The Biker Who Called Me Trouble

Chapter 2

The top floor was nothing like I had imagined.

There were no guns piled on the table, nor were there any half-dressed women lying around. The hallway was so clean it felt almost empty. At the end were only Knox's bedroom, his study, and a guest room that had clearly been unused for years.

Knox set me down beside the bed and handed me a set of new pajamas.

"The bathroom's inside. Don't get the wound wet. Call me if you need anything."

I took the clothes and realized they were exactly my size. "How did you know my size?"

His gaze traveled from my shoulders to my waist and lingered for two seconds.

"Took a guess."

For some reason, the room suddenly felt stifling.

When I woke up the next morning, there was a glass of water and two painkillers beside the bed. A fierce argument drifted up from downstairs. I supported myself against the wall and made my way out. As soon as I reached the stairs, I saw Knox pinning two men at opposite ends of a long table.

He didn't even raise his voice.

"Do I need to go over the rules again?"

The two men, who had looked ready to tear each other apart moments earlier, immediately fell silent.

Mason spotted me, his expression complicated. "You can just call him Prez. Don't be scared."

That only made me more scared.

Knox pushed breakfast toward me. "Eat, Trouble."

"My name is Nora."

"I know." He glanced at my bandaged foot. "But Nora wouldn't end up needing a clinic over a few thumbtacks."

I nearly choked on my coffee.

Fortunately, Mason walked over just then with a clear evidence bag containing the thumbtacks I had failed to clean up.

"Those things were laid across the entire lane. There's no way it was an accident."

I tightened my grip on my cup.

"The cameras nearby were broken, but the convenience store across the street may have caught the garage entrance. Give me a day, and I'll find whoever did it."

Several members immediately began cursing, convinced that this was their rival's doing.

Knox looked at me, his eyes calm. "There's no need to rush. The tire was damaged, but no one was killed."

"But it was your bike."

"That's my business."

He forbade anyone from taking revenge on their own and told Mason to check the area for any other hazardous objects.

I quietly let out a breath, though I still didn't dare relax completely.

That afternoon, city inspectors came to the clubhouse. Seven noise complaints in a row had put both their liquor license and anniversary ride permit at risk. Mason discovered that every complaint had come from 7C.

"The woman from 7C is probably the same one who scattered the thumbtacks," he said. "I'll take some men upstairs and ask her a few questions."

"You will not."

Knox removed his gloves and tossed them onto the table.

"Riding through a residential area at two in the morning is wrong. Starting today, every bike takes the longer route at night, and every modified exhaust gets a muffler installed."

"That's it?"

"Complaining about noise doesn't mean someone betrayed the club. Don't treat an ordinary resident like an enemy."

For the first time, I took a good look at him.

He wasn't the unreasonable thug I'd imagined, throwing his weight around just because he could. If anything, he had a better grasp of the problem than the HOA that collected my dues every month and kept brushing off my complaints.

That made me even more afraid to tell him that I was not only the tenant in 7C, but also the person who had scattered those thumbtacks.

That evening, the clubhouse held a small party for the anniversary ride. The bartender handed me a brightly colored drink. I thought it was juice, but after taking a sip, I realized it was their signature cocktail—a mix of three kinds of hard liquor.

Before long, I was slumped over the bar, still hugging my glass.

Knox sat down. "Who let you drink?"

I pointed at him and complained, "This is all your fault."

"How is it my fault?"

"Your engine roars at 2:00 a.m. every day. I have to work during the day, but I can't sleep at night. My dark circles are awful. I complained once, twice—seven times in total, and no one did anything."

Knox said nothing.

I patted his arm again. "But you handled it well today. No more noise, understand?"

He looked at me, and the faint dimple beside his mouth slowly appeared.

"Understood."

When I woke up the next day, I had no memory of saying any of that.

But as I reached the stairs, I heard Mason downstairs.

"The convenience-store footage has been restored. By tonight at the latest, we'll know exactly who scattered those thumbtacks."