Chapter Nine
Ayda
“Order up, Ayda.”
“Ayda, can you pour me three coffees?”
“Ayda, the guy on four changed up his eggs to scrambled, hon.”
On no sleep whatsoever, all of the voices aimed at me were beginning to grate on my nerves and my sanity.
Tangled with the constant contemplation of my altercation with Drew Tucker, I was about ready to throw my hands up and walk out of the damn place.
This was normally what I thrived on—the constant rush, with no time to think, just to do.
I could multitask without much thought on most days, but not that morning.
“Okay, got it,” I mumbled, grabbing the ticket from the wheel and scribbling on it. My hand threw it back up as my other grabbed for three cups, but the scalding hot pot met my palm instead.
“Jesus, Ayda,” Sam said, grabbing my wrist and towing me to the sink, where she ran cold water over my palm and clucked her tongue at me. “Where the hell is your head at today?”
My eyes met Janette’s before I dropped them to watch our hands, the clear stream easing the tingle a little. Lifting one shoulder and huffing out a breath, I kept my excuse as close to the truth as possible. “Tate snuck out last night. I didn’t do much sleeping.”
“Damn teenagers. With the noise those bikers were making last night, what the hell was he thinking?”
“Good question,” I responded quietly, nodding to her that I could do it. “Thanks, Sam.”
“It’s okay, sweetie. I’m dreading Cameron being a teenager. Makes me crazy to think about it.”
“He’s five.” Janette laughed, grabbing my order and winking at me as she disappeared through the doors. I was in the middle of fixing the coffees when she returned and whispered to Sam before taking the pot from my good hand and towing me back into the office.
“What the—”
“Time to take a break.”
“Jan, we’re in the middle of the rush.”
“Yes ma’am, we sure are, and those hung-over bikers of yours seem to have quite an appetite on them.”
Just like that, all of my fight was gone and I let her tow me straight back into the office.
Backing up slowly, my ass planted on the desk chair, the creak disappearing into the muted sound of the diner just beyond the thin walls.
As tempting as it was, I couldn’t sit in that office the whole time they were there.
I had to face the music, and in all likelihood, the ridicule eventually. Sooner was better than later.
“I can’t hide forever, Jan.”
“No, but I can give you fifteen minutes to compose yourself and clean that burn up a little, sugar.” I watched as she moved around the office, pulling out the first aid kit, before tugging my hand under a lamp and examining it. “Nothing serious, but I’m going to wrap it to keep it clean.”
I nodded, but I would have had the same reaction to anything she’d have said as the numbness of stark terror ran through my body. I was under no misapprehension as to who was out there. Had it been random members of the MC, Janette wouldn’t have reacted the way she was doing.
Drew Tucker was sitting in the diner and I was going to have to grow a set and march out into the seating area with the same strength and arrogance that I had confronted him with the night before.
Scared or not, at least I would have my pride.
I wasn’t going to grovel at this man’s feet no matter how much he expected me to.
“Jan.”
“Yes, sugar?”
“I’m not hiding from him. I can’t live in fear of these men.”
“That’s brave and all, but—”
I stood up, her eyes widening as she followed my actions.
By the time I pulled the door out of my way, she was on my heels and mumbling under her breath.
Aside from my parents’ funeral, it was one of the single hardest things I’d ever had to do.
Ignoring Rusty’s grumbling about half his staff disappearing, I grabbed the tray with one of my table’s orders on it and headed to the swing door, bumping it out of my way with my ass before stepping into the chaos of the morning rush.
I could feel every eye of the leather-wearing Hounds on me as I moved around the room. The intensity of the stares made my stomach boil with nausea, but I kept my head up and my back straight before nodding at Sam and heading to their joined tables to take their orders.
I had nowhere else to go.
“Morning, y’all. Coffees are on the way. Have you decided what you want to eat yet?”
I looked around the table, forcing myself to meet the gaze of every man there. They were intimidating as hell, each one scrutinizing me as I stood, shuffling with discomfort from one leg to the other. Not one of them said a thing to me.
“If you haven’t decided, I’ll go get the coffee and be right back with you.”
Drew’s eyes were the last set I met, the greenish blue filled with sardonic humor as I stepped away from the table.
He was enjoying every second of my discomfort.
He was also utterly infuriating. I gripped onto that frustration with both hands and shrugged.
It was better than fear, even if I couldn’t predict what would come out of my mouth next.
I walked backwards away from the table, watching his arm stretch over the back of the occupied seat next to him, his other hand pinching the hair under his bottom lip. One last look and he cast his eyes down at the menu, releasing me from his hold.
Turning around, I felt my heart in my throat. This was going to be a really long day.
“I’ll have the waffle platter.”
“Roughneck special for me.”
“Sausage.” Laughter started, all of the others ribbing the guy. “Fuck off, assholes.”
“Pancakes, with that cream shit and fruit. I can’t fucking stand syrup.”
The orders kept coming, half of them shouting at me before I could even turn and see who was speaking.
I scribbled as fast as I could. Oatmeal, the greasy treat, the hash-brown wonder, platter after platter.
My writing just grew worse with each one.
Counting out the orders and doing a mental count of the men gathered around the table, I realized there was one missing.
“Who didn’t order?”
I should have known it would be him before I even heard him speak up.
“That would be me, Ayda Hanagan.” Drew’s body rose in his seat as he leaned back to look at me with a small, one-sided grin on his face.
“I can’t seem to decide what I’m in the mood for.
Rough night last night. What would you recommend? ”
“We have some fantastic humble pie, or apple if you’d prefer, but if I were you, I’d go for something greasy, really soak up some of that alcohol.” I put the tip of the pen to paper and cocked my hip, my eyebrows raised as the table suddenly went silent.
Me and my fucking mouth.
He didn’t react at first, but it didn’t take long for that grin of his to fall and for him to narrow his eyes on me. I felt my blood chill, my own mental reprimand drowning out everything but his voice. “Tempting, but I fancy something bloody. Some fresh meat.”
I swallowed compulsively and found myself counting before responding. “We have a great T-bone steak. Steak and eggs is the chef’s specialty. He will cook the steak to order.” I didn’t add the ‘Hopefully it will sate your thirst for blood, you animal,’ I wanted to as I forced a smile at him.
I heard some of the guys mumble under their breath on either side of me, but I kept my attention solely on Drew.
I had no idea what he was going to say next, but I knew all I wanted to do was disappear behind those doors and catch my breath.
I didn’t know what I’d been thinking, insulting him like I had.
“The T-bone. How much does it weigh?” he asked sharply, speaking right at me as though there was no one else in the room but us.
“Six, eight, or twelve ounce. Your choice.”
His hand reached up to his face again, his fingers almost massaging the side of his beard in thought.
“Not enough.” Drew’s eyes dropped from mine, rolling all the way down my body as slowly as they possibly could before he eventually started to lift them again.
“I’m feeling like I could eat around a hundred and twenty pounds of meat, right now.
” His gaze snapped up to mine and once again, his smirk broke free.
“Maybe I should go somewhere more… accommodating.”
The rat bastard. I was only a hundred and eighteen pounds; he’d put weight on me.
Not that two pounds even mattered. What bothered me the most was his need to goad me into an argument—one he would ultimately win because he had his own little audience to play for.
I rocked forward with a sugary sweet smile on my lips, pulling the menu down and pointing to one of the special offers.
“We have the big man triple special. It’s only thirty-six ounces, though. I would say if that’s not enough, you might have an iron deficiency you should probably see your doctor about.”
The new chant of shut up inside my own head was now deafening, my ears ringing with the sound of it, while my stomach took a leap and lurched to my throat.
If I hadn’t been on some MC hit list before, I was sure as hell etching my name onto it now.
I wasn’t just insulting him anymore. I was insulting him in front of his friends and peers, and I had the distinct feeling he was about to hand me my own ass.
Verbally, here with an audience, but it was later, when I sat in my house in the dark, that I was truly worried about.
He knew where I lived. He knew my one weakness in life was Tate.
I felt the blood drain from my face as I rocked back on my heels and stumbled a few paces away from the table, my apology mumbled as I shook my head. The only words that were in my head now were a prayer: Leave Tate alone.