Ace (Savage Raptors MC #6)

Chapter One

Ace

The neon sign above The Broken Spoke flickered to life, washing the windows in red and gold.

I dragged a towel across the bar’s scarred oak surface, same as I had every night for years.

The waning sunlight painted the room in worn-out colors, soft enough to hide most of the damage but not the age.

The smell of beer, wood polish, and dust clung to every inch of the place.

Seven years of running this joint hadn’t changed much.

Wipe the bar, stock the coolers, check the taps, unlock the door, and see what kind of trouble rolled through before sunrise.

I tossed the towel aside and crouched to count bottles.

Cold air brushed my face when I opened the cooler.

Bud Light. Coors. A few fancy labels for college kids from the next town who thought drinking craft beer made them worldly.

My hands worked on instinct, restocking without effort while my thoughts drifted to the schedule Jenna had left.

Three open shifts. No easy way to cover them.

A motorcycle growled outside, a sound I could’ve picked out anywhere.

Maui. I closed the cooler and turned as heavy boots hit gravel.

The front door swung wide, and he filled the frame, the last bit of daylight flashing over the Savage Raptors patch on his vest. He’d worn the patch longer than I’d been breathing, easy.

“You’re early.” I filled a glass of water.

He grinned, an easy smile he always used whenever he wanted everyone around him to relax.

Strangers believed every second of the act.

Brothers knew better. “Wanted to catch you before the rush.” He settled onto a stool.

“Figured you’d want the news straight from me before the gossip train started rolling. ”

“Appreciate it.” I slid the water across the counter and leaned against the back shelf. “What’s the word?”

“Sunday night. Clubhouse. Mandatory.” He drank and then set the glass down. “There’s something brewing. Didn’t say what, but Atilla had the look.”

“Guess I’ll find out Sunday.”

Maui’s gaze shifted toward the top shelf where the good whiskey waited. “You pouring, or should I climb back there and risk ruining your setup?”

“You still can’t pour worth a damn.” I reached for the Maker’s.

He smirked. “Seven years and you still think that cheap stuff deserves a place on your shelf.”

I poured two fingers of whiskey and slid the glass across.

He lifted the drink in a mock salute before taking a long swallow.

Silence settled between us -- comfortable, familiar.

We’d known each other since my first week as a Prospect.

Back then, I’d been searching for something I couldn’t name.

Maybe a place to belong. Maybe peace. The club gave me both.

The Spoke came later when the brothers needed a steady hand here.

I’d traded a hammer for a bar rag, found purpose, and hadn’t looked back.

“How’s the family?” I stacked coasters already perfectly aligned, giving my hands something to do.

“Good. Casey’s on some health kick -- fish, greens, no red meat. I told her she might be trying to keep me alive, but she’s going to end up killing me with this crap.”

“Could be worse.”

“Could be.” He rolled the whiskey in his glass, amber light catching the edges. “Heard Jenna’s been covering extra shifts.”

“She has.” I checked the taps, running the lines until they ran clear. “Best worker I’ve got.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Someone said you gave her keys.”

“Who’s talking?”

“People always talk.” He grinned. “Just making sure you’re not going soft.”

“She earns her keep. Shows up, stays sober, doesn’t steal. More than most can claim.” I restocked the rail. “Someone needs to open when club business calls.”

Maui nodded, content. He finished his drink, then nudged the empty glass in my direction. “One more?”

“You planning to ride home drunk?”

“One won’t hurt.” He tapped the rim. “Live a little.”

I poured half a glass. The neon sign buzzed overhead, steady and soft. Outside, twilight deepened to indigo. Soon the lot would overflow, bikes and trucks claiming every inch of pavement, laughter and music swallowing the quiet. For now, only Maui and I remained.

“Sunday.” He stood. “Don’t forget.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

He paused at the door. “Ever think about where you’d be if you hadn’t joined up?”

The question hit harder than expected. I forced myself to think of an answer anyway. “Probably swinging a hammer somewhere, still wondering why nothing ever stuck.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “That’s what I figured.”

Then he stepped into the fading light and disappeared.

Silence filled the space he left. Despite the fact I wore the patch, I stayed out of club politics unless they asked for my opinion.

The clock read six forty-five. Fifteen minutes to open. I rinsed the glasses, checked my reflection. Dark hair overdue for a cut, hazel eyes dulled by long nights, jaw shadowed by two days of neglect. Good enough. I flipped the sign and waited for the noise to start.

By nine, The Broken Spoke pulsed in full swing.

Boots struck wood, laughter sliced through the bass pounding from the jukebox.

Heat thickened the air -- beer and sweat mingling as a ghost of cigarette smoke curled in from the patio.

Locals, bikers, and college kids crowded shoulder to shoulder.

I moved behind the bar on autopilot, my hands working while my mind stayed alert.

Watch the corners, the drunks, and the ones who linger too long.

Jenna wove through tables, her tray balanced high, hair pulled back, expression calm.

Knuckles, Stringer, and a Prospect I hadn’t bothered remembering yet occupied the corner booth.

They kept to themselves but missed nothing.

Raptor territory extended through every inch of The Spoke, a silent warning outsiders rarely ignored.

I poured drafts, slid bottles, counted bills. The trick came down to knowing which trouble would fade and which demanded a hand. Pool table arguments usually burned out fast. Jealous boyfriends didn’t.

The jukebox switched to something modern and forgettable. The college crowd whooped. I let the song play. Money spent the same no matter what they danced to.

A man in a Stetson nursed his beer near the end of the bar. I slid him a fresh one before he asked. He nodded and left a five. “Keep the change.”

I picked up the bill and moved on, adding to the register, then wiping the counter. Noise climbed high enough I read lips more than voices. Someone yelled for tequila. Someone else wanted food. I poured the shots, pointed toward the vending machine. Routine held -- until the shift came.

Every bartender recognized the instant when the room’s energy went sour.

A drunk stumbled from the bar, weaving through bodies, knocking into a woman in a black dress.

A drink arced through the air and splashed across her chest. She gasped.

The man beside her -- boyfriend, husband, whatever -- went rigid. His fists clenched, eyes hard.

“The hell’s your problem?” he barked.

The drunk blinked, swaying. “Sorry, man. Didn’t see her.”

“You didn’t see her?” Another step closer. “You blind?”

The woman tried to calm him. “Baby, let it go. It was an accident.”

He ignored her. “Look at her. Dress is ruined.”

The drunk lifted both hands. “I’ll buy her another.”

“You’ll do more than that.”

The crowd hushed. I left the bar, moving slow, unhurried. Fast movement would only spark fire. I stepped between them, voice low. “Problem?”

The boyfriend turned, eyes narrowing as he sized me up. He measured the distance, my stance, my build. I stood easy, hands loose, but every muscle ready.

“He spilled his drink on my girl,” he said.

I looked at the drunk. “True?”

“Didn’t mean to.” His voice slurred. “Accident.”

The woman used a napkin to dab her dress, cheeks pink. “I’m fine. Really.”

The boyfriend opened his mouth, but I cut in. “Next round’s on the house.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Next round. For both of you.” I faced the drunk. “You’re done. I’ll call a cab.”

The drunk nodded hard enough to almost fall again. “Yeah. Sorry.”

The boyfriend hesitated, jaw tight, but the fight drained from his shoulders. His girl touched his arm. “Come on, baby. Let’s just get another drink.”

He studied me one last time before backing off. “Fine.”

I gestured to the drunk. “Outside. Cab in ten.”

He shuffled off, muttering. The crowd turned away, losing interest. I pulled my phone, called the cab company. Jenna caught my eye. I nodded. Crisis over. Knuckles raised his beer in salute. Another night handled.

The couple returned to the bar a minute later. I poured a beer and something fruity, slid both across. “On the house.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

“Enjoy the rest of your night.”

They melted back into the crowd. Laughter rose from the pool tables again. The music shifted to an older track. The rhythm of The Spoke returned, alive but balanced. My pulse slowed. Nights like this always found their balance -- loud, messy, but mostly harmless.

Still, I stayed alert. Calm never lasted forever. The club drilled the lesson deep: read the room, control the situation while hiding every sign of control. Strength without threat. Calm over chaos.

By eleven, the rush faded. Only regulars remained -- diehards who’d drink until closing. I wiped the counter, restocked the coolers, kept one eye on the door. Everything ran smooth. Just how I liked it.

The clock read one fifteen when Jenna approached, the spark in her eyes gone. She’d moved like a machine for the past hour, no banter, no smiles. I’d noticed. I just hadn’t asked.

“Got a minute?” Her hands twisted the strings of her apron.

I scanned the room. Two men in the corner, a woman scrolling her phone, one Prospect shooting pool. Nothing urgent. “Yeah. Office.”

She led the way. The small room barely held the desk, filing cabinet, and two chairs. Jenna sat on the edge of one, knees pressed together. I leaned against the desk and waited.

She took a breath. “My mom had a stroke.”

The words hit like a brick. “When?”

“Yesterday. My sister called this morning. I tried to finish my shift before deciding what to do.” Her voice wavered. “Doctors don’t sound hopeful. I have to leave tonight. I won’t be back.”

Three years she’d worked beside me. Never late. Never lazy. The kind of employee a place leaned on. “Texas?”

“Outside Houston. My sister’s there, but she’s got kids and a husband who travels. She needs help.” Jenna blinked fast, mascara smudged. “I’m sorry. I know this puts you in a bind.”

“Don’t apologize.” I opened the bottom drawer and pulled the cash box. Her pay for the week. I added two hundred. When she tried to refuse, I pressed the money into her hand. “You’ll need it for gas and food.”

“Ace…”

“Take it.”

She swallowed, nodded. “Thank you.”

“You grab your stuff?”

“Mostly. I’ll get the rest.”

We walked back through the bar. The stragglers barely looked up. Inside the locker room, she shoved a hoodie, shoes, and a paperback into her bag. The locker door slammed shut, a hollow clang cutting through the silence.

“Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

The lot lay quiet under a flickering light. Crickets sang in the grass beyond the gravel. Only her old Honda and my truck remained. The few people who remained, other than us, had either walked over or parked elsewhere. She dug for her keys, hands unsteady and anxious.

“Take care of yourself. And your mom.”

Tears welled again. “I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re doing the right thing.”

She hesitated, then hugged me quick and hard. “You’re a good boss, Ace.”

I nodded, unsure what to say. She handed me the key to the bar before she climbed into her car, started the engine, and backed out. Headlights swept across the gravel, fading as she turned toward the road. The night swallowed her taillights.

I stood for a while, hands in pockets, listening to the crickets and distant hum of traffic. Then I turned back inside. The few stragglers had gotten to their feet and shuffled their way outside.

The bar felt hollow. Empty bottles and crumpled napkins littered the tables.

I locked the door, flipped the sign to Closed, and went through the motions -- sweeping, stacking chairs, cleaning the counter.

The rhythm soothed me, simple and predictable.

The jukebox stayed silent. Only the hum of the coolers filled the air.

I counted the till, sorted bills, stacked coins, and locked the cash away. A steady night. Nothing more. My reflection in the mirror looked older, tired, jaw rough from stubble. A face marked by years and shadows behind the eyes.

The staffing problem loomed large now. Jenna had held this place together. Without her, I’d need help fast. I’d start making calls in the morning. For now, I wanted sleep.

I killed the lights, leaving only the glow of the neon sign outside.

The door locked behind me, a solid click marking my exit.

Cool air met my face as I crossed the lot to my truck.

Stars burned bright overhead, and the road home stretched long and empty.

I drove on instinct, mind already circling schedules and names.

Running The Spoke demanded everything I had. Short-staffed or not, I’d find a way to keep the place alive.

I always did.