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“Aw, c’mon. I heard you were at the cantina. Sorry I missed you.”
“I’m not.”
“That mouth’s gonna get you in trouble,” he warned, the playfulness gone from his tone.
Deciding to switch it up, Delphi turned again to head down a one-way road.Surely he won’t follow.To her dismay, he did. She glanced around, looking for her Macha bodyguard. The familiar truck was nowhere in sight.Shit, shit, shit!
“Where you off to so fast, Delphi? The boys and I would love for you to play a round of poker with us.”
“No, thanks.” She picked up her pace, but she was no match for a V6 engine.
“I can do this all night,” Grant heckled. “Just get in the car.” He pulled over and hopped out. He was bigger than he had been the last time she saw him. Meaner too, if she had to guess.
“Go away, Grant,” she said, hoping he didn’t hear the tremor in her voice.
Grant grabbed her wrist and yanked hard, causing her to trip and fall onto the pavement. “Just as clumsy as ever, aren’t you?”
Adrenaline coursed through her body. She wanted to cry but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Fuck off, Grant. We’re not together anymore, and we never will be again.”
She tried to move out of his reach, but he followed her, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her to him.
“Aw, don’t say that, baby.” He nuzzled his nose into the back of her neck. The sickening sound of laughter from the car made her stomach pitch. “We could be good together again.” He stroked her neck. “Let me show you I’m better than that Macha asshole I saw you with.”
Rage fueled her next movements, and before she knew it, Grant was kneeling on the ground, cupping his balls.
“Stay away from me, or I’ll send Macha to your door,” she warned before sprinting down the road. Her pulse throbbed in her throat, the desire to wash his stench off her more overwhelming by the step. Suddenly, she didn’t want just any Macha man to protect her. She wanted one in particular.Brewer.
CHAPTER19
BREWER
Neon lights flickeredin the windows, reminding Brewer to change the bulbs before the start of the next shift. The bar was jammed full of partiers celebrating St. Patrick’s Day. He hurried to pour drinks and noticed the tip jar stuffed with cash. People were always more generous when they were buzzed. And in his line of work, tips were what made the world go ’round.
“Table four needs a new bottle of whiskey,” one of the nymphs called.
Brewer stooped down and grabbed a bottle of Jameson from below the counter. “Don’t forget to add it to their bill this time.”
The nymph nodded, her long blonde ponytail swishing between her shoulder blades. That particular bartender tended to accept cash under the table instead of ringing customers into the system. He’d spoken to her about it several times, and she was receiving his last ounce of grace. It was time to get new blood in the bar.
A group of Macha bikers came in through the tattoo parlor and took their usual booth in the back. Brewer finished pouring the green-tinted beer for the man in front of him before grabbing a round of Guinness for his brothers and taking the bottles to the booth.
“Busy night,” Boulder said, immediately twisting open and taking a large gulp of the beer.
“St. Paddy’s Day always is.” He finished passing out the beers as a nymph stopped by with two bowls of pretzels. Boulder caught the woman by the waist and pulled her to sit on his lap. The girl giggled, her low-cut shirt printed with a cartoon leprechaun giving off the ideal vibe for the holiday.
“Hawk said the parlor is packed too,” Kevlar said, scanning the bar.
The Irish celebration wasn’t complete without a plastic pot o’ gold filled with plastic gold coins on the stage along with a DJ pumping out lively jams. The Irish jig competition would start after another few rounds, the prize being golden tickets for a night of bottomless tap beer.
“He’s running a discount on Irish-themed tattoos.” Brewer glanced toward the front. Two prospects were acting as bouncers tonight. Normally, they weren’t necessary, but something about the green beer made the Snowshoe drinkers crazier.
“Where’s your girl?” Kevlar asked with a knowing smile on his face.
The club had heard about the scheme to draw out Shovelhead that they’d come up with at church a week ago, but only a select few knew the truth about his and Delphi’s relationship.Or lack thereof.
Brewer pasted on a grin. “At the bistro, I bet. Probably a busy night there too.”
He turned on his heels and headed back to the bar before anyone else could give him shit. To his chagrin, Snoopy had been assigned to the first day of protection detail for Delphi. This kind of rotation among the club members was normal.Except the part where my name hasn’t come up.
