10. Garret
GARRET
I held up two fingers at the bar and waited.
The regular bartender was off tonight, so Crystal was covering, which meant I couldn't even order a drink without it becoming a production.
She poured the whiskey and brought it over herself instead of sliding it down the counter.
She set the glass in front of me and didn't let go of it, keeping her fingers wrapped around the base so I'd have to touch her hand to pick it up.
"You look terrible," she said, leaning forward so her low-cut top would show more tit than fabric.
"Thanks," I growled at her, trying to take the glass and failing.
It was a rainy night again, same as it'd been all week, and when rain came through, especially low pressure fronts, I found my leg hurting worse than normal.
Whiskey tended to ease that ache better than the pain medicine I was allowed to take.
"I mean it. When's the last time you slept?"
"I sleep fine," I said, glowering at her. "Can I have my drink now?"
"You may need something a little stronger than whiskey, bud." She let go of the glass and leaned forward on her elbows, which put her chest right at eye level and it had me noticing her. "You know what helps with sleep, Crank?"
"A drink. Which is what I'm trying to have." Or four, which was also a possibility, and just about my norm. I'd grown quite attached to the amber liquid, maybe more so than was healthy.
"I was going to say company. But sure, a drink works too." She smiled and walked back down the bar to serve Hank, and I took a long pull from the glass and stared straight ahead at the row of bottles on the back shelf.
When she came back toward me, I pushed the empty glass forward for a refill. This time, she poured it slowly and set it down and stayed, resting her hip against the inside of the bar.
"Don't you ever get tired of coming in here alone and leaving alone?" Her long fingernails had been painted black, and she drummed them on the bar top.
"I'm a creature of habit, I guess," I told her.
How many times she'd thrown herself at me and I had refused every single one of them?
You'd have thought she'd have gotten the point, but she never did.
Tonight would be no different. I could tell it based on the way she was batting her fake eyelashes at me.
"You're a creature of something, but it isn't habit.
It's stubbornness." She reached across the bar and ran her finger along the back of my hand, tracing the line of a tattoo that ran from my knuckle to my wrist. "There are women in this town who would kill to spend a night with you. You know that, right?"
"Is that so?"
"It is. And one of them is standing right in front of you. Don't make me beg, Cranky…"
"Crystal." I cringed at her misuse of my name and scowled at her as I sipped my fresh drink.
"What?"
"I'm not in the mood."
"You're never in the mood." When she backed up I thought she was going to walk away.
Instead she rounded the end of the bar and stood right next to me, elbow resting next to my drink while her tits pressed on my forearm.
"It's been four years, Crank." She petted my bicep like I was a dog or something.
"She's gone. Everyone knows you laid your bike because you were upset about Sara…
Can you let her go now? Give me a shot?"
I didn't answer that because there wasn't an answer that would make sense to her. She didn't know the details and I wasn't about to share them. Besides, finally admitting that it really was Sara who I was hung up on would be a mistake. What would Peter say?
"You're crossin' a line." I sipped the whiskey again while her hand rode up my thigh toward my crotch, but she didn't find what she thought she'd find. She couldn’t make me hard if she tried.
I didn't think I'd been close to being aroused by Crystal once in my life, though a few times a passing mention of Sara might've made me throb a time or two.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Something I should've done a long time ago.
" She turned my stool toward her and stepped between my knees before I could stop her.
Her hands went to my shoulders and she raised herself onto my lap, settling her weight across my thighs with her knees pressed against the outside of my hips.
She was warm and soft and her face was inches from mine and I could feel her breath against my jaw when she spoke.
Half the bar probably watched her straddle me like we were teenage lovers, meanwhile I just wanted to finish my drink in peace and get out of here.
"One night," she said. "That's all I'm asking. One night and I promise you'll forget whatever's been eating you alive."
Her fingers moved up the back of my neck and into my hair and I'd be lying if I said my body didn't respond.
It had been four years since a woman had touched me with any kind of intent, and the alcohol was making my defenses thinner than they should've been.
She rolled her hips against me and my hand went to her waist on instinct before I caught myself.
"Crystal, I'm gonna ask you one time really nicely to get off me before I have to use force. I'm not interested." Last thing I needed was a ride on the town bicycle to let everyone know how desperate I was.
"Your hand says otherwise." She looked down at where my fingers were gripping her hip and smiled. "Just let yourself have this, Crank. One night. Nobody has to know."
My grip tightened on her hip and I was about two seconds from making a decision I'd regret when the front door slammed open and three men walked in.
The temperature of the room dropped a few degrees and I knew them by their cuts before I saw their faces.
Black leather with the Locust patch on the back, the red-eyed grasshopper with spread wings that every Gravehound in the county had learned to recognize on sight.
The one in front was a big, broad man with a shaved head and a beard that hung to his chest, and the two behind him were younger and like he was looking for a fight and hoping to find one.
Crystal slid off my lap and backed toward the bar without a word.
She knew what those cuts meant, and she knew what was about to happen too.
We had our share of tussles before and the Black Anvil was no stranger to broken tables or chairs because of the mess that'd been started when Mandy was found dead.
The big one pointed a thick finger at Butch, who'd set down his darts and turned to face them. "Which one of you slashed our tires?"
Butch spread his hands. "I don't know what you're talking about, man."
He stepped closer and his two boys fanned out behind him. "Which one of you did it?"
Rusty moved up beside Butch and folded his arms. "Nobody here touched your bikes. If you've got a problem, take it up with your own people."
"Our own people didn't slash our own tires, you stupid son of a?—"
The big one shoved Butch in the chest with both hands and that was all it took. Butch came back swinging and connected with a right hook that snapped the big man's head sideways, and then the two younger ones rushed in and the whole bar erupted.
I was off my stool before I even thought about it.
One of the younger ones came at me and I caught him with a straight left to the jaw that sat him down on the floor.
He scrambled up and threw a wild haymaker that caught me on the ear, and I grabbed him by the front of his cut and drove my knee into his stomach hard enough to fold him in half. He went down again and stayed there.
Butch had the big one in a headlock and Rusty was trading punches with the third, and the whole fight lasted maybe ninety seconds before the three of them were shoved out the front door and told not to come back. The big one spit blood on the sidewalk and pointed at the bar.
"This isn't over," he said, and the three of them disappeared into the parking lot.
I stood in the doorway breathing hard with my knuckles throbbing and watched them go.
Lightning appeared beside me and leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed.
He had a fresh beer in his hand and not a scratch on him, which meant he'd watched the whole thing from the back and let the rest of us handle it.
It was just like him now that he'd been promoted to second in command. All because Fox had all but given up. No matter how hard I'd taken it that Sara ran off, Fox had it worse. I always reminded myself that and it made it a bit easier for me to cope.
"Nice work," he said.
"Where were you?" I snarled.
"Watching. I wanted to see how the boys handled themselves." He took a sip and nodded toward the parking lot. "They'll be back. Probably with more guys next time."
"Then we'd better be ready."
"We will be." He looked at me and there was something deceptive behind his eyes. It felt wrong, like he hoped those guys actually did start something. "You good, Crank?"
"I'm fine."
"Good. We need you sharp. This thing's about to get a lot worse before it gets better."
He walked back inside and I stood there for another minute, feeling the adrenaline drain out of my chest and the ache settle into my knuckles.
The feud had been simmering for four years, flaring up in bursts and then cooling down just enough to make everyone think it was over.
But it was never over. It was just waiting.
I went back to the bar and finished what was left of my drink, but the night was ruined.
Crystal was back behind the bar and she gave me a look that said the offer still stood, but whatever window had been open was closed now.
The fight had sobered me up enough to remember why I didn't do this, and one more minute on that stool would've put me right back in dangerous territory.
I closed out my tab and walked outside. The night air was cool and the street was quiet, and across the road the lights of Ma's Griddle were still on.
A cup of coffee and thirty minutes of silence would clear my head enough to ride home safely, so I crossed the street and pulled the door, but it didn't give.
The sign in the window was flipped to closed.
I knocked once and saw movement through the glass. The door opened and town busybody Amber stood there with her purse on her shoulder and the keys to the diner in her hand.
"We're closed, Crank."
"I can see that. Where's Anne?" I looked over her shoulder into the darkened diner that should've been open a few more hours at least but there was no one around.
Amber's face dropped, and I'd swear you'd have thought her puppy died. "You haven't heard?"
"Heard what?"
"Peter had a stroke. Anne found him in the shop this afternoon when she went home for dinner.
He'd been on the floor for hours by the time she got there.
" She shook her head. "They rushed him to the hospital, but from what Anne told me on the phone, the doctors aren't giving much hope. She's been there all evening."
I took a step back and felt the energy in my body drain out my feet. "How bad?" I asked, as my thoughts slowly wrapped around the reality that if Peter was sick, it meant calling his children, which meant Sara—who hadn't been home, not even for Christmas, in four years—would be coming home.
"Bad, Crank. Real bad. Anne said the doctors told her to call the kids home." Amber pulled the door shut behind her and locked it. "I guess they're driving in right now. She wants the whole family there."
I stood on the sidewalk and watched Amber walk to her car and drive away.
Sara was coming home. After four years of silence and distance and empty highways between us, she was coming back to Grove Hill, and there wasn't a thing I could do about it.
I couldn't leave town. I had the club and a feud that was about to boil over and brothers who needed me.
I was stuck, and she was on her way, and everything I'd spent four years trying to bury was about to claw its way back to the surface.