Haze’s Jewel (Savage Legion MC #8)

Prologue

Annalese

G lancing in my rear-view mirror, I make sure I’m not being followed. My anxiety is off the charts this evening, because several things are weighing on my mind at once. Making a clean break from my asshole ex-fiancé was risky. He’s a self-centered, egotistical piece of shit so I don’t think he’s going to waste too much time tracking me down.

Coming to a small town like Las Salinas to get a fresh start feels weird because I don’t know anyone. Then again, that was kind of the whole point. I haven’t made very good choices romantically lately. Shifting gears, I ruminate over what a shitshow my life has turned into. It happened in the blink of an eye, and now all I can do is pick up the shattered pieces and keep moving forward.

My biggest worry revolves around leaving my mom in a rehabilitation facility. She’s been there for the past nine months after a freak horse-riding accident resulted in a spinal fracture and a head injury. It’s been a long and painful recovery process, but it looks like she’s finally on the mend. The doctors are confident that she’ll get a good degree of mobility, and considering how poor the prognosis was originally, it’s more than I could ever have hoped for. So, why am I so worried about her?

I turn off the interstate and head down a long two-lane road. It’s now dark outside and as I drive, the road gets narrower and bumpier. Just when I’m thinking of turning around, I see lights in the distance. Taking a deep breath, I slow to a crawl as I approach the private club, where I’m scheduled for a job interview at seven. I wanted to make a good impression so I’m nearly thirty minutes early.

As two guys in leather vests wave me through the gate, I see a huge sign on the front of the building that says, ‘Savage Legion MC’. Until now I hadn’t realized the private club was a motorcycle club. With a name like the Savage Legion, I should have. I guess my head hasn’t really been in the game as of late. I park my jeep near the front door and sit for a minute mulling over whether to go inside or not.

It doesn’t take me long to realize that I’m all alone, broke, and trying to make a fresh start. That means I’ve got to take whatever job I can get right now. I need to put on my big girl panties and push through my anxiety. If I get the job and it turns out to be more than I can handle, I can always quit. Climbing out of my vehicle, I head for the front door just as a blonde woman with hardly any clothes on storms out, cursing a blue streak.

Jesus, how do I get myself into these situations?

The moment I walk inside I know that I’ve made a horrible mistake. The bar is filled with muscle bound bikers and an assortment of half-dressed women. When I say half-dressed, I mean most are wearing skintight shirts that bare their midriffs or show off their cleavage, and micro miniskirts or booty shorts. A couple are even walking around with huge smiles on their faces with their breasts hanging out, like they’ve been freshly groped. I avert my eyes as best I can and make my way to the bar where I’m supposed to meet my contact.

The minute I approach, a woman with long dark hair glances up from pouring drinks, she looks exhausted and run off her feet. “Anna Bryan?” she asks, as she wipes her hands on her apron.

Reaching her hand out to grasp mine, I respond, “Yes. You must be Melinda, the head bartender.”

She gives a cute giggle that ends with a snort. “Call me Mel, I’m what they call the head girl. Mean’s I’m in charge of the bar and all the women here.”

“So they’re all employed by the club?” I ask curiously because if they’re visitors, how can she be in charge of them?

She waves a guy in a prospect’s vest over from further down the bar. He approaches with a bar towel and glass in his hand, absentmindedly drying away. This guy practically has little hearts in his eyes when he looks at the bartender.

Mel grins right back at him. “Tracker, I need you to hold down the bar while I take our new prospective bartender back to talk with the club officers.”

He jerks his chin at her. “Whatever you say, darlin’.” Turning to me, he states politely, “Good luck with your interview. This job is lot harder than it looks, so I hope you’re up to the challenge.”

I follow Mel through a side door, feeling pretty damn sure I’m not up to it. From the looks of this place, there’s no way I could keep up with the volume of drinks flying across the bar or the rough and ready crowd. My mind is whirling with all the things that could go wrong on my watch. So much so, that I don’t even know why my feet are still walking me back to interview for the position.

We end up in a large meeting room of some sort. It’s filled with chairs and one long table. There is only one man in the room and he’s leaning against a door frame leading to what appear to be several offices.

The woman in front of me, stops short. “What’s up, Haze. Don’t tell me, something’s come up and they’re pushing the interview back. That’s not what’s happening, right? I can’t look after two places at once, plus a baby. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Brandy quit on me tonight.” Her voice gets more high pitched as she speaks, ending on a shrill note.

“Christ, Mel. Don’t fucking panic. They just want to have a word with you before the interview starts, probably to fine tune the hours and such.”

The woman’s shoulders relax. “Oh, that’s okay then. I just need this done so Tracker and I can get back to our own business. Your brother and Trix are holding the fort there tonight, and Jamus has Elodie, but we can’t keep relying on them.”

“Yeah, sounds crazy. I had no idea what went into running your own business until me and Vapor bought the tattoo parlor from Tank. The bar is doing good though, isn’t it? I can’t believe you saved enough money to buy the bar in town off the Savage Legion. That must have taken years.”

Her voice perks up. “It did, and yeah, we’re doing good business.” Turning to me she says, “Just have a seat and make yourself comfortable, Miss Bryan. This shouldn’t take a minute. I’ll come and get you as soon as they’re ready.”

I drop down into one of the seats and anxiously pull the purse hanging off my shoulder into my lap. The man she called Haze was standing there looking at me. I can’t quite describe how it makes me feel. He isn’t being lecherous, rude, or condescending. If a look could be polite, his was.

I bring up one hand to tuck a strand of red hair behind my ear. “Is it always this busy here?” I stammer, just awkwardly trying to fill the silence.

“Yeah, the Legion’s bar is busy most nights but since it’s the weekend, things are really slammin’.” Pushing off the door frame he takes a few steps closer. I shoot to my feet, not wild about having this huge biker looming over me while I’m seated.

“Shit,” he says holding up both hands. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I’m not scared,” I lie.

He folds his arms across his chest. “You sure about that? You’re as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof.”

I try not to notice how attractive he is in that rough, rugged way that bikers sometimes are. He has shoulder-length dark hair, hazel eyes and is well put together. His cut is immaculate and there wasn’t even dust on his black boots. His bare arms are covered in tattoos. More are crawling up his neck.

I glance away. “I just don’t know about working at a biker bar.”

“Well for starters, we’re not a biker bar. That would imply that our clubhouse is open to the public. It’s not. The Savage Legion clubhouse is a private establishment. Only our club brothers, our womenfolk, and preapproved visitors are allowed on the premises.”

My eyes dart towards the still open door leading to the bar. Someone was shouting for someone else to take it all off. “That’s not terribly reassuring, to be honest.”

The big biker throws back his head and laughs. “How old are you? You don’t sound like you’ve been out in the world much.”

I lift my head and snatch up every ounce of courage I can find. “I’m twenty-four and trust me, I’ve been around the block a time or two.”

If this man knew everything I’d been through, he wouldn’t think I was naive. Images rise in my mind of my stepbrother snatching away my whole life when I broke up with his best friend for cheating on me. Greg always was an ass, but more so since our father died. Our uncle was the executer of his will, and he seemed to be dragging out settling his estate. When my mom had her accident, I couldn’t keep up the mortgage payments on my own and we’d lost the house. My father had reluctantly taken me in—against my stepmother’s wishes—and also paid for my mom’s care, for that I’d been grateful. However, when he and my stepmother were killed, Greg had thrown me out of the house. Greg and my ex, Trevor, were hounding my every step back in Oak Ridge. I moved to Las Salinas to get away from the pair of them, but I couldn’t tell a stranger about all my personal problems, so I bit my tongue.

He shrugs noncommittally. “Maybe you would work out better as club whore then? Some of ours live on site and draw a stipend.”

My mouth falls open for a brief second. I don’t know why I’m shocked at his tawdry proposal.

He quickly makes an imperious slashing motion with one hand. “Of course we call them club girls, because that’s much nicer.”

It takes me a second to realize what prompted the abrupt change of direction this conversation took. “I didn’t mean that I’d been around the block sexually. I meant that life has thrown me curveballs and I’ve rolled with the punches.”

He shrugs his big shoulders. “So, you adapt to being here. No biggie, right? If you want, I can show you the ropes.”

Before I can turn down his generous offer, a bar fight breaks out. Someone throws a chair, and it smashes into the wall outside the door, sending pieces flying into the room. Haze begins running out to the bar, mumbling, “Fucking prospects. It’s not normally this damn rowdy on a Friday night.”

I stare at the splintered leg of a chair lying on the floor about three feet from me, and decide this job is just not for me. Nope. I can’t do this. It’s better to leave, than waste everyone’s time interviewing for a job I won’t take. I slip out of the room and edge around the brawl taking place in the bar and I’m out the door before anyone notices. I take a minute to text Mel, thanking her for considering me for the job but saying I don’t think it’s a good fit for either of us.

My anxiety doesn’t ease up until my vehicle is on the other side of the gate and I’m rambling down the single lane road, headed for the highway. I honestly think I dodged a bullet there, almost literally going by the commotion behind me as I walked out.