Claimed by the Biker Giant (Maxine and Tank) novel Chapter 124

Maxine/Fixer POV

Uncle Simon’s hugs were comforting, and including Tank in our hug brought a fresh wave of tears, but these were not sad tears, but ones of joy, that Uncle Simon had included my man, my rock, the chosen one, that he was accepted into the family fold, not that I needed that acceptance, but that he had, hit me harder than I had expected.

The safe room wasn’t that thrilling, so what, I didn’t see all the fuss over old gems, the only part I was interested in was getting into that filing cabinet that we didn’t open yet, and more of those journals, history I liked, bling not so much.

We worked as a fine oiled machine; you would think if you were observing us, that we had done this many times, we didn’t need to tell each other what to do, we just did it. The aroma filled the kitchen and drifted into the other rooms, giving the place a smell like an Italian restaurant.

“Taste.” Uncle Simon pushed a spoon towards me; he had his homemade tomato sauce. I opened my mouth to allow him to push it in, and the flavour filled my mouth. If I hadn’t seen him make it from scratch, I would have thought he ordered it from the local restaurant.

“Wow, I want that recipe,” I said, licking my lips and looking longingly at the sauce, hoping for another taste.

“That good?” Tank said, coming over and dipping his finger into the sauce, and gaining a slap on the back of the head for it.

“Keep those fingers out of my sauce, who knows what they have been doing?” Uncle Simon tried to growl at Tank, but he couldn’t keep the chuckle away or the grin on his face as Tank rubbed the back of his head, pretending it hurt. There was strong camaraderie among us, and we worked seamlessly as a team. Yeah, I thought it before, and I will think it again a few more times, as I can hardly believe I have Uncle Simon as my uncle, he might be Sixty-Eight, but he was a toned, fit man, I guess his job kept him active, and he had to stay fit, he looked better than many men younger than him. He had already used our gym downstairs twice since arriving, promising to give me some pointers and to continue that training Grandpa had started. I still can’t believe how well he fooled me into thinking he was some scary old man.

The sound of bikes coming up our drive had the two bodyguards on alert. They looked at us as they stood, still unsure.

“Relax, that’s Prez and Blaze,” I called out to them as they started out the door. They stopped and turned back. I was glad that they were here, two men who would put their lives on the line to protect us, and it didn’t always have to be Tank who did that job. It gave me a mixed feeling of relief and sadness that these men, whom I was getting to know, would die for me, for Uncle Simon, and Tank, who was still not completely happy, I had other bodyguards outside of the club. Uncle Simon had more coming that would live here, he advised making quarters for them, a small bunk house, they would be more than happy to live in. I had given Uncle Simon the go-ahead to organise it through the men he trusted; I was still navigating who I trusted yet. Uncle Simon said it was like a flat pack; a truck would arrive with all the concrete, or whatever the walls are made of, and would erect it, but first some groundwork had to be done to prepare to link power, water, and sewerage to the main lines. I understood the basics, but didn’t even start organising it. The first men to arrive in a few days will be for groundwork; by then, we should have more security here to watch the workers.

“Not in this house, you work, you eat, like the rest of us, no more waiting around me, no need to get cold food.” I shrug, before twirling some spaghetti on a fork, and coating it in sauce at the same time, and putting it in my mouth, groans of pleasure escaped my mouth, as I sucked up a rogue strand of noodle. Elegant I wasn’t, and personally didn’t care if I looked disgusting, I was enjoying my food, which was better than any restaurant food I had ever tasted, not that I had been to many, but this was soooooo, good.

After we all had eaten at least half of our food, in comfortable silence, only the clatter of knives and forks was heard. Prez spoke, causing me to look up; we were not told not to speak at the table, and we were all too busy eating.

“We have started the ‘phone Barry’ campaign, according to our men watching him, and the bugs. He was a little shaken up; he had started to scream down the phone before even seeing who was calling. He was definitely rattled. He was becoming jumpy, checking his area a lot, before coming out of a building. So far, he had not contacted anyone, or even discussed the phone calls with his wife, or whatever she was; he had growled at her a few times, taking his frustration out on her, but had not gotten physical. She looked confused by his change of behaviour”. Prez reported calmly, as if it were a normal conversation at the dinner table.

“Good, keep it up, don’t let him sleep, we need him nice and jumpy when we take him to the cells. What about the women, you mentioned the wife, what about the daughter, the happy couple still living at home? Did they legally get married, or was it another fake thing they had done?” Uncle Simon asked and kept eating.

This was weird for me, as a child, if I was allowed at the dinner table, I wasn’t allowed to talk, at Jenny’s, her parent’s grilled you for find out what you did for the day, at the club house, it was noisy and bedlam, everyone talking at once, we had yet to build a norm here. It was fascinating how the dynamics at the table can vary so much.