MY EYES FOLLOW HER as she walks across the lot. She can’t see me even if she turned around. The glass on my office window is tinted and bulletproof.
I’m old as shit but when push comes to shove—I ride with my brothers in Creed, the motorcycle club I’ve been in practically my whole damn life. Back in the day, I was the Sergeant in Arms, the muscle, the enforcer tracking down our enemies and settling scores. I’m still the best at what I do running circles around these young-ass punks thinkin’ that they are hot shit. I was the original shit-starter raising hell in Springdale, well me, and two other guys.
My best friend Colin Flynn was the Prez, and together we ruled the Pacific Northwest riding our bikes like two bad-asses straight outta hell. Nothing mattered but the club and the code of friendship. But shit changed fast. With the money and power, came women who wanted a piece. And nothing screws up a man’s head more than a pussy tighter than a glove and a pair of sugar tits that melt on your tongue.
These days the bar keeps me busy, but I’m a man who is connected, and I always watch my back. Trash has a way of coming back long after you take it out and I’m not taking any chances on letting its stink touch me anymore.
Unfortunately for Colin and my other buddy, John Masters—the two of them tangled over more than one broad—while I kept my both my dick and heart away from club chicks.
Until, her.
Fuck. Colin never knew how I loved the woman he married and how much it tore me up to watch her belly swell with his child. I’d leave this very bar and drink until I couldn’t see straight. ‘Course back then this place was called Stan’s and was a friggin’ dump.
She was young and beautiful. Layla Flynn was a classy broad. She was smart too, but she changed when she got mixed-up with Colin and John. She was Colin’s wife, John’s side-piece, and the love of my life.
Shit was already too fucked-up for me to get involved. Leaving town was the best thing she could’ve done for herself. But she left her baby girl behind. That tiny hellion had a hold on my heart just like her mama did. I protected her every day of her life. Now, Shanna belongs to Duke. He’s the club’s previous Prez, and no one gets near her. But she’s still connected to this place. Her grandfather started this business, and her father turned this bar into Creed’s clubhouse. Her man, Duke, burned it to the ground and then re-built it with me. This building is a landmark, just as important as the town hall.
On this soil blood’s been spilled, men have been made, heck maybe even a few babies too. This bar is the lifeblood of the people here. Springdale would feel hollow without it. It’s a place to gather and drink, remember the past and celebrate the present. It might have had a shady start, but today The Sassy Wench and Tavern’s a legit business. I won’t launder club money through my bar, and our enemies are still out there. Every window has shatter-proof glass, the camera system is tight, and I’m always packin’ heat.
Sighing, I turn from the window. My office chair creaks as I sit and open her file.
Name: Devon St. John
Age: 30
Previous Address: 26 Valley Lane Naperville, IL
My eyes skim the notes Federico wrote up. He started as the bouncer, but he pledged to Creed and Duke gave him his patch. He’s Duke’s eyes and ears in Springdale, and she’s been sniffing around—asking questions. It’s suspicious as hell. “Who are you darlin’?” But the picture Federico snapped of her jogging in the park doesn’t answer. Her long dark hair is in a ponytail off her face, her eyes the color of a stormy sea, hide secrets.
My hands grip the edge of my desk. Christ, she’s hot as fuck, and I’m a sick pervert for noticing how tight her ass was when she walked in.
Hell, the way she moaned when tasting my sauce made me wonder if that’s how she moans when her man’s making her come. I had to turn away and pretend to stir the pot until my hard-on calmed down. I’ve got no business checking her out. She’s my employee, and although I’ve fucked a patron or two, never someone whose paycheck has my signature on it.
I almost fell over when she called askin’ for work. I’d hire her sweet butt just to keep an eye on it. I knew within an hour of her moving to town that Devon was gonna be trouble. Good lookin’ women always are. I need to keep myself in check. Hell, I’ve had plenty of top-shelf women back in my prime. Some might say—I could bag even more now. But ever since I’ve opened Sassy’s, I’ve calmed down my ways. When this used to be Stan’s Place, I came in about every night. I’d grab a meal and stay until closing. And if I got shit-faced enough on a night when the band brought in the crowds—I often found myself in a dark corner with my hand up a skirt or in the back lot with my zipper down. Shit, they always came to me. I don’t remember the last time I pursued a hook-up.
I pinch the bridge of my nose feeling a headache coming on. There’s something damn familiar about that girl. It’s in my head somewhere—I just can’t find the missing puzzle piece of where she fits.
“I’m so fucked, Lucy,” I grab a bottle of cold water and slam the fridge door.
“I told you it was a bad idea to go live there. I can’t believe you left when I have a summer share at the lake. Although most of the guys are engaged or married.”
“Yeah, I do miss Chicago in August… but you don’t understand,” I reply flopping down on the lumpy bed.
“What happened?”
“I took a waitressing job.”
“What? Why? Doesn’t your job at the school start in less than a month?”
“Yeah, it does. But there’s this guy, Roger. He definitely knows who my mother was.”
“Good. Just ask him straight out. Get your answers and get your ass back home. I miss you Dev.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Of course it is.”
“It’s not, I think he might hate her. And it’s more… god, I can’t explain it. This town—it’s wild. The trees are so tall it’s like they block out the sun leaving everything underneath covered in streaks of sunlight. The air smells like cars were never invented and the men—they are huge! Picture this: hot as hell lumberjacks meet the Sons of Anarchy.”
“Holy shit. You found heaven girl, and I’m booking my ticket.”
“Seriously? You’ll come for a visit?”
“Hells yeah. You better not be lying about the men. I need to see this for myself.”
“I’m not,” I laugh feeling so much better about everything. “But Lucy, the guy I was telling you about, Roger… he’s like in his fifties or something.”
“Get out.”
“I know. Is it weird that I’m so attracted to him?”
“No. Not if he’s as hot as you say he is.”
“He looks like Charlie Hunnam, that guy who played Jax in Sons…. if you added ten years—okay, maybe fifteen, tops.”
“Damn. I’m definitely coming now.”
“Heck, the principal just called me, the music teacher met some guy in Cabo on her summer break, and she’s not coming back. If you like Springdale, maybe you could stay?”
“Um, one thing at a time Dev,” she laughs hanging up.
Feeling much better, I spring up from my bed and open my closet. My hands slide each hanger until I find what I’m looking for—my hot pink tube top that I bought for my vacation with Luce a few years back. With a good push-up bra underneath, it raises my cleavage a good three inches. Shuffling over to my dresser, my hands search through each drawer until I find my denim cut-offs. I’m going to look damn hot tonight. Putting the clothes on my bed, I enter the bathroom and get to work. Turning the shower on, I get in thinking about how I can’t wait to see the look on Roger’s face. I wonder if he’ll play it cool pretending not to notice me, or if his ice-blue eyes will burn with heat.
But most of all I wonder: Why do I even care?
“What are you staring at, girl?”
“You old man. You’re hot as fuck.”
“Get back to work.”
“Gladly,” I smirk, bending down to pick up a napkin that had fallen on the floor.
“Jesus H Christ,” he mutters under his breath.
I grin, feeling his hot eyes on my body. There’s no dress code at the Sassy Wench, and every day I come to work wearing just a little less. My friends back home think I’m whack lusting after some man twenty years my senior, but damn the man is fine. He has more muscles than a street fighter and when he puts on his glasses to do paperwork; I instantly get wet.
He must have a story. And I’m going to find out what it is. But there’s no way in hell—he’s going to find out mine.
It’s my third day working here, but it already feels as if I’ve worked here forever. Not because the job is hard but because it seems so familiar. With a grin, I finish setting the tables and pretend to ignore him seated at the bar reading a stack of invoices with those sexy rims on. My thighs tingle. He’s so fuckin’ hot, such a jerk only speaking in grunts, but damn his huge body covered in ink makes me want to trace each line with my tongue and make him go insane for me. Then when he’s at my mercy—begging me to put him out of his misery and sink down on him, riding us both to esctasy—I’d stop. I’d make him beg for me and not let him come until he apologizes and tells me everything he knows.
“I’ll have the Wellington salad with the chicken on the side…,” the cool tip of the metal pen slides between my lips. I work it in and out between my plump limps staring at Rog over the head of the businesswoman ordering lunch, before taking it out and jotting down their order.
His hands move down under the bar as if he’s adjusting his pants. I can’t make out what he’s muttering, and I smirk raising my eyebrows at him.
“… and I’ll have the Cobb salad and a glass of iced-tea,” the other customer tells me.
“Sure. I’ll grab your drinks and be right back.”
My eyes meet Roger’s, and everything they ordered goes right out my head. I look down at the pad I was writing their order on, stunned at what’s there.
I didn’t write down a damn thing.
It’s just a bunch of quick scribbles and doodles with a few words written in nonsensical script.
With a red face and a rapidly beating heart, I slip the pad into the back pocket of my snug shorts and walk to the bar ordering two iced-teas trying to ignore the delicious smell and body heat radiating from Rog sittin’ there.
I’m not even looking at him, my teeth sink into my lip, and I stifle a moan feeling my nipples tighten under his watchful gaze. I feel his eyes on me. I feel him looking at me all the time, but whenever I look back, he looks away.
I can’t tell if he’s watchin’ me because I’m new and he wants to make sure I’m not screwing up or if it’s something more.
Damn, I hope it’s something more.