AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter One
When the Alpha Riders showed up at the Road Rage Bar, the room fell deadly quiet. I didn't even bat an eye though. To me, they were just another group of tattooed bikers in leather kuttes, jeans, and sunglasses.
From my position behind the bar, I've seen more than my fair share of rough men – truckers, lumberjacks, and drifters come through all the time. They usually don't give me much trouble as long as I keep my head down and the alcohol flowing.
But I am a woman in a man's world – I have tits and legs and an ass that men think they can grab when they've had too much to drink and their judgment is down the toilet. When some drunk moron gets handsy with me, I know how to break bones if I need to.
I've never had any problems with the Alpha Riders though. They rule the highways of Southern California and crossing their path would earn anyone a beatdown of a lifetime until they’re groveling on their knees, begging for mercy.
Striding into the bar at the front of the group was Brewer Nelson – a broad, dark-haired man with a shadow of stubble over his strong jaw and a death glare that could put anyone in an early grave. A scar sliced through his right eyebrow, rendering him even more menacing with just one look. And he'd patched more bullet holes in his kutte than anyone I'd ever seen. This man had clearly been through hell and back again. Or he’d started more than his fair share of fights.
"Round of whiskeys," Brewer grunted in my direction.
"Jack Daniels?" I asked.
"The one and only."
"Comin' right up," I replied, my gaze focused on the bar and not him.
Making eye contact served as an invitation for any number of things, from flirtation and sex to violence. I wasn't looking for any of that so I directed my attention to retrieving a bottle of Jack Daniels and pouring shots for each member of Brewer's club – nine in all.
Despite my lack of eye contact, I couldn't help sneaking a glance at Brewer. Tattoos scrolled up one arm, from his wrist to his shoulder – bones and roses, a winding road amid the boiling clouds of a lightning storm, stars and crosses, knives and bullets. His other arm was clean, all smooth, tanned skin over biceps nearly the size of my head. His hands were huge, knuckles calloused, and for a split second, my mind ran away, wondering what it would be like to feel those hands on my body, his thick fingers gliding between my thighs…
"See something you like, sweetheart?"
Brewer's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. With a flush of heat, I realized I'd been caught staring. He raised his eyebrows, his gaze level and unwavering. My lower belly tightened at that look. I couldn't deny that I found Brewer attractive. But my interest had to stop there.
I didn't get involved with men at the bar where I worked. They weren't likely to stick around. And most of the time, it only got me into trouble, which was the last thing I needed. Mixing business with pleasure was never a good idea. Alcohol, sex, and testosterone were a potent combination and the last thing I needed was some asshole thinking they had staked their claim on me because of a one-night stand.
So I kept it strictly professional – I served drinks, I broke up fights, and I called the cops when things got really nasty.
I grew up around here in Merry Field. Southern California wasn't the gentlest place in the world, with its desert landscape and unrelenting heat. At one time, I had tried to get away, imagining a life for myself that involved yachts and expensive dresses and champagne whenever I wanted it. Worrying about having enough money to pay the rent would be a distant nightmare I never had to think about again.
It blew up in my face though. And I found myself right back in Merry Field again.
In an attempt to cover for my blunder of getting caught eyeing the president of the Alpha Riders MC, I quickly distributed the whiskies.
"Let me know if you need anything else," I said, before turning away. I busied myself with wiping down the bar, washing up the used glasses that were beginning to pile up at this time of night.
As I went about my work, I could feel Brewer's gaze on me. When I risked a glance in his direction, his ice-blue eyes followed me around the room. Then I heard the clank of a shot glass on the wood counter and the bark of "Another whisky."
When I raised my head, Brewer looked directly at me. I smoothed my palms down my jeans and made my way down the bar. As I poured him another whisky, he nodded his appreciation.
"Just leave the bottle this time, honey," he said. The low, deep rasp of his voice, coupled withhoneymade a surge of heat lick up my spine.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd been with a man who made my body react in such a visceral way – the flutter in my stomach, my mouth suddenly dry, the needy burn between my thighs. Everything about Brewer seethed with masculinity in a way that was damn near impossible to ignore. As long as I was in the same room with him, my body hummed with awareness of his presence.
I placed the bottle of Jack Daniels on the bar and slid it closer. When Brewer reached out to take it, his fingers brushed against mine. His touch sent an electric shock zipping down every nerve in my body but I didn't pull my hand away. I let Brewer's palm settle over mine, his thumb rubbing back and forth over my knuckles. This certainly wasn't helping to tame the fantasies racing through my head of Brewer's thick fingers stretching me open, his rough voice murmuring praises…
Oh, look at you. Good girl. You're soaked and I've barely touched you.
"What's your name, sweetheart?"
For the second time, Brewer's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I withdrew my hand and the absence of Brewer's touch made me strangle a needy whine in the back of my throat. Maybe I just needed to get laid to burn off all this sexual frustration. It had been two years since my last relationship, and it certainly hadn't been satisfying. I spent most of my waking hours at the bar, and since I refused to pick up anyone here, my choices were few and far between.
"You can call me bartender," I replied, putting distance between myself and Brewer.
I couldn't deny that I felt something toward Brewer, but I couldn't act on it. Bikers were trouble, especially a man like Brewer with scars on his knuckles. This man was comfortable with violence and I had more than enough of that to last a lifetime.
