Chapter Seven
Chef
“What are you doing?”
I ignore TumTum, instead shoving the palm full of pain meds into my mouth and chasing it with bottled water.
“I’m going for a ride. I can’t sit here after seeing that wall of faces.
All those women and girls, fuck!” I throw my empty bottle at the trashcan, but instead it bounces off the wall and hits the floor.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself, stomping after it and bending to pick it up. I ignore the twinge in my gut.
“Kid, that's a shit idea. How many of them little pills did you take?” Flack asks from his spot at the bench.
“It was Tylenol. Nothing hard. I’m not fucking suicidal,” I mutter.
“Well, I ain’t letting you go out there like that. You wanna go? You’re with me,” TumTum says, arms crossed over his chest.
“Huh?”
“You heard me. Backpack.”
“No.” I jab a finger in his direction. “Hell no.” I’d rather tear my stitches riding my own bike before I’d get on the back of TumTum’s.
“Well, then you don’t need wind therapy as bad as you think you do. Besides, you got work brother.” TumTum grins, throwing SUV keys at me.
“You sure the fuck do,” Flack adds, squeezing my shoulder on his way past. “I know what you’re feeling, kid, but riding in your state, spitting mad and cut up, aint gonna help anyone or anything.
” My chin drops to my chest, and I know he’s right.
“Chop chop, kid. Jason can’t run the whole garage by himself all day. ”
“Yeah, gimme five and I’ll be on my way.”
I watch him leave, and it doesn't take long before my gaze drifts to Sage through the service hatch. She’s in deep conversation with Damian and Justice and as much as I want to know what they’re talking about, I’m not in the right frame of mind.
I just need to grab my shit, get to work and go about my day.
Yep, that’s what I’ll do. What I won’t do is mess with Sage or grab my go bag and go hunting for Nathaniel Mercy and Ashfall.
“Brother, you gonna be good?” TumTum asks, his blonde brow furrowed.
“Yeah, brother, I’ll be good. Just need to get outta here.”
I turn to leave, deciding to go out the back door rather than the front.
“Hey, Chef?” I look over my shoulder at TumTum. “Come by the BBQ Shack at lunch. I’ll have your favourite waiting for ya.” He gives me a smile and I can’t help my lips twitching in return.
“TumTum?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks man.”
“Anytime brother.” His words follow me as I walk out the door, wandering the back path until it meets up with the main pathway to all the houses here.
I would prefer to have escaped straight to work, but I’m a dumbass that was so caught up in Sage this morning that I forgot half my shit.
“Thought I’d find you out here,” a soft voice says behind me.
“Yeah, I forgot some shit for work.” I shrug, avoiding Sage’s gaze. Not because I don’t want to look at her, but because I don’t want her to see how riled up I am.
“It’s fucked up.”
“What’s fucked up?”
“Nathaniel. Ashfall. Everything.” She lets out a cute huff.
“When you put it that way,” I say, darting a glance at her then back to the path.
“Hey,” she reaches out, laying a hand on my arm, slowing me down. “We’ll get them back. Bring them home to their families.”
My lips tip up as she chats away, telling me everything will be OK, smoothing over my rough edges. Calming me down in a way no one has ever managed. All while being spitting mad herself.
“Have a good day, Chef,” she says sweetly, walking through the door of our little house, leaving me on the doorstep, gazing after her.
Flack’s throaty motorcycle pipes rip through the silence and I know I gotta get my ass into gear. Shaking off my heavy thoughts I head into the kitchen, grabbing my bag and coffee cup, hesitating in the doorway, Sage looking at me expectantly.
“Thanks, Sage.”
Her face screws up. “What for?”
“For being you, babe.” I get outta there before I go too far, before I say some shit that will ruin the peace that Sage and I seem to have come to. All those words can wait until later, until I’ve earned her back.
Until then, I gotta think of ways to make her fall for me all while keeping her safe, hunting down Ashfall and this Nathaniel fucker. What’s the worst that can happen?
Sage
“Huh?” I ask for the 1000th time before realizing that TumTum isn't talking to me.
No, for the 1000th time he’s talking to his meat. I try not to snort but this man really loves the whole pit master thing with his full chest. He’s over there, slapping some concoction onto the meat that’s slowly cooking, chatting away to it like it’s his long lost bestie.
“You’ll get used to it,” Sniper says quietly as he goes about his business. Whatever that is.
Somehow working at the BBQ Shack seemed like it was going to be easy and a way to keep my mind off of things.
Instead I’ve been wrapping cutlery in paper napkins and organizing paper plates.
Not quite as glamorous as I pictured but at least the uniform is cute.
It’s a black tee with a cute pig butt on the front.
And a baseball cap. Which means I can wear my jeans and sneakers, and not have to do my hair. That’s a win in my mind.
“We got about three minutes ‘fore it all goes to hell. You set?”
I stare at Damian, not sure what he’s talking about.
I’ve been here three hours and the only customers we’ve had are two older men who are only here for the beer.
I slowly turn, eyes roving over the empty restaurant.
Actually, restaurant is a loose term for the BBQ Shack.
It’s a big open wooden building, like an old barn.
The floors are concrete that is stained with what I hope is BBQ sauce and meat drippings.
The tables are long, wooden picnic table types, with benches on either side.
There are no single tables, so everyone gets to sit all together, or like those two old men, one at each end of the table.
“I think I’ll be good,” I say, giving him a smile.
I’ve managed to work a full moon night shift at Rose Grove’s Emergency Room. I’m sure I can handle serving at the BBQ Shack in small town Louisiana.
“Okaaaay, if you say so.” Damian shrugs and smirks at Sniper.
“What was that look for?” I point at his smug face.
He says nothing, walking backwards toward TumTum who is still chatting away to his meat.
Turning back to my cutlery I make sure it’s all lined up neat.
Not sure why, they’re all plastic, but that doesn't mean I can’t zhoosh this place up a little.
I could probably design some new menus or something.
Bring in some flowers to soften the look.
Maybe even white wash the walls. I grab my phone off the counter and pull up Pinterest, ready to search up shack makeovers when the first vehicle pulls into the parking lot, kicking up dust.
“They’re heeeeere!” Damian yells, head thrown back as he shakes his head back and forth. “Let’s get the party started!”
***
I’m going to die. I’m sure of it. The place is slammed and it feels like I’ve been running nonstop.
There are no numbers to hand out which means I have to remember who ordered the “Ribbed for your Pleasure” with a side of “Slaw and Order” and who ordered the “Cluck around and find out chicken burger” with “Mac Daddy Cheese”.
“Sage! I got two servings of Meat Sweats!” TumTum yells from the back.
I tuck my sweaty flyaways into my cap and speed walk to the back, passing Damian with around six different plates in his hands. Oh to be fucking massive and have hands the size of hubcaps.
“I got this one, go take a break, girl,” Sniper says in his low voice as he carries the Meat Sweats meals past me.
I roll my head back on my shoulders, take a breath then blow it out.
I’m not taking a break while we’re slammed, no way.
Pulling my shoulders back I head back behind the counter, ready to take on the small line that is beginning to form.
It seems as soon as one person leaves a table, two new people turn up to order.
“Hey welcome to the BBQ Shack, what can I get ya?”
“What the hell are you doing here, Sage? You’re meant to be laying low!”
Closing my eyes I take a breath then meet Chef’s gaze. He’s pissed. For no real reason. I’m working with three MC brothers. And I’m packing.
“What’s that? You want the Last Meal Combo?” I ask with a raised brow.
Chef’’s eyes close slowly but I don’t miss his lip twitching. “You’re a pain in the ass, girly.”
“Yeah. I know. Look, I just can't sit around all day stewing. TumTum needed a hand, I needed a job, boom! Match made in Heaven.” I glance around before turning and pulling up the hem of the back of my shirt.
“Good girl,” Chef murmurs and I ignore how those words go straight to my vagina. The traitor.
“Yo, I ain’t got time for you two to flirt so speed this the fuck up.” Some rude douche from behind Chef yells. “You, Small Tits, move that fat ass and gimme the Low and Slow. To go.”
I blink once, then twice.
“What the fuck did you just say to her?” Chef says, so low it comes out as a growl.
“She heard me. Go on, get my order,” the guy says, clicking his fingers at me.
Chef puffs up and I know he’s about to go off, so I grab his bicep, trying to ignore how thick and hard it is, and pull him back. “It’s all good. I got this,” I murmur to him before smiling at the man behind him. “One Low and Slow coming right up.”
I hustle out the back, stopping Damian on the way. “I need a hand with something.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I need pubes. Fast.”
Damian’s brows hit the top of his hairline, but it doesn't stop a grin from forming on his face before confusion sets in. “Wait, why don’t you use your own?”
I give him a bored look. When he still looks at me perplexed I raise my eyebrows and wave my hands around until realization dawns on his face.
“Oh Sage, you dirty little thing, mon cher.” I must have a look on my face because he holds his hands up. “Nah, I like ’em with a little bit of fur. Somethin’ to keep me warm when the sun go down, yeah?” He waggles his brows and I’m not sure whether to be grossed out or laugh.
I go with grossed out when Damian dives his hand into his jeans, rummages around then holds a hand up in the air, a small number of pubes pinched between his finger and thumb.
“Are we bonding? Cos it damn near feels like we are.”
“We’re doing something,” I mutter, waving him to follow me. “TumTum, I need a Low and Slow to go, stat.”
TumTum doesn't say a word, just boxes up a crap ton of brisket with the trimmings.
“And for the garnish, m’lady.” Damian snorts, sprinkling his offering over the top.
I mix it in with a plastic fork before grinning at Damian and heading back out front. Am I surprised to see the douche bag is now sporting a fat lip and Chef is glaring at him, arms crossed over his broad chest? No, I am not.
“Here you are sir,” I say with extra pep, cos why the hell not.
I hand over his box and he throws money in my direction before stalking off. Chef moves to stop him but I wave him off.
“Let him go. He’s got another surprise coming.”
Chef’s eyes narrow. “What did you do?”
“It’s not what I did, per se, but what Damian did.”
Chef’s eyes move over my shoulder, landing on Damian who gives him a finger wave, then stops to investigate his fingers.
“Dammit, I missed one!”
Chef’’s gaze meets mine and he raises a thick brow.
“You don’t wanna know,” I reply, glad that his earlier mood has lifted.
Not that it matters to me. We’re friends.
His feelings have no bearing on my wanting to work, especially in a safe environment with men I know and trust with my life.
I open my mouth to ask what he wants to order but my attention is snatched away by three blacked out SUVs as they pull into the parking lot, kicking up dust. Damian lets out a low whistle as he comes to stand beside me, and we watch as the occupants of the vehicles start to emerge.
“That’s them folk from the bar,” Damian mutters.
Before I know it, Chef is on my other side, and we watch as the group slowly walks to the counter. Each and every one of them is dressed the same. Khaki trousers, button up shirts, hair short and tidy.
“See? That’s the camel toe I was tellin’ you bout!” Damian says, not only out loud for the whole shack to hear, but also pointing with his big finger in the direction of the largest man camel toe I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“Damn,” slips unbidden out of my mouth, but it is mesmerizing.
A flash and a quiet click sound goes off next to me and my gaze shoots to Damian. “What? I gotta show Justice.”
I think for a moment, before leaning into him. “And Chewy. She’ll love it.”
“Yeah, I got you.” His fingers fly over the screen and I’m so invested in what he’s typing that I ignore the group at the counter until someone clears their throat.
And there, right in front of me, is Nathaniel Mercy, the man I’m meant to marry.