Chapter 2
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Kayla
If one more guy hits on me tonight, I’m busting a bottle over his head. I’ll have to use a cheap bottle of beer. There’s no way I’m paying Bankz for an expensive bottle of wine or whiskey. And don’t even get me started on the glassware he buys for the bar. I’ve seen the invoice on his desk a few times. Somebody’s ripping him off.
One of the college guys pushes between two customers. He slaps his palm on the bar and smiles at me. Yeah, I see him. How could I not? He’s right in front of me. The little twinkle in his eyes doesn’t work on me like it has with the girls at the table next to him and his buddies.
“Hey, gorgeous.” Flattery won’t get him far, either. “How about another round?” He holds up the cash between two fingers.
“You know you have a server? You don’t have to come up here every time.” I grab four mugs and fill them with his table’s choice of draft beer.
This is the fourth time he’s come up here. I’ve seen Emily stop at his table several times. They refuse her help every time. Tipping the server can’t be the issue. He leaves me twenty bucks every time. Hey, I’m not complaining about the extra cash. My car is on its last leg. All of my tips are going into a downpayment fund.
“But then I wouldn’t get to see your pretty face up close.” His grin widens.
Yep. He’s flirting with me. Nope. It’s not going anywhere. The last time I fell for this took me down a dark road I never want to travel again. I swear, college guys must pass a manual for this scenario around campus. Maybe it’s an initiation to get into a fancy club. Whatever this is, he’ll do better lavishing it on the ladies sitting beside them.
I set the mugs on the bar and snatch the cash from his fingers. “Sounds like you have a personal problem.”
“I do.” He props his elbow on the bar and rests his chin in his hand. “I’m Blake. I’ve been watching you all night.”
I roll my eyes as I cash out his order and get his change. He’s a liar. He’s been flirting with every girl who walks by his table.
“Sounds creepy.” I offer him his change.
“Keep the change, love.” His grin widens. “What time do you get off? I can wait for you.”
Smooth. Real smooth. Not. And it’s not happening. I don’t deal with creepy jerks. Besides, he’s not my type at all—blond wavy hair, way too friendly, and extremely flirty with every woman in the building. I happily pocket the twenty-two-dollar tip and prepare to claw Blake’s eyes out. He might not be used to rejection, but oh well, it's not my problem. I don’t get a chance to say anything.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Bankz slides up next to me and drapes an arm over my shoulders. “College dude here giving you trouble?”
“Not anymore.” I could handle college dude, but this is even better.
Jerrard Banks owns JB’s Roadhouse. He wears the same outfit to work every night. Black boots, dark blue jeans, a T-shirt, those change colors. Tonight, his shirt is green. The one item he proudly wears everywhere, causing most people to avoid him, is his black leather Viking Warriors MC cut. It’s enough to strike a little fear into people, Blake included. If Bankz wasn’t enough, full fear joins us.
The guy sitting on the bar stool to Blake’s right is lifted off the stool and deposited on the floor behind the lady sitting next to him. Kellie and Bruce are a lovely couple. They aren’t technically dating yet. I’ve really enjoyed talking with them for the past hour.
Hendrix doesn’t sit on the empty bar stool. He leans his side against the bar, facing Blake, and glares. “The last guy who waited until she got off is still in a coma at St. Andrews.”
Blake swallows hard. He looks back at Bankz and me. The poor guy has turned white as a sheet. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
“Yep.” Bankz nods once. “I heard his family signed a do-not-resuscitate form last week.”
“Oh, man.” Hendrix looks devastated. “I really thought this one was going to pull through.”
These two are insane. No one is in the hospital because of me.
“Um.” Blake quickly grabs the handles of two mugs in each hand. “Sorry, miss. Forget I was here.”
“Not a problem.” It’s a lie. He was quickly becoming one.
“Won’t be one if you stay at your table,” Hendrix adds.
Blake doesn’t look back. When he gets to his table, one of his friends switches places with him so his back is to the bar. The guy now facing me, eyes widen as Blake tells them about his last trip to the bar. Trust me, it’s his last one. They’ll order through a server for the rest of the night or leave.
“You two are evil.” I try to look serious and irritated with them. I can’t hold it in and bust out laughing.
I freeze when I look across the bar. Emily is at Blake’s table. Bankz and Hendrix growl. Whoa. That’s not a good sign coming from a Viking, and two of them are doing it? Thankfully, Blake and his friends politely decline ordering anything more, and Emily moves to the next table.
“How’s Emily doing tonight?” Bankz asks.
“It’s not the bakery, but she’s holding her own out there.” I’ve kept my eye on her all night.
Bankz looks down at me. “Just so you know, if I hadn’t known we were going to be shorthanded tonight, I wouldn’t have hired her.”
“You still shouldn’t have,” Hendrix grumbles.
“Why? Emily’s great with customers. She runs the bakery without any problems. Nearly everyone here tonight knows her. She’s doing great.” I don’t understand what the problem is here.
Bankz shakes his head. “I’m not saying she’s a bad server.”
“Then what are you saying?” I put my hands on my hips and glare at my boss.
“Emily’s sweet. She’s been a friend of the club since high school, if not longer. She belongs in a bakery.” He looks across the room at Emily again. “This place isn’t sweet.”
“I know,” I whisper. Oh, how I know.
The Roadhouse can get rowdy and rough. Hendrix is our best line of defense. He owns the gun shop and shooting range. He’s also Bankz’s best friend. On weekends, he’s the head bouncer here.
“Just keep an eye on her.” He nods once to me and again to Hendrix before joining a few club members at a table in the back corner.
Hendrix finally sits on the bar stool. He rests his forearms on the bar and watches me for a moment. “How much does she need?”
“What?” I play dumb.
He sees right through me. “Emily Powell needs money. How much? And why?”
“Sorry, big guy. If I knew those answers, I couldn’t give them to you.” I know, but friend code is a big deal to me. I won’t break Emily’s trust.
“Is she in danger?”
I pause and bite my thumbnail.
“Kayla.” Hendrix’s voice hardens. “Emily is a club friend. She gets club protection. Is. She. In. Danger?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t…” He growls deeper this time.
“Look.” I hold both hands up. “If at any point I think she needs help, I’ll let you know.”
Emily needs help, but not the kind he’s referring to. Well, I don’t think so anyway. She gets worried a lot lately, but she hasn’t sounded like she was scared. Maybe she’s not telling me everything.
Hendrix glances over his shoulder at Emily. She’s writing down the order for the ladies next to Blake’s table. She’s laughing and having a nice time. Nothing looks out of place with her.
He turns back to me. “I know you trained her for this night over the past couple of weeks.” I open my mouth to deny it. He holds up a finger. “You did. You two met almost every day after the bakery closed. Did you at least give her some tips on how to protect herself?”
I glare at him like he’s an idiot. “Of course I did.” I jab my finger at him. “And just so you and everyone else know, Emily already knows how to protect herself.”
I love these guys. They really are idiots half the time. A woman can’t hang out with a motorcycle club for most of her life and not pick up tips on protecting herself.
“She’s had defensive training?” He looks hopeful.
I quickly smash it. “No, not that I know of.”
“Then how can you be sure? Is it worth taking a chance on something happening to her?” He’s got a good point.
I look away and lower my voice, “Jay gave her a knife.”
Hendrix drops his head back and releases a long breath. “Of course he did.”
Before the biggest biker in the room can pound me into the floor, Emily walks up beside him and hands me the ladies’ order.
“How’s it going out there?” I get to work making four martinis.
“Good. This is fun. It’s frustrating at times, but fun. I think I’m getting the hang of it.” She lightly laughs. “It’s not cupcakes, that's for sure.”
I laugh, too. “No, it’s not. If anyone gives you any trouble, just let Hendrix know. He’ll handle it.”
She turns and smiles at the big biker. “How’s bouncing tonight?”
Hendrix’s eyes widen, and he chokes on air. He’s about to disappear through the cracks in the floor.
“Here you go, Ronin.” I hand him a bottle of water and point to the front doors. “Looks like your buddy needs help.”
Whether or not he’s relieved to get out of this conversation, Hendrix rushes to help Colt with a couple of guys who appear to be drunk already. They won’t get in here tonight. Hendrix will pick them up and toss them into the street.
Emily looks a little heartbroken. It’s odd not seeing her smile. “Was it something I said?” Her smile slowly reappears. Oh, she knows exactly what she just did.
“Girl, you know you can’t say things to a biker that leaves any room for interpretation.” I can’t help but laugh. We all get a kick out of messing with these guys.
Emily watches the little heated argument at the front door while I finish making the martinis. As predicted, Hendrix and Colt escort the two drunk men outside.
As Emily walks away with the tray of drinks, the new TV monitor blinks to life, and the new app on all the club members’ phones dings with a notification. Nick finally got the new system working. We now have a live feed to the Viking Den and vice versa.
My eyes automatically find him. I do that far too often lately. He’s looking at me, too. Well, the camera. He’s looking at the camera, not me. But I swear, it feels like he’s looking right into my eyes. Why did Coty Michaels have to come back? Why did he have to leave in the first place?