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CHAPTER1
BREWER
Slinginga dish towel over his left shoulder, Brewer Stapleton waved at the group of tourists leaving the bar. If he wasn’t already late for church, he’d have taken one or two of those blonde, tanned beauties to his room and shown them exactly how charming he could be.
He watched the last woman shut the side door, her miniskirt riding up her long legs.Damn you, Rubble, for calling a meeting before happy hour.Shaking his head, Brewer willed his blood to cool. He couldn’t go to church with tight jeans. More than one nymph would release the pressure, but he didn’t have time. Time to himself was something he rarely had.
“Be back in a bit,” he called to the night manager before walking out the doors.
The crisp spring air bit at his face but less intensely than it should, thanks to his bushy red beard. He zipped up his leather jacket with the Macha emblem stamped on the back and his name and role in the club on the front. For as long as he could remember, he’d been in Macha. His parents met thanks to the MC, and both he and his sister were conceived and delivered in Macha’s clubhouse. Macha was in his blood. He’d never leave the club that was his family.
A stray snowflake fell on his head, and he smirked. Colorado’s springtime was a daily game of roulette. After the brutal winter, he was ready for sunshine, beer, and riding his motorcycle until the stars burned out.
Brewer opened the door to the clubhouse, stepped inside, and inhaled the sweet scent of baked blueberry. He stopped by the kitchen and snatched a turnover cooling on the racks.
“Oy! Those are for later,” Isa scolded, her Irish accent making him grin.
“Sorry, gotta run.” He waved and headed in the other direction. No doubt Isa was rolling her eyes and cursing under her breath. She was his distant cousin, but even if she hadn’t been, they’d still get along like siblings always teasing each other.
Brewer snuck passed two nymphs arguing in the den, his little sister patiently enacting her madam role despite the annoyed expression on her face. Dolly could handle her own. Hell, he’d witnessed her take out a biker twice her size and not break a sweat. She’d fix whatever problem her nymphs had.
Finally reaching the inner sanctum of Macha’s clubhouse, Brewer pulled out a chair and plopped down between Kevlar and Hawk.
“I see you’re stealing from my old lady again,” Doc said with a knowing look from across the table.
Brewer stuffed the rest of the pastry in his mouth and shrugged. “Least that’s all I’m stealing. I could’ve whisked her away last summer.”
Hawk snickered and Doc glared at Hawk. “In your dreams.”
Chuckling, Brewer sat back and swiveled his chair, ready for church to be over. The bar, Booze & Tattoos, was hosting a karaoke night in less than an hour, and he couldn’t wait to hear the amateurs take the stage.Plus, rein in a little action for later.
Reaper, the club president, rapped the wooden gavel on the table, and the room went silent. “Thank you all for making it to this last-minute meeting. Brewer, I know the bar has a gig tonight, so we won’t keep you long.”
Several pairs of eyes landed on Brewer, and he nodded once. The bar staff could survive without him, but he appreciated the shout-out nevertheless.
Reaper glanced at the mountain of a man to his left. “It’s time for me to step down as president.”
A chorus of voices echoed in the room, but Reaper held up his hand and hushed them.
“I’m gettin’ old, boys. You’ve all seen it over the last year.” He pulled out his reading glasses and waved them. “Lord knows I can’t see worth shit. Macha needs better for her president. You also need a VP. One who won’t ever betray our family.”
Doc clenched his hands to fists on the tabletop. Less than a year ago, the club had endured the worst kind of betrayal from their own vice president. It was more than time to put that scoundrel out of their minds.
But Brewer couldn’t. Not after Kevlar and his old lady, Nikita, had mentioned seeing the last VP, Shovelhead, hanging around Diablos and the Greenback Cutthroats MCs.
“I’ve been president of this mighty club in Snowshoe for twenty-five years. I look forward to watching Macha grow during my retirement.” He smiled sadly. “I won’t be far away, so don’t worry. You’re not rid of me yet.”
The club chuckled good-naturedly. Reaper and Queenie, his old lady, were family, and that’s how they’d stay long after the new president took the seat.
“We’ll vote on all cabinet roles before summer begins. If you’d like to toss your patch in the ring for president or vice president, come talk with me.” Reaper looked around the room slowly. “Any one of you could handle these roles, but only two will be elected. Think it over.” He nodded to Rubble, the club’s sergeant at arms. “Anything you’d like to add?”
Rubble shook his head. Even though he’d be a kick-ass president, Brewer knew Rubble wouldn’t want it. The onetime MMA fighter and former Marine was better behind the scenes and amid the action. A diplomacy position wasn’t Rubble.
“In that case, may the goddess ride with you.” Reaper pounded the gavel once. Members immediately started to chatter, milling about while they all discussed the impending presidency change. Several went up to Reaper, intent on making their interest clear.
Brewer cracked his neck from side to side. Politics wasn’t one of his interests. Beer, women, fast bikes, and good food, on the other hand…. They were all on his daily checklist.
“What do you think of all this?” Hawk asked, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.
