Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Callie
" T hink that one's used getting dinner first."
A gruff voice yells from behind me, where a few men are sitting at the bar.
"Oh, she's used to eating, that's for sure!"
The comment from the guy that just joined his friend and I at the pool table drips with innuendo; his reference to my curves every bit as obvious as the way he leers at them in my short skirt and halter top.
It doesn't feel sexy in the slightest. I feel exposed and vulnerable and I wish I had worn something that shows less cleavage.
Laughter erupts from the men at the bar.
"Shut the fuck up, man, can't you see I'm trying to score here?"
The guy I've been playing pool is stretched over the table with his cue in place, but I don't think his comment refers to the shot he's about to take.
When I walked in, I was relieved at how dull the place looked. Just a big barn-style building with a lot of corrugated steel panels and rough-textured boards for walls. Neon signs for beer and various brands of hard alcohol hanging higher up. Pool tables, juke box, tables and chairs, plain concrete floor.
A few old men with beer guts in sagging jeans and leather vests covered in patches. A few younger guys at a table to themselves in the far corner.
When I walked in, every head turned to look at me, but no one made me feel threatened.
As soon as I sat down at the bar, this guy-- Johnson , I think he said to call him-- came over and told the bartender he was buying whatever I was drinking.
He didn't crowd me or try to touch me or make any lewd comments. He looks older than my dad, but with a gray beard that hangs down to the center of his chest in a thin, scraggly point that ends right above his gut.
I accepted the beer he bought for me a smile and he asked if I wanted to play a game of pool.
I really thought he was being nice to me because I probably remind him of his granddaughter or something.
Then his buddy grabbed a cue from the rack on the wall and started making suggestive comments about me like I wasn't even in the room with them.
Things went south pretty quickly.
There are five of these guys and while they may look old and fat, they're also huge and it's pretty clear that there's plenty of muscle in their bulk.
What did I get myself into?
Looking around, I see the bartender making a genuine effort at not paying attention to anything happening.
There are only a couple of guys at the back table. They're younger and look like they're in way better shape, but they also don't look like they're interested in getting involved.
"Your shot, honey-breeches, what'da ya say you let Big Mel show you how to line that up."
The asshole that's been making the rude remarks licks his lips as he looks at me, then scuffles around to my side of the pool table.
It's pretty obvious what "Big Mel" means when he says he wants to show me how to line up my next shot.
The thought of this guy leaning over my back with me trapped against the table makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit. Especially when he gets close enough that I can see the telltale stains of chewing tobacco in the corners of the mustache that hangs to his chin like Yosemite Sam.
I thought bikers were supposed to have cool nicknames like "Blade" and "Wrath." What's with "Big Mel ?"
"Um, you can take my shot for me," I tell Big Mel, taking a step back from the table and doing my best not to look like prey. "I, uh, need to go to the ladies room anyway."
Mel steps forward, crowding me between the pool table and his buddy, Johnson, who seems to have run out of manners now.
Johnson doesn't move out of my way, and I back into his belly when I try to keep Mel from crowding my personal space.
"Cal!"
The deep voice booms from the doorway, filling up the mostly empty bar room and sounding like salvation.
At first, I don't even recognize the voice, all I know is that it knows my name and sounds like he's relieved to see me.
Then, I peek around the mountain of Big Mel to see the furious look on Archer Dean O'Leary's face and I'm sure I've jumped out of the frying pan just to land in the fire.
If Archer's here, my brother is probably with him, and I have zero way of explaining what I'm doing here.
"Callie, come on, let's go." Archer commands of me as he stalks my way, the heels of his cowboy boots clicking against the cement floor.
His hand is out for me like he expects me to take it without question, and I'm more than willing to do just that, when Mel steps in front of me, blocking my way.
"Who the fuck are you?" It rumbles out of the big man in front of me, sounding more like a dare than a question.
Mel puts his hands on his hips and widens his stance. When I try to step around him, I feel a meaty hand land on my shoulder, making it clear I'm not to move.
Archer stops just outside of Mel's reach and matches his posture, facing off against him.
Archer looks... hot . I mean, he's taller than Mel. Younger. In way better shape. And, while the thug blocking my escape stands like he's ready to start throwing punches, Archer's posture is casual. Standing with confidence but not aggression. He looks like there's no question in his mind that he can take this guy.
My panties go wet. I think they just melted. My ovaries might have exploded.
The problem is, Big Mel isn't alone, but as time grinds to a stop as the standoff stretches out, it looks like Archer is.
Archer
"I'm her man, and I'm here to take her home. Let her go and there won't be any trouble."
Look, I'm not gonna pretend I haven't gotten into my share of scrapes in my time. I can take a punch almost as well as I can throw one. Hell, me and the guys have even scrapped right here in the Tollhouse.
But these guys are huge. There's five of them, and they look like ripping arms off guys like me is their idea of a relaxing evening.
I watch Callie's eyes go wide when I tell the entire bar that she belongs to me. Hopefully, she doesn't call my bluff. Guys like these seem to be the type that respect a man's ownership of a woman-- fucked up as that might sound-- and that might be the only thing they respect.
"Seems like you must not be keeping the lady satisfied for her to be showing up down here dressed like that."
The voice comes from one of the men behind me, sounding closer to my back than where they'd been gathered at the bar when I walked in.
Behind the guy blocking her from me, Callie wears an odd expression-- and a skimpy outfit that shows off her killer curves. The fringed hem of a cut-off denim mini skirt grazes her legs at mid-thigh, while the red halter top tied around her neck and waist shows enough of her soft, smooth skin and deep cleavage to momentarily have me forgetting that I might just have to fight my way to her.
But if that's the way it's going to be, I'll make these fuckers regret getting in my way.
Outside the door, the usual cricket and frog sounds of the country night are drowned out by the roar of engines approaching. The sound gets louder and soon the crunch of wheels on gravel is added to the cacophony.
More bikes.
Shit. Did one of the guys at the bar call for back up from the rest of their gang?
A tall figure emerges from the shadows at the back of the room, filling the doorway that leads to the outside.
"Sounds to me like we're in the middle of a lover's spat," Rowdy Ralston says cooly, as he walks farther into the room. "Maybe y'all want to let these kids go make up somewhere private."
Rowdy presses one fist against the heel of his other hand, cracking his knuckles loudly in the quiet that's fallen in the barroom since the bikes pulling up outside have gone quiet.
The trouble with a Ralston, is that you can't trust 'em. He called to tell me Cal was down here, but now he's staring me down across the room, obviously preparing for a fight-- and I can't tell which side he'll be on once fists start flying.
"What's it to you, Ralston?" One of the meatheads behind me asks, sounding friendly enough with Rowdy to have me worried.
"What's it to you ?"
A group of men walk through the front door together and line up in formation once they're clear of the entrance.
They all wear biker leathers, but it's clear they aren't with the other guys. The new guys are younger, fitter, more sober, and they move together in a manner that suggests they're used to fighting together.
The guy behind Callie takes his hand off her shoulder and she dashes toward me, falling against my chest as I wrap my arms around her.
The meaty crack of a fist connecting to a jaw cuts my relief short.
"Let's go."
The fight breaks out around us as Callie and I make our way out of the bar. I never saw which side the Ralston was fighting on.
"Oh shit," Callie stops between my truck and her car, "I've been drinking."
"Just get in, we'll come back for it tomorrow." I pop the locks on the truck and pull my passenger door open, taking her hand while she puts a foot on the step and climbs inside.
"You okay?" I ask as soon as we're safely away from the bar and I'm sure no one's following.
Beside me, I catch Callie's nervous movements with her hands in her lap in the glow of the lights from the dash.
Her head nods affirmatively and she twists the fingers of one hand with the other.
"How did you know where I was?"
"Ralston called me. He didn't want Rowan coming down and getting killed."
A giggle burbles from her throat and goes straight to my dick. It's such an innocent sound. Like she got away with being naughty.
My hands tighten on the wheel. Now is not the time to think about Callie being naughty.
My cock twitches against my thigh, threatening to thicken and get strangled behind my zipper when I can't adjust myself without being obvious.
"So Rowan doesn't know?" Her voice is small and hopeful in the dark cab beside me and I crush the impulse to reach for her hand.
"Nope." I assure her. "But what the hell were you doing in that place alone, Cal?"
My voice comes out harder than I mean it to, but dammit! If Rowdy hadn't seen her, and given at least half a fuck about her, who knows what could have happened to her tonight.
"What the hell were you doing there at all? I don't want you going down there again. Not even with friends. Got it? If you ever want to go when they have a band or something, you go with me...or Rowan."
Damn, I sound like a caveman. The thought of those assholes eye-fucking Callie when I'm not around to make it clear who she belongs to makes me want to turn this truck around and go back to the fight.
I hesitate a beat before remembering to add her brother's name; trying not to give myself away.
"Oh shit," Callie swears softly as I get close enough to her house that we can see the lights on in the living room. "My parents are still up."
It also looks like Rowan's truck is in the driveway. It's late for a week night, so he's probably staying over to haul animals to auction in the morning.
"I can't go in there like this," Callie turns to me, her hand gripping my forearm and lighting my damn nerves on fire. "Please, Archer? I can...shit. Just-- take me to the shop? I can sleep in the back room."
"What about Ginger? Can't you stay with her?"
My fingers are tightening on the wheel again.
"Ginger's staying the night with her new boyfriend," Callie mutters softly. "Up in Moonshine Ridge."
There's something sad in the way she says it, and I think I start to pick up on why Cal went out tonight. Her friend's found someone, and Callie must be feeling alone. No way am I going to let her sleep in her shop.
"Cal, you can't sleep in the flower shop." I say, pulling the wheel to turn away from her street-- and heading in the opposite direction of town where her flower shop is. "You can stay with me."
I have done some fucking stupid shit in my life, but this takes it to a new level.