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Once upon a time, these motherfuckers wouldn’t have dared touch me. But when my dad was murdered, I ended up trapped under their brutal care. The MC claimed it was to honor their old leader, but the moment I rejected the new leader’s offer of marriage on my 18th birthday, my cruel fate was sealed.
Now I was nothing more than a fuck-toy, under punishment for insulting the president, and forced to pay restitution to the club for all monies I had “taken” while under their care after my father died. And when I tried to escape my awful life, I was punished again.
“Hey girl, do you know where the timesheets are?” a harried Megan asked as she rushed past me with her arms full of empty trays.
The jostling caused one of the dipping cups filled with mayo to fall from her stack. I caught the container before it hit the floor, but not without spilling. I saved myself having to mop, but now white goo was smeared across the melanin on my fingers like I’d just given a messy hand job.
Clenching my jaw, I shrugged. “Why are you asking me? I literally just walked through the doors. Go ask the boss man.” I threw the offending container in the trash and wiped my sticky palms on a dish towel.
Megan never tried to search for the things she needed around the diner, instead expecting the rest of us to do it for her. It was irritating. The only time she “tried” at anything was when she was on her back for the MC.
I, however, couldn’t live that carefree any longer. Not after what I’d done. I needed the money. I threw the sticky towel in the wash bin.
“Ask him for me?” She shot me a quick smile before she grabbed the coffee carafe and headed over to her table with a bit of a shimmy.
Bristling, I tried to cover my true feelings with a forced giggle while muttering to myself all the way into the manager’s office. I couldn’t let them get me down. If it went back to him, I would have more than lazy servers who didn’t want to work hounding my ass.
At twenty-four, I was dead on my feet. I worked extra shifts and tried my hardest to pick up the slack around the restaurant. But some servers around here didn’t care to do a good job. They were content with doing the bare minimum—calling out all the time, never showing up for their shift. We had a whole lecture on the importance of time management, but still the girls just laughed and did what they wanted.
I lightly knocked on the opened office door, knowing my boss was probably elbow deep in paperwork. “Hey Ted, Megan was looking for the time sheets. Do you have any more?”
Ted looked up at me from his computer screen. “I think I put them somewhere over...” He moved the papers on his desk around until he found the correct stack. “Here.” He held them out to me.
“Thank you.” I saluted him and headed out to the kitchen.
Sometimes Megan acted like Ted couldn’t run the diner. If it were up to her, the MC would be the ones running this place. But then it would be no better than the dive bar they had up the street, overrun with drunk people and prospects selling drugs out front. Since the MC pretty much owned the town, they didn’t even bother to act like their bar was a legitimate business. Sure, they sold alcohol and had music blaring, but it was dangerous walking into that bar by yourself unless you were about that life.
The sweltering heat slapped me in the face as soon as I walked into the kitchen. I picked my curls up off the nape of my neck, enjoying the small breeze from the blowing fan over the swinging doors. Many of the staff ran around, yelling out orders as they kept up with the flow in the restaurant.
Tony, a line cook, caught my eye and winked. It brought a smile to my face. The guys in the kitchen were always so nice— at least to me. They could be real bastards to a server who pissed them off.
I pulled a hair tie off my wrist with my teeth and did a quick, tight bun. I had been listening for the sound of motorcycles all morning, knowing that the MC would soon be visiting to fuck with me, as they always did these days. Once upon a time, I wore pretty ponytails that made customers compliment my soft curls, an interaction that always led to more tips. But I learned my lesson the hard way. Now if I left it down, the assholes who often stopped by to teach me a lesson would drag me by it. Best be prepared in case they got the drop on me again, so tight buns were now the style of choice.
My chest felt tight as I walked past the guys in the kitchen and grabbed some menus. It was time to get to work. I couldn’t wallow in the past. It wouldn’t bring my father back. Nor would it heal the hidden pain I kept stuffed beneath the surface. Instead, I held my head up high and threw my shoulders back.
I got this.
An hour into my shift and I was breaking out into a sweat. Ted preferred ceiling fans over AC to save money on electricity, but I wondered how customers felt about sweaty people serving their food.
A rumbling thunder sounded from outside and I tripped over my feet, almost dropping my tray. The empty glasses rattled in my shaking hands as I placed the tray down. Trying to be as nonchalant as I could be, I ducked behind the counter and held my breath, praying they wouldn’t find me.
Don’t see me. Don’t see me, please.
The bell chimed over the front door, but I didn’t get up. My legs were trembling, and my heart raced so fast it was painful in my chest. I figured it was too much to hope that they would simply talk to Megan, eat their food, and leave. If only I was so lucky in this life.
“Hey Megan,” a familiar rumble called out. “Come here.”
I heard the squeak of her sneakers on the tiling.
“Yeah, Grifter?” I didn’t have to look to know she had her
cleavage out and was probably licking her lips trying to entice him into a bathroom quickie.
“Where the fuck is she?” he growled.
I slapped my hands over my mouth, hoping he didn’t hear me whimper. Tears filled my eyes and I prayed for once that Megan wouldn’t fuck me over like she always did.
Unlike Josh, Megan’s main man, Grifter didn’t play games. He didn’t fuck around too much with the house bunnies who just wanted a ride on his bike.
