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“Well, I’ll make my deposit in the morning, and then we can go shopping for a place to put a cash offer. We’ll find a place that has that loft or whatever you’re looking for, then we can start moving you in. It might not have electricity or running water, but it’ll be better than what you’re in now.”
“You’re damn right it will be,” I said.
“When’s your next day off?” she asked.
“I’ve got Sunday and Monday,” I said.
“Let’s shoot for Monday then? The deposit will have hit, and I can go with you. I don’t think I have Sunday off.”
“Monday, it is, then.”
CHAPTER 2
Another night, another shift at The Skull.
The bar was one of the most popular in my home town, Lucas Corner, California. It was a small desert town in the southern part of the state, surrounded by motorcycle clubs, which meant there was always some excitement brewing somewhere. The Skull was the only bar in town that didn't have a club designation, and it gave us an edge over our affiliated competition.
We served all the clubs without bias, and the only rule was that they couldn't start shit while they were in there. The bar’s reputation spread, and our little shithole quickly became a neutral meeting ground whenever issues needed to be resolved. If club members had problems, or if people wanted to cross-pollinate and marry into other clubs, they could meet in the bar, have a drink, be offered unbiased service, and leave with answers.
And if anyone kicked up any shit, they were tossed out on their asses.
My boss called me up and asked me if I wanted to have an extra shift, so I told him I would come in and help. The bar was always empty until eleven at night, but sometimes pre-game stragglers came in. These were the people who wanted to get drunk before they went off to their club-affiliated bars scattered throughout Lucas Corner. From eight until eleven, I recognized everyone. It was always the same people asking for the same drinks every single time. The monotony helped me mentally slip into the rest of my shift, which would work me like a dog until four in the morning.
I was so fucking ready for my two days off.
But instead of the monotony I was ready for, I had an unexpected little surprise. Three men came in through the doors of the bar. I had no idea who the fuck they were, but it was obvious they were related. They were all tall, with black hair and blue eyes, strong jawlines, and there were bulging muscles underneath their clothes that made my nipples harden.
Fuck. They were beautiful.
Their eyes scanned the bar before the three of them locked onto me. They headed toward the bar, and I readied myself for whatever drinks these men wanted. My heart was hammering against my chest as they got closer, and once they sat down, I could smell the fresh scent of their leather.
Holy hell, it was attractive when a man took care of his leather.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“Wrong question.”
The tallest one with the iciest blue eyes locked his gaze on me. His voice was deep, like distant rolling thunder. He sat with his back leaned against the chair and his shoulders upright with confidence. His chest was puffed out, pressing his chiseled muscles against his tight white shirt.
I felt myself growing weak in the knees just looking at him.
“Then what’s the right one?” I asked.
“What can we do to help you?”
One of the other men with the mesmerizing blue eyes had my attention now. His shirt was cut a little deeper down his chest, revealing the top of a tattoo. He was slightly thinner than the other two, but his forearms boasted of strength. Pulsing veins so hot that I wanted to rake my tongue across the tattooed rose on his skin. His voice was commanding, but lighter than the man who had previously spoken.
“Help me?” I asked. “What do you mean? I’m pretty sure I’m the one that’s supposed to be serving you drinks.”
“Doesn’t mean you don’t need help.”
The third one that had been quiet up until this point had spoken, and his voice was rough. Edgy. Pulled tight like he was stressed. He looked wound up like something had pissed him off.
I could think of a few ways to help him unwind if that was the issue.
“There’s not anything that needs to be done,” I said. “You guys thirsty? The bar’s officially open.”
“Looks like you still have chairs to put down.”
