Chapter 8
It was mid-afternoon when he logged out of the computer in the office and headed back out onto the sales floor.
Slick, who had been his assistant manager since Bull gave him the authority to choose a right-hand man, was behind the front counter, ringing up a customer.
Buck was at the register beside him, doing the same.
Surveying the rest of the shop, Twister spotted Lewis helping a woman select windshield wipers.
There weren’t many on the payroll who weren’t Stallions, but Lewis was one of them.
While he didn’t have a passion for motorcycles, he knew more than a thing or two about motors.
He was also reliable and friendly, which was good for business.
The steady flow of customers they had most of the day was beginning to slow down as the afternoon wore on.
It would only be a couple hours before the shop closed for the remainder of the weekend.
Satisfied with what he saw, Twister decided it was about time to go grab a beer.
He glanced back behind the front counter and caught Slick’s attention.
A simple jerk of the chin was all Slick needed to understand his VP was looking to dip out—unless he was otherwise needed.
Slick nodded toward the door, signaling they were all good, and Twister waved a couple fingers before he was gone.
The afternoon was a warm one, and the sun beat down on the back of his black kutte as he journeyed across the lot on foot. The heat warranted a cold brew, but that wasn’t why he was going to Steel Mustang.
He needed to see about a redhead.
The kiss they shared the night before played on repeat in his mind for half of his day, but it was the single tear she shed he couldn’t seem to forget.
He suspected she’d been holding back when they fucked.
After she freaked on him the previous weekend, he thought he had a good idea why—but the look in her eyes after he broke their kiss was enough for him to be sure she wasn’t simply holding back.
She was hiding something.
She was running from something.
And he wanted to know what.
More than that—he wanted to hunt down that something and kill it.
Twister would have been the first to admit, he knew what it felt like to use a woman just as much as he knew what it was like to be used. As far as he was concerned, so long as it was consensual and they both got off, what did it matter?
But he had never— would never—put a woman in danger for kicks.
Having grown up with two sisters, he knew how precious a woman could be. That wasn’t to say they were all created equal. He doled out respect where it was due. Some warranted more than others. Still, him against any woman wouldn’t have been a fair fight.
The men who thought otherwise deserved to be hung from a tree by their ball-sacks and beaten within an inch of their lives.
He stepped foot into Steel Mustang and halted, allowing his eyes to adjust to the windowless interior. When his vision cleared, he spotted his target behind the bar, and he headed straight for her.
She was in a pair of holey, black shorts and a Rolling Stones cropped tee-shirt.
Her hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail, and she had on a bandana tied as a headband.
He couldn’t pinpoint what it was about her that made him so insatiable—but lately, he craved no one else.
Strange as it was, he wasn’t going to run from it.
And whatever she was running from, he was going to chase it.
Phoenix didn’t notice him until he sat down, and he could tell she was none-too-pleased to see him.
Rather than ask what he’d like to drink, she grabbed a pint glass, filled it with Corona, dropped a lime into it, and all but slammed the beverage in front of him.
A little beer sloshed over the side upon her delivery, wetting her fingers, but she wasn’t fazed.
She wiped her hand against the back of her cutoff shorts and then stomped her cute little ass to the opposite side of the bar.
Twister barely contained his chuckle as he lifted the beer to his lips, hiding his smile in the glass.
She obviously decided the best way to handle their situation was to give him the cold shoulder, but he wasn’t deterred.
The fire she ignited inside of him wasn’t so easily put out—and her attitude was only further proof he was right.
What existed between them wasn’t one-sided.
He was halfway through his first glass when he got company. He looked beside him as Shepherd pulled out a stool and maneuvered himself on top of it. He wasn’t ancient, but he was the oldest in their chapter and far from the most agile.
Then again, that was likely more on account of his healthy beer belly than his aging bones.
“‘Sup, Shep.”
“Same shit, different day,” he muttered good-naturedly. “Slow over at the shop?”
Twister shrugged. “Nah. Business is good, just had enough of it for the day.”
“Hey, Shep,” greeted Phoenix, setting a coaster down in front of him. “What can I get ya?”
Both men looked her way, but she only had eyes for the old man.
“Hey, there, pretty lady. I’ll have me one of them fancy beers the kids are drinkin’ these days.”
A small smile curled one side of her mouth as she quirked an eyebrow and asked, “An IPA?”
“Yeah—Rodeo gave me somethin’ the other day. I forget the name.”
“I know what you’re talkin’ about, big guy. Comin’ right up.”
She turned toward the back fridge and bent to reach down for a bottled beer. As she straightened, she plucked a bottle opener from out of her back pocket, removed the cap, then grabbed a chilled glass from the mini-fridge under the counter.
“Enjoy,” she said as she set both down on the bar.
Twister watched her every move, and not once did she even so much as glance in his direction. He wondered how long she could hold out. Something told him she was stubborn enough to put him through the ringer—but he wasn’t going any-fucking-where.
He was still watching her when something caught her eye across the room, and she froze.
It wasn’t only her body that went stalk-still.
Her face seemed to have drained of all color, as if she’d seen a ghost. Twister glanced over his shoulder, curious what could possibly have that effect on her, and saw two people he’d never seen before in his life standing at the door.
The blonde woman looked to be about Winnie’s age, maybe a little older.
It was hard to tell with her sun-damaged skin.
Her blonde hair had obviously come from a bottle, her dark roots broadcasting that fact.
She had on a skin-tight white tank top, through which her pink bra could be seen.
Her jeans were practically painted on, and the platform sandals she wore looked cheap.
The man at her side looked even cheaper.
He didn’t stand much taller than the woman.
Twister put him at five-ten at the tallest. He had slicked back, dusty-brown hair, and he wore an open, short-sleeve button-up over a white beater and jeans.
Twister guessed the man thought he had something to show off, but he didn’t.
He looked like the butt of a joke from an old movie.
“Hey, there, Ali-Mae,” spoke the woman.
Twister jerked his gaze back behind the bar as his spine stiffened.
He’d never heard that name before, but he didn’t need to be told to whom it belonged.
Phoenix was already on the move. She pushed through one swinging door only to charge her way through another as she marched out into the main room.
She stopped a good five feet away from the strangers as she pointed toward the door and insisted, “I don’t know what you’re doin’ here, but you need to get out. Now.”
The blonde breathed out a humorless laugh, propping her fists against her hips as she replied, “I don’t think that’s any way to greet your mother. I know it’s been a while, but you can at least pretend to be happy to see me.”
Twister frowned, surprised to learn that was the woman who birthed Phoenix.
“I work here. Whatever shit you’ve got goin’ on, you do not have permission to bring it in here.”
“Some welcome,” spoke the man. “Rather than kickin’ us out, you could get back behind that bar and pour us a drink. We drove all day to get here.”
“Tommy,” the woman whined softly, as if to imply he wasn’t helping their case.
Twister was content to let Phoenix handle the situation until the man spoke.
Then all he could think about was the sound of her scream and the expression on her face when he put her on her back.
He paired that memory with the look in her eye he’d seen only a moment ago, he put two and two together, and he came undone.
Abandoning his beer, Twister stood abruptly, allowing the feet of his stool to scratch against the floor, drawing attention in his direction. He went to stand between Phoenix and the man who didn’t appear to be her kin in the slightest.
“She told you to go. Seein’ as she’s not just some bar back, she has the authority to kick out whoever the fuck you are—and I suggest you leave before any other loyal patrons decide to get involved.”
The woman hesitated before looking around Twister and pleading, “Ali-Mae, won’t you at least talk to us? We’ve come all this way.”
“You weren’t invited,” replied Phoenix.
The man looked from Twister to Phoenix before he grabbed hold of his woman’s arm. “You wanna be a bitch, fine.”
Twister furrowed his brow and took a deliberate step toward the asshole. He could tell the man tried not to react, but his slight flinch was not missed.
“Call her a bitch again. I fuckin’ dare you,” Twister all but growled.
Tommy made a show of trying to ignore the challenge and glared at Phoenix as he muttered, “If we don’t hear from you, we will be back.”
He turned for the door, pulling his woman along as he went. She glanced back in their direction one time, and then they were gone.
Twister barely had a chance to face Phoenix before she was snapping at him.