Chapter 5 #4
I rolled my eyes but followed. He showed me how to chalk the cue and line up the shot, stepping behind me, one hand guiding my elbow, his breath warm against my ear. “Keep it low,” he murmured. “Smooth through.”
My pulse did an embarrassing little skip. I sank the ball clean and turned to him. “Beginner’s luck.”
“Sure.” He smiled, and for the first time in a long time, the attention felt nice—simple, easy. Not like Huntley with his perfectly rehearsed charm. Jinx just seemed… fun.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught Bear watching from across the room. His expression unreadable. He said something to one of the men, but his gaze didn’t move.
Jinx leaned close again. “Ignore him. He’s always like that.”
“Like what?”
“Watching everything.”
“Comforting,” I said dryly, lining up my next shot.
But when I bent forward, I could still feel Bear’s stare like static against my skin.
By the time Jinx cleared the table, my stomach was growling loud enough to compete with the jukebox.
McDaniel appeared with two plates that could’ve fed a construction crew—my cheeseburger stacked high and dripping, his loaded with chili fries. The smell hit me like a religious experience.
We grabbed a corner booth. Jinx slid in across from me, grinning as I demolished the first half of my burger. “You sure you’re not hiding a second stomach somewhere?”
“Don’t judge me,” I mumbled around a mouthful of bacon. “It’s been a day.”
He laughed and picked up his beer. For the first time in hours, the tight knot in my chest started to unwind.
Across the room, the women had decided I wasn’t a threat.
Their eyes drifted away from me and back toward Bear.
One brunette in a tight tank sauntered up to him, dragging a red-painted nail down his chest like she was writing her name there.
She bit her lip, smiled slow—the kind of look that made every guy at the bar forget his drink.
Bear didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. He muttered something low, and whatever it was made her freeze. Her smile vanished. A beat later she turned and stalked off toward the bar, shoulders stiff.
I blinked. “Okay, what was that?”
Jinx smirked. “That’s Jess. Spent the summer in Bear’s bed. Thought it came with a title. He didn’t.”
“Wow.” I took a long sip of beer. “So… this is what soap operas would look like if they had more leather.”
“Pretty much.”
He leaned back, relaxed and easy. “What about you? What’s your story, Charlotte?”
“Charlotte?”
“Where you’re from.”
“Oh. Right.” I wiped my hands on a napkin.
“Charlotte. I was on my way to visit family for Christmas. Lost my job, got dumped—well, technically he dogged me—and now he’s trying to crawl back.
I’m just trying not to do something pathetic like drunk-dial him and end up in bed with my ex on Christmas Eve. ”
Jinx nodded slowly. “Yeah, I get that.”
“You do?”
He pushed his plate aside, eyes thoughtful. “Was seeing someone from a rival club. Bad idea all around. Ended worse. But…” A small grin. “You’re the best thing I’ve seen in days.”
I smiled, shaking my head. “Smooth.”
He lifted his beer. “Maybe we keep each other’s minds off the exes for the holidays. Friendly distraction.”
I laughed. “That’s a thought, Jinx. But I am just not interested in any thing right now that isn’t caffeinated or contains chocolate.”
He clutched his chest. “Ouch. Brutal.”
“Truthful,” I said, clinking my bottle against his. The sound was sharp and cheerful. For the first time since the snowstorm, I actually felt human again.
Jinx’s eyes flicked past me, then back. “Careful, though. Think you caught the boss’s eye.”
I followed his gaze. Bear was still at the bar, beer in hand, talking to one of the older men—but his eyes were on me. Steady. Unreadable. That familiar static hummed under my skin.
“Nah,” I said quickly. “He’s just babysitting me. Apparently he knows my Aunt Marge.”
“Marge?” Jinx’s face lit up. “We love her. She used to come around here with her old boyfriend, Steve. Hell, half the guys in the Forge probably owe her for patching them up or feeding them back in the day. McDaniels always had a thing for her but she was taken…”
I blinked. “Wait. My Aunt Margie? Crossword puzzles and beach trips Margie? That Aunt Margie?”
Jinx chuckled. “Same one. Fun lady. Don’t let the crosswords fool you. She used to get down on the dance floor from what I’ve heard and ax throwing? She won the county contest every year.”
I sat back, burger forgotten. The mental image of my aunt sitting at this same bar, laughing with leather-clad bikers, making out with one—clashed so hard with the woman who built sandcastles with me as a kid that I almost laughed.
Small towns, I thought. They always had the best secrets.
Across the room, Bear lifted his glass in my direction before turning back to his conversation.
I didn’t know what that meant, but my pulse jumped anyway.
It felt like I’d fallen into another universe.
Not a scary one, just… sideways from the one I knew.
The noise, the heat, the smell of fried food and oil—it was all too much and yet kind of hypnotic.
The men here were nothing like the ones back in Charlotte who ordered top-shelf gin and used too much product in their hair.
These guys were massive. Every new one through the door seemed to add another inch of beard and another twenty pounds of muscle.
They slapped each other’s backs hard enough to shake the walls.
Their laughter came from the gut, not the throat.
And the women? Forget the sleek black dresses and stiletto heels I was used to seeing in Uptown bars. Here it was faux-fur boots—huge ones, the kind that could double as small dogs. Skinny, shiny pleather pants. Hoop earrings so big you could toss a football through them.
The more sparkle, the better. Rhinestones on jeans, jackets, phone cases. If it didn’t glitter, it didn’t belong.
It was wild.
Raw.
Weirdly… real.
I sat back in the booth, watching as another group of women came laughing through the door, shaking snow out of their hair, stomping their boots, hugging men twice their size.
The place throbbed with music and life. I felt like I’d walked into a TV show—some offbeat mix between Sons of Anarchy and a Christmas special that forgot it was supposed to be festive.
I turned to Jinx. “You know what this place needs?”
He glanced over, chewing on a fry. “What’s that?”
“Some holiday cheer. A Christmas tree, lights, tinsel—something. How come there’s no decorations?”
The conversation around us hiccupped. Two guys at the next table froze mid-drink. Even the bartender’s head lifted.
Jinx snorted softly. “Yeah… about that. We had decorations. Last week. Bear went off on Christmas.”
I blinked. “Went off as in…?”
“As in anything that jingles, sparkles, or fa-la-las got banned from the Forge. On his orders.” He shrugged, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Guy gets weird around the holidays.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Of course he does. Guess that explains the Grinch vibes.”
He grinned. “You said it, not me.”
Before I could ask what Bear had against Christmas, the band on the low stage kicked up.
Drums first—heavy, steady—then a bass that vibrated through the floor. A guitar slid in smooth, followed by a voice that sliced clean through the noise.
The lead singer was a woman—tall, dark hair, silver mic catching the light. She wasn’t pretty in a safe, magazine way; she was beautiful like a match being struck. Every man in the room turned toward her the second she opened her mouth. The air seemed to tilt in her direction.
I leaned toward Jinx, raising my voice over the beat. “You guys have your own band?”
“Some of the brothers play.” He pointed. “That’s Wrench on bass, Doc on drums, and Tuck on guitar.”
“And her?”
He smiled, slow and knowing. “That’s Sable.”
“She’s… incredible,” I said, watching the way she moved—confident, magnetic. The sound of her voice filled every corner of the room. “Who is she?”
Jinx’s grin faded a little. “Trouble.”
The beer was doing its job.
Warmth spread through me, soft at the edges. The music thumped in my chest, the singer’s voice rough but smooth, the bass vibrating through the soles of my borrowed boots.
For the first time in months, I didn’t care who was watching.
No Huntley.
No job to impress.
No polite small-talk smile.
Here, nobody knew me. I could be whoever I wanted.
I whooped when Jinx pulled me toward the floor, spinning me once before the crowd swallowed us. People were laughing, dancing, clapping to the beat. I laughed too—loud, unguarded, the sound startling even to my own ears.
I forgot about the snow, the wreck, the miles between me and Charlotte. I was just a girl dancing in a smoky clubhouse under strings of yellow bulbs, hair sticking to my cheeks, heart hammering in time with the drums.
When the song changed, Jinx leaned close. “Back in a minute. Gotta handle something.”
“Go,” I said, still laughing. “I’ll survive.”
He disappeared into the crowd. I was turning to grab my drink when another body moved in behind me—close, confident.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, smelled like mint and something sweet, like sugar cookies fresh out of an oven. His beard brushed the side of my neck, tickling enough to make me laugh.
He chuckled too, low and easy, hands sliding to my waist, guiding me back into the rhythm.
The warmth of him seeped through my sweater. His thigh pressed against mine in time with the beat, solid and sure. My pulse kicked up.
Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the moment the universe stopped laughing at me.
I could get used to this—the music, the lights, this stranger who made me feel wanted again. I could imagine snowed-in nights, fireplaces, selfies, stories that didn’t end in heartbreak.
His breath skimmed my skin. He bent closer, lips tracing the edge of my jaw—
“Brother. A word.”
The voice came from behind us—deep, unamused, unmistakable.
The man stiffened. I turned.