Page 25 of Devil's Marker

“Thanks. I got it.”

“You’re welcome. Boss is up. Said to tell you to come see him after you’ve dumped your shit.”

“Okay. Where is he?”

“Kitchen. Breakfast is on.”

With a movement too tiny to qualify as a real nod, Win walked away with two small plastic bags. The errant thought flittered across his mind that he hoped he wouldn’t be going back through that door in a body bag before he got what the Rangers needed and showed the Marauders his tail lights.

Back in his room, Win took a shower and put on the last of the clean clothes. Dark jeans and an indigo blue long-sleeved tee.

Bo and Catcher were still in the main room when he walked back through, but the entire communal area was spotless. Win pointed toward a door on the other side of the bar.

“This way?”

Bo nodded. “Follow the smell of bacon and sausage.”

With every step that took him closer to the kitchen the smell of bacon grew stronger, as did the sound of voices and dishes clanking.

Win expected a commercial kitchen, but he hadn’t expected R.C.’s decorating that he mentally called ‘biker chic’ to extend to other public rooms. The walls behind the stainless steel cabinets and appliances were brick, painted with murals of legendary Harleys, the club’s colors, and various graffiti that, in that setting, looked more like art and less like defacement.

A work station ran down the middle of the kitchen and functioned as an island would in a residence. Beyond that was a long table for twenty with long benches. The walls on either side of the table featured bar-height seating and stools for overflow should extra seating be needed.

The first person to greet him was a tall woman who looked vaguely like Tyra Banks, with dreads and mocha latte skin. She wore a black tee shirt, jeans, and a black apron.

Looking up from turning bacon, she said, “Hmmm. Must be the new boy.” Her eyes drifted down to the shirt he was wearing. “That color goes real good with your bruisin’, sugar.”

Win smirked. “Thanks. Name is Win.”

“Lots better than Lose. I’m Bertalia. Don’t like Bertie. So don’t call me that.”

“I won’t.”

“You like bacon?”

“Everybody likes bacon.”

“True enough. But some people ask for ham or sausage anyway.”

“If I was bein’ completely honest, I like hamburgers for breakfast.”

“Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm. I’m not lookin’ for that kinda honesty this early in the mornin’. You’re gonna have to go down the road for short orders. I cook what I cook. You eat it or you don’t. You want hamburgers for breakfast? I’ll direct you to the nearest Denny’s.”

Win laughed. “I’ll take breakfast food in a pinch.”

“Now you’re just gettin’ off on the wrong foot with me, mister. Nobody eats my food in a pinch. What I cook is the nearest to heaven any of you bikers are ever gonna get.”

Win held up his hands. “No offense intended. How about a BLT?”

“You hard of hearin’? Don’t make me say you deserved that beatin’ you got handed by a door.”

“I wouldn’t make you say that, Bertalia.”

She seemed to relax a little. “I’m not makin’ no BLT. But you can make it yourself. All the fixin’s are here. Think of it as a treasure hunt.”

He shrugged. “Okay.” Her eyes widened a little like she hadn’t expected him to take her up on that. “I like my bacon on the crispy side so put my name on three or four pieces.”

Boss was sitting at the end of the table about forty feet away. He yelled. “What are you doin’ down there, Garrett? Come on down here. Bertie’ll bring you breakfast.”

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