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1
Blink
Iloved the open road. The freedom I got as my bike cut through the wind. How much more beautiful the world was when it wasn’t blocked by a windshield. There was something irreplaceable about hearing the roar of the road beneath my bike tires and the growl of the beast beneath me as I cut my way through the country roads.
But nothing would ever beat coming home to the clubhouse and walking inside. When I bought this place right after getting out of the military, it’d been a wreck. The realtor told me I probably would’ve been better off just tearing it down and building something new. But this place had something about it that drew me in, and I didn’t want to destroy it. Instead, I wanted to focus on restoring it.
So, the friends I’d made in the military and who had gotten out with me joined forces with me. They helped me pour money into this old building to restore it back to its former glory, and when I offered them a cut to be part of my small club, they took the opportunity to belong to something again with both hands.
Four years later and we were now a small but respected club. The four of us were all that made it up, but that was all we needed. There was strength to still be had in small numbers, and that was what we focused on.
“Fucking shit, my ass hurts,” Carver grumbled as we walked up to the clubhouse doors. Grit unlocked it and pushed one side open, and we followed him in, heading straight for the chapel so we could count this money out and go to the nearby bar to get food.
I was fucking starving.
We were all shit at cooking and only halfway decent at making a drink for ourselves. We’d been on the hunt for a good person to hire to cook for us and keep this place clean, but none of us had been impressed by any of the applications so far. Most of them were women more interested in trying to change a bad boy than actually doing any kind of work. And they were talkative, too, which meant they’d be untrustworthy. Last thing we needed was a bunch of gossipers.
I took my seat at the head of the table before pulling the envelope of cash out of the inside pocket of my cut. Grit took a seat to my left, Carver took a seat to my right, and Carter took a seat beside Carver. They silently watched as I began dividing up the money between the four of us and our club fund. Once it was divided, I slid their cut across to them before getting up and putting the cut for the club fund into the safe.
“Are we finally going to fucking eat now?” Carver griped.
I snorted and turned to face him once the safe was locked back. “You’re in a pissy mood today,” I noted.
He rolled his eyes at me. “My ass hurts from riding for hours with no break, and my stomach is eating my insides.”
Grit barked out a laugh and stood to his feet. “Let’s head to the bar. I need a drink. And I could do with one of their greasy burgers.”
I waved them off. “I’ll meet y’all there. I want to shower first.”
Grit clapped me on the back as he moved past me. “See you in a bit, brother.”
The bar was already packed when I walked in, which wasn’t all that uncommon this time of the evening. I saw the guys sitting in a corner booth, food already in front of them. To save the waitress some time, I headed to the bar and put in a order for a burger, basket of fries, and a beer.
“Hi! I just finished the app—”
I turned to face the woman who appeared beside me, and immediately, my breath caught in my lungs. She was so fucking beautiful, she captivated every bit of my attention without even trying. Her face was free of makeup, and her blonde hair hung down her back in soft waves. Skin-tight jeans shaped nicely to her perky, round ass, and the V-neck shirt she had on allowed me to see the swell of her breasts—it was just enough to tease the hell out of me.
“You new to town?” I asked her, my voice gruff.
She nodded as I eyed the application in her hand. “I heard they need help here.”
I hummed, letting my eyes meet hers. They were a startling shade of blue—somewhere between the blue of the ocean and the blue of the sky. A color all of its own. Probably wasn’t even a name for the shade.
“How good are you at cooking?” I found myself asking. I wanted her close. Wanted her somewhere I could see her every day. Something about this woman called to me.
“I’m pretty good at it,” she said, frowning at me now but answering my question despite her confusion. “I’m no chef, but no one’s ever complained.”
I nodded, drumming my fingers on the bar top. “You know how to make a drink?”
She nodded. “I was a bartender for my last two jobs. I can make most drinks in my sleep.”
I grabbed a napkin and a pen from the other side of the bar and quickly scrawled my club name, address, and phone number on the napkin. When I held it out to her, she slowly took it, eyeing me suspiciously.
“What’s this?”
“My brothers and I are looking to hire someone to cook, make drinks, and keep the clubhouse clean. Room and board are provided at no charge to you. And I’ll pay you exceptionally well. You’re free to quit whenever you want or never show up, but if you want the job, be at the clubhouse at eight in the morning.”
She eyed my cut. “So, you’re a biker?”
