Chapter Twenty-Five
Tempi
I wasn’t gonna lie; having a Saint’s Outlaw hanging around the bar like my own personal bodyguard should have made me feel weird. But today, Method was hanging out with me, and he wasn’t chatty. Wasn’t nosy. He just… observed. Like it felt like he could catch danger before it even showed its face.
And after the shit that went down at the clubhouse? That smashed window and the message scrawled on a brick? Yeah, I didn’t mind one bit having Method or any of the guys within lunging distance.
I leaned over the bar and counted down the last of the singles in the till from last night. I had my playlist going low, Halestorm, because it was what I always listened to. I should broaden my horizons, but Halestorm just always hit. Just like Twister.
That man wrecked me in the best way. Slow, wild, messy, tender, and I didn’t care what flavor it was. I just knew I wanted more.
“Need help with anything?”
Method’s voice came from across the bar. Rough. Flat. But not unfriendly.
“I think I got it,”
I called back and tucked the bills into the drawer.
“Unless you know how to scrub gum off the bottom of the bar without losing your soul.”
His mouth actually twitched.
“Not in the job description.”
“Lucky you.”
I rounded the side, and snatched up the spray bottle and rag.
“Honestly, this place needs a good exorcism more than a mop some days.”
I dropped to my knees and reached under the side of the bar, while muttering a few colorful things about drunk college kids and their nasty habits. Honestly, it was just humans with some nasty habits.
After a few minutes of scrubbing, the offending wad of gum snapped off.
“Got ya, sucker,”
I crowed triumphantly.
Method chuckled.
“It’s the little things that can make or break your day,”
I said with a wink. Getting the dried gum off the bar totally made my day.
Now I needed to clean up the rest of the mess from last night. As much as I liked having Twister here when the bar closed, I really needed to do the cleaning before letting him put his hands on me.
The man was a distraction with a capital D.
I grabbed a rag to wipe down the bar top, collected used coasters, tossed out crumpled receipts, and shook my head at the number of cocktail napkins scribbled with bad pickup lines and phone numbers.
I was just about to swipe one last soggy coaster off the polished wood when I saw it.
A plain white piece of paper. Folded in half. Not a receipt. Not a napkin. It didn’t look like it belonged.
I froze.
“Did you set something down over here?”
I asked, and I didn't look away from it.
“No,”
Method replied from his perch.
I picked it up slowly. My fingers felt weirdly cold.
I opened it.
They’re watching the club.
You’re safer without them.
My stomach dropped.
“Method.”
My voice cracked.
He was beside me in an instant. “What?”
I held out the note to him.
He didn’t touch it, just read it while hovering close.
“Son of a bitch,”
he growled.
“Did you see who put that there?”
“No.”
I looked around the bar, and my heart thudded in my chest.
“I didn’t see anyone last night, but I honestly wasn’t focused on who was leaving garbage on the bar.”
He pulled out his phone.
“Calling Twister.”
I wanted to say don’t. I wanted to downplay it. But the note was still in my hand. Still real. Still terrifying.
“Twister’s coming,”
Method said after a tense moment. “Now.”
I nodded and leaned back against the bar, clutching the wood behind me for support.
Five minutes later, I heard the roar of a bike. Then the door swung open hard enough to rattle the hinges.
Twister.
He stormed in, eyes locked on me. “Tempi?”
“I’m okay,”
I said quickly and held up the note.
He strode over, took it from my hand, and read it.
The muscles in his jaw went rigid.
“Where did you find this?”
“On the bar. I was cleaning, and it was just… there.”
Twister cursed under his breath and folded the note with sharp, precise movements.
“They’re not just fucking with the club,”
he said.
“They’re trying to rattle you.”
“Well,”
I muttered, “mission kind of accomplished.”
He stepped closer, cupped my cheek, and his thumb stroked beneath my eye.
“I got you, doll. I promise. Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”
“I know,”
I said softly.
“But this is feeling bigger. Not just business rivalry or whatever.”
“It is,”
he agreed, voice low.
“We’re trying to dig into who’s behind all this. Swift and Wheels are chasing down some leads.”
“I’m guessing they didn’t leave business cards behind,” I joked.
That earned a flicker of a smile. Just a flicker.
“I’m not letting them scare you off,”
he said.
“You’re mine. They’re gonna figure out real quick that I don’t break.”
“You’re not scared?” I asked.
“I’m furious,”
he said.
“And yeah, I’m worried. But scared? Nah. They picked the wrong people to push.”
I took a breath and nodded.
“Okay. So what happens now?”
“Now, I add more protection. Until we figure out who left that note, you don’t walk five feet without someone watching your back. I’ll rotate Method, Cord, Swift. Whoever’s free. When I can’t be with you.”
I opened my mouth to argue.
The club needed to be focused on who was doing this, not just standing by watching me. I felt bad taking away from them.
He stopped me with a kiss. Just a soft one that was warm and steady.
When he pulled back, I let the words die in my throat.
I just nodded.
Because I trusted him.
And maybe that was the scariest part of all.