Page 23 of Mile High With the Bikers
The common room is still empty when we get there, sneaking along the wall like ninjas on a mission, Opal, Cherry and me. At the back, it opens into a communal kitchen with a giant fridge. Opal opens it and peeks in. She pulls out some plastic wrapped sandwiches. “Emergency rations. Check it out. As long as it isn’t labeled?—”
“Or Eagle-eye’s yogurt,” Cherry adds, pointing at some plastic cups near the top.
“Right, or the yogurt, it’s pretty much fair game.” She hands me one that looks like turkey and cheese.
“You sure we can?—”
“Eat it.” Opal’s already unwrapping hers.
Fine, at least I won't be the only one, and I'm starving.
I'm just finishing the first and wondering if it'd be rude to ask for another one when heavy boots clunk out onto the metal platform overhead then start down the stairs. The three of us look at each other with wide eyes, and Cherry holds a finger to her lips, signaling quiet. Crap, how much trouble are we in?
“Any news?” There's someone else up there with Eagle-eye.
“Chef,” Opal mouths. She looks apprehensive.
Crap, if they come down here, we're going to be spotted. How serious is the stay out of the common room rule? Am I about to get yelled at, kicked out, or shot?
“Not yet.” Eagle-eye's voice isn't happy. “No fucking sign of either of them. I really don't like this.”
Footsteps start down the stairs, but before we get the chance to really panic, a phone starts ringing. The ring tone is rock guitar with a driving drum beat under it.
“Talk to me.” A pause. “Hold up. What the fuck are you talking about?” Eagle-eye sounds angry. “I don't have your fucking daughter. Why the fuck would I?”
Oh thank God.
Oh shit.
“Call me a liar one more fucking time, and wewillhave a God damned problem. Me and my whole fucking club. For the last fucking time, I don’t care who you are and I don’t know shit about your kid.”
“If you get a chance, sneak out,” I whisper. There’s no point in all of us going down together.
Opal and Cherry's eyes go huge. Cherry shakes her head while Opal gestures for me to get back down.
I shake my head. “Save yourselves.” Then I walk out from the kitchen and put my hand on the railing for the stairs to his office. “Um, maybe we should talk.”
Chef notices me first, and then Eagle-eye, who trails off. “I need to call you back.” He taps his phone, sticks it in his pocket and narrows his razor sharp eye at me. “Tell me you're not who I fucking think you are.”
I wet my lips nervously, but move around so that if Chef and Eagle-eye are looking at me, they won't see Cherry and Opal making their escape.
“I wish I could, but I'm Rory Whittaker.”
12
BULL
Rory—orwhoever the fuck she is—looks real damn small with her feet pulled up under her in Eagle-eye's office. She's in his leather reading chair and she's looking down at her hands, fidgeting like a kid called to the principal's office. Whittaker'sdaughter?
What the fuck?
I’m pissed that she was playing fucking games with us, but it doesn’t add up. The way she’s been acting doesn’t line up with a spoiled little rich girl traveling undercover for fun. Why the hell would he have his own daughter pretending to be a stewardess on hisown fucking plane?
And now we’re the ones that look like fuck-ups.
Eagle-eye glares at the three of us in turn. “If this goes south, get ready to deal with all the crap nobody else fucking wants for the next decade, and I don’t want to hear anything but ‘yes, sir’ out of your God damned mouths.”
“Yes, sir,” I growl along with Diesel and Shrapnel.
