaper the outside of the Silver Legacy Casino right here in Reno, then I’d have it covered.”

“You guys might think you are ghosts, but I know more about you guys, your backgrounds and history than any of your other club members do. Right down to your favorite color and preferred choice of underwear. And if you think that I’m still spouting shit, Diesel,” I point at the club’s Road Captain. “Blue. Cotton boxers with the little buttoned flap so your junk doesn’t pop out through the gapunexpectedly.”

“What the fuck,” he grumbles, a pink flush appears on his cheeks, but he doesn’t try to deny it.

Of course, I’ve not just grabbed that little nugget out of thin air. Hanging around outside the gates of the YOMC gaff has become a bit of a habit. While following Diesel, I had ended up in Walmart and watched as he made a beeline for the multipacks of men’s underwear. Without any hesitation he had picked up a pack with navy, royal and powder blue pairs inside, not giving any of the other styles a second glance. Diesel is a man who knows what he likes.

My intention was to accidentally bump into him and use my feminine charms to get his attention. Then I was going to flirt my ass off and hopefully get myself an invitation to one of the YOMC’s party nights, which if rumors are true, were alcohol and unadulterated sex fests. But I had lost my nerve and ended up hiding behind a mannequin in a pair of male shapewear.

It was a chance I regret missing as since then, the guys seem to hang around in packs of three or four, and despite the fact that on the outside I might give the impression that I’m confident and ballsy, even I’m not stupid enough to tackle a group of them all at once.

“Don’t worry, Diesel,” I scoff at his obvious unease. “You were just a means to an end. My main goal has always been you.” I fix my gaze firmly on the man at the head of the table. “Ronan Hale, club name Smoke and the boss. The Prez. My end goal was always to get to you, but getting an audience with you is like trying to get an audience with the head of the CIA.”

“What can I say, Tenley,” Smoke’s voice rumblesaround the unlit cigarette between his lips. “I’m a very popular man, a lot of women seek my attention, but I’m also a busy one, and to be honest, I’d be fucked if I was going to waste my time as I have nothing to share with you.” His eyes seer into mine, not once breaking eye contact as he flicks open his zippo, sparks up a flame and holds it to the tip of the tab.

“Yes, well, don’t get ahead of yourself, Prez.” I emphasize on the Prez. “Thus far I’ve concentrated on all the members of your club. Even hoped that I could get close enough to get my hooks in them rather than the club itself. You wouldn’t believe the hours I’ve put in getting the dirt on all of you.”

“Seems to me that this bitch is nothing but a liability to us,” Mayhem chirps up. His fisted hands that rest on top of the table clench until the knuckles are white. “Maybe we should take her out back and show her exactly what happens when you stick your nose into our business.”

“Reel your neck in, brother,” Stone snaps back at him. “Tenley is my woman’s half-sister so let’s at least hear her out.”

“Thanks, Stone.” A smile slips onto my face. I’ll be honest, I’m shocked at his show of solidarity. “I appreciate you defending me.”

“If you think I’ve got your back honey, you’re greatly mistaken.” Stone smirks back at me. “This is your one and only chance to convince us that your reason for being here is not to fuck us over. If at the end of it, the vote goes against you, then I’ll be more than happy to put a gun to your head and pull the trigger.” I gulp downthe saliva that has collected in my mouth while it was hanging open.

“You best get on with it,” Smoke adds. “Before one of my guys gets impatient and puts an end to you before the jury is out.”

“Okay, okay.” I wave my hands in a slow, calming motion. “When I couldn’t get much from you guys, I decided to check out the Reno’s archives. The records go way back to when the newspaper was founded. Some of its old school, paper files that takes up most of the space in the basement of the building. Even now, any significant story has a paper file, but thankfully now in a world that’s full of technology all news items have a digital copy which makes it much easier to subject search. The only way to access the digital files is via the computers down in the archive room, as you cannot access them from the general data system, and even then, you need to get permission from the editor-in-chief.”

“Chief didn’t have a clue as to what I was working on. He never asked, yet I guess he could tell with my enthusiasm that it was going to be a power piece.”

“The first thing I did was type Young Outlaws MC into the search bar, and you guys, well, the files keep popping up. There were so many that I couldn’t possibly check them all. So, I decided to go back around three years and work up to the present day.”

“And just what did you find?” Smoke shifts forward in his seat, narrowing his eyes at me. His biceps bubble into hard balls of muscle as his elbows fall firmly on the solid wood top. The table is impressive. It must be at least twelve feet long and takes up most of the room. Thedistinctive YOMC emblem is skillfully engraved into the centre.

There are a few nervous coughs from a couple of the guys. Mayhem shifts awkwardly in his seat, him being the Sergeant at arms and all. If Google is to be believed, he’s the one who’s tasked with damage control if a club or one of its members gets into trouble with the law, so it’s no surprise he’s wondering what dirt I have on them all.

“Truthfully, I was hoping to dig up at least some juicy lead that led me back to you, but all I seemed to get was traffic violations.” When a few of them, who must have been holding their breaths wondering exactly what shit I had on them, blow out a noisy exhale, my anxiousness begins to dissipate too. They're fucking nervous too. Damn, I have all these dangerous dudes taking in my every word. Men that could snap me like a twig, and I have them not quite quaking in their boots but, dare I say, scared.

I’m starting to enjoy myself because now I get to play the game. What game, you might ask. The leading them into a false sense of security game of course.

“I came across a report on the bar brawl at that joint down on East 4thStreet. Can’t remember the name now, you know the one, it’s known to be frequented by bikers.”

“Deep Throttle,” Crave blurts out. All eyes are instantly on Crave and the looks, well shit.

That’s some razor-sharp daggers if ever I’ve seen them.

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