When I'd first seen the scuffle going on, all I caught was some long blue hair flying around. And by the time I'd finished dealing with the man trying to force her in the car, she was starting to snap herself out of her fit—or whatever it was—drawing my attention down to her.
I hadn't exactly been starved of hot women. That was one of the things that came naturally to running an MC. Booze, fights, respect, and lots of T&A.
But she still managed to have an impact.
Because she was that kind of pretty.
Make you stop on the sidewalk kind of pretty.
The blue hair made her porcelain skin look even paler. With her strong jaw, high cheekbones, generous lips, and blue eyes, she was a kick-to-the-gut kind of beautiful.
Add in her thick thighs and killer ass, and you had one of the prettiest women I'd seen in months, maybe years.
It was a shame all that pretty seemed to stay stuck in the house all the time.
"What was going on with the guy?" Che asked.
"Her brother. Trying to force her to go out with him. Guess she's got some car phobia or some shit. She was not having it. She had a request though. An hour of quiet at eight in the morning, so she can work."
"Who only works for an hour in the morning?" McCoy wondered, brows squinting.
"Don't know. Maybe she finger-fucks herself on camera for a bunch of under-fucked husbands," I said, shrugging. "Who cares. But in the interest of being neighborly and shit, we are going to keep it down from seven to ten in the morning. Give her some peace and quiet."
"We can manage that," McCoy agreed. "He's not making much noise at all these days anyway. Think we're trying to get blood out of a stone at this point."
He wasn't wrong.
We'd managed to snag this guy on his way out of his mistress's apartment. It was rare to catch one of the Chechen mafia guys. Normally, we wouldn't fuck with organized crime. But they'd fucked with us first. We had the scars to prove it. Besides, the Chechens weren't anywhere near as powerful as La Cosa Nostra or the Bratva. Hell, they weren't even close to the Irish or the Triad, at least not in this part of the United States.
So we took him and that was that. Apparently, that code of silence the Italians were so well known for in their glory days still applied with the Chechens as well. He'd given us next to nothing, and what we did get wasn't anything we couldn't have figured out by ourselves with some reconnaissance work. We'd come to a point where we were just prolonging the man's sorry life instead of getting rid of him. So the music wouldn't need to go on for much longer anyway.
"Has Remy gotten back yet?" I asked, seeing his cat leap onto the top of the TV cabinet from the arm of the couch.
Remy—Remington—was the resident collector of animals. Or, rather, It was more fair to say he saved them. Like any rational person, he hated it when people abused their animals. Unlike rational people, though, he would break your teeth out of your face before he saved those animals from you. Which meant the clubhouse was a bit of a menagerie these days.
Remy was currently out walking his dogs since putting up a fence in the backyard wasn't exactly high on anyone's priority list while we were working our asses off to take over the arms trade in the area and keep control of the port.
We'd taken out the major players in the area. But it was a funny thing, when you were working your way up to the top of the food chain, you ran across a lot of bastards trying to do the exact same thing. People got hungry and mean when the prize was as big as the one we were all looking at.
So we had to be a lot hungrier and a fuckuva lot meaner to stay on top.
"He's coming now," Che said, looking out the window.
Not two minutes later, Remy was walking in the front door with his five mutts, all saved from various situations. Two pit bulls, three other mixes.
Remy himself was in a ridiculous yellow and white tank top with green board shorts and flip-flops. With his bleached hair and easy smile along with that outfit, he looked like a fucking college kid on spring break rather than a local.
"What's up?" he asked, unclasping a hot pink leash from his latest addition. "Did I miss something?" he added, walking over to pluck his cat off the TV cabinet while she tried to bat at a bird on the screen.
"Huck was just meeting the neighbor," Che supplied.
"Yeah? With the blue hair?" Remy asked. "What? You guys haven't seen her pacing her porch at night?"
Judging by the blank looks gathered around, no one had.
"See? This is why I am valuable to this team."
That, and his insane violent streak. The bastard enjoyed every second of it, too.
"Anyone played with the Chechen yet?" he asked, running his hand down the cat's black fur.
"I think we are almost done with that. It's getting us nowhere," I admitted, sighing.
That just meant we had to go and find a new lead. Endless hours of surveillance were ahead of us. On top of shoring up deals for new shipments, and trying to find a way to protect the docks.
We weren't exactly a big club. And until shit was more secure, we couldn't be opening up the books to take on new members. So that meant we were all going to be stretched thin for a while.
"I mean, I can try my very best to get one final bit of information out of him," Remy offered, giving us a wicked smirk.
"Maybe later," I said, shaking my head. "We're going to try to give the neighbor some peace and quiet for a few hours a day."
"Right right. So she can do her videos."
"Her videos?" I asked.
"I'm the only one here who does some research?" Remy asked, shaking his head.
"What kind of research?"
"Just a basic search for who she is," Remy said. "Thought it was weird she was willing to move in next to us, wanted to make sure she didn't have any ties to some big bad around here."
"And?"
"And she doesn't seem to have ties to anyone. Except her fans."
"Quit beating around the fucking bush, Remy," I demanded.
"Does she do some X-rated shit?" McCoy asked.
"No. I mean, I'm sure some of the mouth-breathers still pant over her. But she's a gamer."
"A gamer," Che repeated. "Like video games?"
"Yeah. She's really good at Wheel of Life. It's a role-playing game where she's practically royalty."
"How is that work, though?" I asked. "She said she wanted quiet for work."
"Right, well. I guess she figured out how to make money off what she is already good at. She records herself playing, posts the videos up, slaps ads on them."
"And you can make a living doing that?" McCoy asked.
"When you're drop-dead gorgeous enough to get nearly a million followers, then yeah."
"Drop-dead gorgeous, huh?" Che asked, giving me a smirk. "I heard the word 'pretty' tossed around."
"Yeah?" Remy asked, reaching for his phone, searching for a second before he brought up a video, playing it.
And there she was, sitting in a room with purple and blue sound panels behind her, a big set of headphones on her ears, yelling at the screen as she sat in her gaming chair in a tight blue tank top and plaid boxers.