Silent Heart (The Vlasov Bratva #5)

Chapter 1 – Harley

“ T able four is ready for their tab, the order is up for your six-top, and they’re out of paper towels in the ladies’ room,” Jonathan clipped out as he passed me in the expo station.

Closing my eyes, I drew in a deep breath. The Landing was slammed tonight—a big old welcome to summer and tourism.

This was why you took the seasonal job here, I reminded myself as I finished filling the sodas. It certainly wasn’t to parade around in the same, unimaginative uniform—which still fit from when I worked here in high school, thank you very much. Patting my apron to make sure I had adequate straws, I ventured into the noisy bar and grill. My boots clipped across the worn floor, the only deviation from the standard jeans and tee. So long as they were clean, which they were, the boss didn’t mind my choice of footwear.

Looking at the sea of patrons, I turned their heads into cartoon dollar signs. In the grand scheme of things, the bustling summer only lasted a few weeks. Just a short span of this craziness, and then I would be in the big city and too busy to waitress.

“I can do this,” I breathed, sliding to a stop in front of table three. “Coke with lime, Mountain Dew, and three root beers.”

I passed out the drinks to the snotnosed kids sporting sunburns and didn’t miss the subtle glances of the two older teens toward the bar. I groaned inwardly. These kids were going to try and con their way into getting an adult beverage. They would badger their parents like every other entitled rich kid coming to the lake. Granted, most Wisconsiners’ views on the alcohol laws were far more lax than residents in the surrounding states. If they were dining at some hole-in-the-wall joint, even the sheriff’s deputy would buy these underage girls drinks—don’t ask me how I knew that.

But the Landing had a strict serving policy. Mr. Janke had a reputation and came down hard on underage drinking. It wasn’t just the liquor license the owner was worried about. His own kid was in the same grade as me but never walked in cap and gown due to a drunk driving incident that ended his days right before graduation.

Gosh, I haven’t thought of Beau Janke in years. That had been one I thought I was going to marry. The long string of boyfriends after only proved how sweet first loves could be.

Table four flicked their fingers impatiently, making little check signs in the air. I finished jotting down the food order from table three, dropped the black book at table four, and sailed into the lady’s room.

After replacing the paper towel roll, I stopped at the sink. Baby strands of hair frizzed over my face. Dampening my fingers, I brushed them over the whispies.

“Those are not greys,” I assured myself.

And if the colorless strands weren’t as golden as the other blonder ones, it was due to the stress of finishing the online math class last week and working every night at the bar on top of my full-time day job at the clinic and the daily farm chores.

“Some good sunshine, a few hours on the lake, and I’ll look twenty-something again,” I promised my reflection, before bursting back into the restaurant.

Where I discovered that the two-top in the back was seated. Clenching my jaw, I considered delaying greeting the two-top, because table four was waving their ticket book, leaning in their chair to make sure I saw them, and one of the kids at table three had spilled their root beer.

But a quick glance at the occupants of the two-top had me stopping mid-step.

The dark-haired newcomers were as close to a pair of supermodels as was humanly possible without photoshop. They looked almost unreal sitting there all muscley, tanned, and inked. A mirage brought on by stress and exhaustion. But I wasn’t the only one looking. They’d attracted the attention of anyone with eyes. And why wouldn’t they? Men didn’t look like that—not in these parts.

Even seated, it was obvious that they were tall. While they had impressive builds, it wasn’t their physique that entranced me. The more I stared, the more something itched under my skin. Having spent more time around animals than humans, my highly developed sixth sense screamed that these two were different.

The hard part was, whatever vibe I was feeling from them, I didn’t know if I should run toward or away from them.

As if sensing my interest, the larger of the two men lifted his gaze, immediately pinning me with a stormy blue stare. I fell. Not literally, but there was a moment I found myself spilling into those depths. It was as if a vast chasm had opened, and I was the lucky soul to peek into the abyss.

Before he slammed a hard wall into place, forbidding my discovery of the multitude of secrets down there.

“Good evening, miss, can you help us? I can’t decide between the local Hefe Weizen Wheat microbrew, the summer Leinenkugel shandy, or an Old Milwaukee,” a lively voice quipped.

I had to tear my gaze away and force myself to respond to the second man. His features were similar, but this one had a darkness about him that he wore with a laughing grace. His blue eyes even twinkled. It made him look too damn pretty for his own good.

“Ah, nobody drinks Old Milwaukee unless they’re old, bald, and fat or a teen stealing it for a party,” I said before thinking better of it.

Damn! I had to get a grip on this waitressing thing. Just because I didn’t want to come back to it wasn’t an excuse to be bad at it.

“I like her, she’s honest,” the pretty one smirked. “Oh! Nice cowgirl boots. Those are awesome!”

“Thanks,” I responded quickly. They were just plain brown boots. “They’re my favorite.”

“I need a pair of those,” twinkles mused. “My cousin had some, but I’m rethinking my criticism of them.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

The other man simply watched in silence.

“Okay, so one craft brew—because the shandy sounds too fruity—and one iced tea,” the pretty one continued. He leaned over the table, addressing the silent one. “But I am tasting that beer.”

“Alright, ID please,” I breathed, ignoring the twist in my gut that I had other tables waiting for me.

Twinkle eyes threw back his head and laughed. “Miss, I’m as old as you are.”

“And I’m twenty,” I lied. “ID please, until you’re forty—which you’re clearly not—I check. It’s my job.”

“Ah, damn that collagen shit I’ve been taking. Keeping my baby face soft.” As he spoke, he dragged out his ID and presented it to me, wedding band flashing in the light.

Someone caught him already? No matter, it wasn’t him that called to me.

It was the other, who hadn’t spoken a single syllable. I was hyper aware of him.

Lucas Williams and Kole Williams. Both were from Chicago, and both were over thirty, although pretty one was barely that. It was unfair how nicely men aged.

“Brothers?” I handed the identification cards back, secretly loving that it gave me the ability to satisfy my curiosity.

“That’s what our parents say,” twinkle-eyed Lucas beamed. “How are the cheese curds?”

Kole took the ID back, and the pad of his thumb brushed against my skin. Electricity crackled through me, leaving a chill skittering over me.

Oh, my lanta! What the hell was that?

“They’re delicious.” Unfortunately, my voice came out as a squeak. “Want some?”

“Absolutely.”

I scooted away, snatching the booklet and ignoring the peeved looks of the guests at table four, while gracing Abbi, one of the bartenders, a grateful smile for her help with the spilt root beer.

By the time I circled back with the drinks for the two-top, it was just Kole at the table. He was silent, staring into space across the table. But to think he wasn’t aware of me would be incredibly na?ve. He tracked my movement as I hurried over.

Determined not to be intimidated by his good looks and strange energy, I flashed a winning smile. “So the beer for you, huh?”

His voice was rough. I felt it brush over me. “Yes, ma’am.”

I blinked. That was…hot. “Well, let me go grab the curds and then I’ll get you two something for dinner.”

Thankfully the beer didn’t slosh as I set it on the cocktail napkin.

“Did they tip you?” His abrupt question made me falter, my body stopping and twitching like a video tape stuck on rewind.

“Excuse me?” I clarified.

Those steady eyes watched me for a moment, before the man jerked his chin toward the vacated table four. “They were rude.”

They were. But…. “It’s my job. Part of the joys of table waiting. We’re understaffed tonight because of the weekend, and—”

The man leaned forward, grabbing my wrist. If it was static electricity before, it zapped me this time, making the hair on my arms stand on end. I sucked in a sharp breath. Through the sudden buzz in my brain, I noticed smaller details like the fact that his hands were large—very, very large—and they were rough. Working hands. Strong hands.

His voice was melted chocolate. “I’m sorry, Harley.”

My brain completely bypassed the fact that he was apologizing to me for the rudeness of the customers and focused solely on the fact that he knew my name.

How did he know my name?

And why did I like the way it sounded on his lips?

Before I could summon a coherent thought to my rescue, the stranger released me and moved back into his seat. Time resumed. The noises around me came into focus. Stammering an excuse, I darted away, not completely aware of my surroundings but trusting my body to operate on muscle memory. It continued that way the rest of the night until the two-top left. Only then did I draw a proper breath and wait for sanity to return.