Chapter 10
Baddy pulled into the lot of the diner at the end of the street from the clubhouse. The morning sun had barely warmed the air yet. Lydia climbed off the Harley and shoved her hands into the sleeves of the leather jacket. She looked small but braced for whatever hit came next.
He pushed open the diner's door, the bell above chiming. The smell of bacon, coffee, and fryer oil greeted him. Patty stood behind the counter, hair piled high, lipstick bright enough to stop traffic.
"Morning, Baddy," she called, wiping her hands on her apron. "Are you up early, or did you not go to bed last night?"
"Slept like a baby," he said. "Got someone for you to meet."
Patty's eyes flicked to Lydia, taking her in from head to toe in one sharp sweep. "Well, aren't you a little thing?"
Lydia stiffened beside him. Who was this woman to Baddy?
"Patty," Baddy said, "this is Lydia. She's looking for a job."
Patty raised a brow. "Is she now?"
"Yeah," he said. "And I'm starving. You got coffee? And any apple pie left from last night?"
Patty snorted. "For you, baby? Always." She grabbed a mug and filled it, sliding it across the counter. "I'll have DeeDee bring you a slice while I talk with your friend."
Baddy took the coffee and moved to the bar stools, settling in with a clear view of the booth Patty guided Lydia toward. He didn't bother pretending he wasn't listening. Patty didn't care, and Lydia didn't notice. She was too focused on answering questions like her life depended on it.
And to her, maybe it did.
She couldn't stay with him. He'd gotten her away from Cusclan. Now she had a chance at a better life.
He sipped his coffee and listened.
Patty asked about experience. Lydia told her about the restaurant she'd worked at.
He hid his reaction to the long hours, double shifts, and how she must've learned to smile even when her feet were bleeding.
She talked about memorizing orders, handling bad business, and dealing with customers who thought a waitress was part of the menu.
Throughout the interview, she never complained or whined about her last job. She stated the facts, and Patty seemed to admire her for it.
He'd discovered that she hid her fears well. For her age, that was admirable, but also told him what kind of childhood she had.
"You work hard for tips?" Patty asked bluntly.
Lydia never hesitated. "Yes, ma'am."
"Smart girl," Patty said. "Shows you've got grit."
Baddy hid a smirk behind his mug. Grit was one word for it. Determined as hell was another.
Patty kept the conversation going, talking about availability, reliability, and whether Lydia could handle the breakfast rush. Lydia answered every question honestly, even when her voice wavered.
Baddy learned more about Lydia in ten minutes than he had in the last two days.
She'd been working since she was sixteen.
She'd never taken a day off, even when sick.
She'd never been fired.
She'd never been late.
She'd never had anyone to rely on, even her own mother, who always chose her boyfriend over her daughter.
Patty finally stood. "Alright. I'll give you a trial shift tomorrow morning. Look at what the other waitresses are wearing and try to show up ready to work. Six a.m. sharp. Don't be late."
Lydia blinked, stunned. "I—I won't. Thank you."
Patty waved her off. "Don't thank me yet. Wait until you survive the breakfast crowd."
Baddy chuckled into his coffee, knowing half the members of Royalla usually stopped in and had breakfast before going to work.
Patty stood and moved over to Baddy, squeezing his shoulder. "And you," she said, pointing a finger at him, "don't scare the girl off. She's got potential."
He lifted his fork. "Good pie."
"Of course it is, baby." Patty kissed his cheek.
Lydia studied him, cheeks flushed from the interview, eyes bright with hope. He wanted her not to worry. Things would work out.
She had no support system. Fuck knows, Cusclan wasn't any help either. She needed people who would lift her up and show her how strong she was for doing things at twenty years old that many people twice her age weren't even trying.
She was surviving, and for now, he'd make sure she remained safe, and there was no blowback from the Cusclan Motorcycle Club.
He stepped away and motioned for Patty to follow him. He put his arm around her and lowered his voice.
"Do you still have that empty room above the diner?" he asked.
"You know I do." Patty's gaze narrowed. "You want me to put the girl up?"
"Yeah."
Patty sighed and patted his chest. "You better not put me in the middle of your biker shit. If someone shows up, causing trouble—"
"Nothing will happen." He kissed her cheek. "She's down on her luck and needs to get her feet back under her, and right now, staying with me scares her."
"You?" Patty softened. "You're like a big teddy bear."
He grunted.
Patty laughed. "I'll do it. For you."
For how much of a hardass she was in business, she had a soft spot for the girls she kept employed. She wouldn't treat Lydia any differently from the others. In return, Lydia would have a mother figure around to keep an eye on her.
"Thanks, Patty." He stepped away and led Lydia outside.
The moment they were alone, Lydia stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "I'll save all my money and pay you back as soon as I can."
He grunted.
"It's a smaller diner, but I'll work really hard to earn my tips." She stumbled on the sidewalk.
He grabbed her upper arms, keeping her on her feet. She relaxed in his hold. He brought her to his chest. She was pliable in his hands. There was not a bone in her body that warned her against him.
He shoved her away and helped her get her balance, then let go of her. "I got more news for you."
She frowned." Good news or bad?"
It was necessary. He couldn't have her at the house any longer. He was too aware of her. Hell, his place was starting to smell like a woman was around all the time. Any longer, and he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her.
"Patty's got a small room above the diner. She says you can stay there."
"How much will it cost?" she asked. "I don't even know how much I'll be paid or how the tips are in this area. What if I can't afford it?"
Royalla protected the diner. Patty would get her money's worth by letting Lydia stay.
"It comes with the job," he said.
Her eyes rounded. "That doesn't sound right."
He raised his brows. She had a fifteen-minute conversation with Patty. Why was she questioning his motives when she had no other options?
"You'll see." He motioned for her to continue walking to his Harley. "Where do you buy your clothes?"
She laughed and quickly sobered. "Why?"
"Because you need new clothes to start the job."
"The other women weren't wearing a uniform." She tilted her head. "They were...casual. I have clothes."
He knew exactly what the other women were wearing. Patty knew how to keep her customers happy, and all the waitresses wore skimpy shorts or cutoffs with shirts that showed off their breasts.
He stroked his beard. A big part of his decision to take her shopping was because he wanted to see her in something skimpier. She packed a tight little body underneath her clothes. He wanted to see what she was like stripped down.
"My treat." He inhaled deeply. "It'll be easier if you have a few outfits. Less laundry."
Her brows pinched. "I don't have to pay you back?"
"Nope."
A smile took spark on her face. "I've only had second-hand clothes from the thrift store."
"Fuck," he muttered, grabbing her hand. "Let's go."
He wasn't someone who knew the brands women liked, but it wouldn't matter if he spent twenty bucks or two hundred dollars on a new shirt, it was going to belong to Lydia. He'd make sure no one else had ever worn it.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled into the lot and shut off his motorcycle. Lydia slid off the seat, and he toed his kickstand and stood.
"Why are we here?" Lydia gazed up at the large flag flying on the pole.
"If you want shorts and shirts like what the other women at the diner wear, you'll find everything here." He lifted his chin. "Let's go."
Baddy hadn't expected to spend his afternoon in a Harley-Davidson store, but Lydia needed clothes, and he wasn't about to send her to her first shift looking like she'd crawled out of a lost-and-found bin.
The moment they stepped inside, she froze like she'd walked into a church instead of a clothing section. She drifted toward a rack of shorts, touching the fabric like it might bite her.
"These'll work," she murmured, holding up a pair of black denim shorts that were frayed.
Then she saw the price tag.
Her face fell so fast it almost made him laugh.
She put them back as if they were made of gold and moved on to a cheaper rack, picking up shirts, setting them down, then picking them up again. Every time she checked the price, her mouth tightened, and she'd put the item back like she wasn't allowed to want it.
He watched her do it for ten minutes.
Then he'd had enough. He wasn't going to spend his whole day waiting for her to choose her clothes.
"Grab what you need," he said.
She shook her head. "These cost too much."
He didn't argue. He just waited until she drifted away from the rack, then scooped up everything she'd touched—shorts, shirts, a couple pairs of jeans, even a hoodie she'd stared at for a full thirty seconds before walking away.
By the time she noticed what he was doing, he already had an armful.
"Baddy, no," she whispered, horrified. "That's too much. I don't need all that."
He ignored her and carried everything to the counter.
The cashier rang it up without blinking. Baddy handed over cash. Lydia stood beside him, pale and stiff, like she expected lightning to strike him dead for spending money on her.
When they walked out, she was still staring at the bags, as if they might explode.
He stuffed them into the duffel on his bike and handed her a helmet. "Come on. I'll drop you at the diner."
She climbed on behind him, quiet the whole ride. By the time he pulled in front of the diner, Lydia was yawning so hard her eyes watered.
He killed the engine and retrieved her bags. "Get some rest. Tomorrow's a big day."
She slid off the bike, took off the helmet, and rubbed her face. "You'll bring my other bags?"
"Yeah."
"You promise?"
"I said I would."
She inhaled deeply. "Thank you for the clothes."
He didn't want her to worry about the price or what she believed she owed him. So before she could say anything else, he fastened the helmet to the Harley and started the engine.
She stepped back, clutching her bags to her chest.
He gave her one last look. She appeared tired, small, but determined. He rode off, leaving her no time to overthink any of it.