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“Cute girl,” Pasha says, elbowing me as I take a bite of my eggs.
“What girl?” Greg asks, leaning across the table. “I thought you guys were visiting Angus last night.”
I roll my eyes, putting down my fork and reaching for the Bloody Mary I ordered. “We ran into some complications. Apparently, Angus is dead. Pasha verified it last night after we left the bar. The cause of death was listed as a motorcycle accident, but it’s the accident part I’m not really buying. Not sure why, but it doesn’t really sit right with me. Anyway, guess who the old man put in charge of the bar after he passed?”
“Who?” Greg asks, totally engrossed in my story already.
“His daughter, a woman named Oakley. I swear she can’t be older than twenty-five.”
“Twenty-one,” Pasha corrects. “I looked her up last night, too.”
Greg chuckles. “He was probably jerking off to pictures of her. Weren’t you, you old pervert?”
“Let me deal with the girl,” I say, holding up my hand, and the table falls silent. “As long as she makes her payments and doesn’t start screaming for someone to come save her, we’re in the clear. It’ll be business as usual.”
“But do you think a woman that young can handle a biker’s bar?” Greg asks. “I’ve heard of some old wenches running joints out here, but they’re mostly brothels. I don’t think Oakley will last long trying to run a bar.”
I shrug, taking a sip of my drink. “Probably not, but that’s not my business. I’m only interested in collecting what she now owes us by running that place. She seemed okay the last time I was there, but she’ll probably want to hire a few people to help soon or she’ll be overwhelmed. I’m sure the traffic is picking up again, especially since there’s a pretty girl behind the bar.”
“Very pretty,” Pasha says, grinning at Greg. “You should’ve seen her. Small tits, but perky.”
I tear off a piece of bread with my teeth, the crust scraping against my gums. “Nobody is touching Oakley, you got that?”
“Nobody but you, maybe,” Pasha says with a laugh. “You’ve ever seen a woman that scared and turned on at the same time? It was wild.”
Greg shakes his head. “Damn, I wish I had been there. You have to bring me around next time.”
I pretend to ignore them, trying to give off the impression that I couldn’t care less about Oakley, but inside my head, I’m going over every detail of her perfect body. I’m already obsessed with the way her auburn hair bounces across her shoulders, the red of her cheeks and the breathless way her mouth falls open when I say something daring to her.
If I were a less honorable man, I would’ve bent her over the desk and left her dripping. As it stands, I would benefit more from leaving her alone and allowing her to continue her payments. There are plenty of other women who would happily drop their panties for me.
The problem is, I don’t want that.
I want Oakley.
I dig into my eggs, trying to ignore the erection that’s pulsing against my left thigh. It’s embarrassing to be this turned on at a table full of men. I need to get it together.
I take another sip of my Bloody Mary, tabasco stinging my lips. “So, everything else is running smoothly, I assume?” I ask, looking expectantly at Greg and Pasha. They’re both midbite, but they freeze at the same time.
Greg puts his fork down. “There’s a…”
The waitress comes around at the worst time, as is their policy here, it seems. “Is everything alright?” she asks, her voice rising and falling in a well-rehearsed manner.
Pasha raises the bread basket. “I think we could do with a refill, please.”
She takes it and disappears back into the moderately busy restaurant. I like to have brunch here, but I’m starting to think we’re going to have to change spots soon. What used to be an open secret has turned into the local hotspot for tourists.
Greg clears his throat. “As I was saying, there’s a bit of an issue we’ve having with a few of the spots further out from the city. It seems like the Triple Six Angels have become more emboldened to collect tolls on the main road, and they’re really cranking up the prices. It’s threatening the customer bases of several bars and strip clubs down there.”
“Don’t they know they’re shooting themselves in the foot by doing that?” I ask, shaking my head. “That’s just basic economics.”
“A bunch of boneheaded Neanderthals, that lot,” Pasha says.
“Right, but I suppose we can’t just let them put themselves and everyone else out of business. The money they’re taking should be going to us,” I say.
The waitress comes back with a basket of fresh bread, and silence falls until she leaves again.
“So, we’re going to have to bust some heads if we see them buzzing around. I think we should send a message, but nothing that would warrant retaliation. I know they’re just a biker gang, but their leader, Stone, has a few homicides under his belt. We shouldn’t stir the pot.”
