Queen of the Metal Reapers MC

1. Char

CHAR

Have you ever seen a man so ruggedly beautiful that it steals your breath away?

Yeah, it’s fucking hard to sling margaritas behind a bar when that shit happens.

I’d never seen those men before. Trust me, if I had?

I’d remember them. Those sleek leather jackets and piercing, determined stares drew me in, but it was the playful wink one of them tossed me that made the bones evaporate from my knees.

So, like a good bartender, I put on my best smile and thanked my fucking stars that I’d put something decent on for work that night.

It was time to make some tips.

“Well, well, well,” I said as the three mountainous men approached the bar, “don’t tell me you boys have come in to make my evening.”

The one with the wink pinned me with his dazzling green stare. “Only for the lucky girl.”

I couldn’t help it as my lips parted with my smile. “What’ll it be, handsome?”

His jet black hair swayed softly with the motions of his head while he talked. “Whiskey neat for me.”

The one with the salt in his hair leaned back against the bar stool. “Glass bottled beer. Don’t care which.”

And the behemoth whose stool creaked beneath his sitting simply crossed his arms over his chest.

“Mountain Man down there will have a Jack and Coke,” Mr. Salt said as he patted the man’s shoulder.

It was comical, watching that man’s hand be dwarfed by the shoulder of some gargantuan sitting next to him. It made me shake my head as I reached for a dry rag. I wiped my hands off and slung it over my shoulder, setting my sights on the glasses strung up from the heavens above my head.

And as I stretched for the stem, that molten chocolate voice from Mr. Wink poured over my ears.

“Mm, mm, mm,” he hummed, “what a view.”

I giggled as I slipped the glass out of its overhead holster. “Might wanna get my name if you’re gonna be staring that hard, handsome.”

“Well,” the man with the forest colored eyes said as he leaned back against his barstool, “why don’t you do me the honors, then?”

I turned and reached for the liquor that I needed behind me. “I’m Char. And you are?”

“Whiskey neat.”

I snickered as I shot him a playful glance. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging. That’s not a very nice tactic to use on a woman you can’t stop staring at.”

The two men sitting to his right slowly turned their heads to look at him. But, he didn’t take his gaze off me.

Not for a second.

“The name’s Dallas,” he said as he tossed me another wink.

I nodded as I panned my gaze over to Mr. Salt. “And you are?”

The man simply stared at me, though. His tanned skin and dark brown eyes seemed to read down into the pits of my soul as the shaved sides of his head glistened in the warm fluorescent lighting of the bar where I worked, Bottle Grounds.

He had his brown hair pulled back into a bun, and the down curl of his lips told me he was less than impressed.

Maybe the alcohol would get them to open up a bit.

“So, Dallas,” I said as I continued preparing their order, “what brings the three of you in here this evening? I haven’t seen you around anywhere.”

“We’re just passing through,” he said.

“Don’t get many of those way out here,” I said as I reached down and grabbed a bottled beer from the ice chest at my knees. “Any particular place you’re headed?”

“South,” was all Mr. Salt managed to bark out.

I studied his face as I placed their orders in front of them. “Well, here are your drinks. We also have a fully functioning kitchen with a mean chef behind that oven, if I do say so myself. Let me know if you guys need any menus.”

Dallas picked up his drink and nodded his head. “Will do.”

I slapped my rag over my shoulder. “Enjoy, boys.”

My smile beamed across my face, but the instant I turned my attention to other things, their chairs swiveled around.

They creaked with that awful metal on metal sound that squeaked out louder than God’s roar.

I winced as the sound echoed across the bar.

I’d been begging Miss Lilly to update this place for the better part of a year.

There were patches of the floor that needed to be fixed.

We needed new barstools that didn’t call out for Satan Himself whenever someone wanted to move around on them.

And don’t get me started on the sound system for our stage performers.

We were lucky if the damned thing only cut out twice during a set.

And as I sat there, watching the backs of their heads as the shrieking sound of Mr. Behemoth’s chair died down, I busied myself with cleaning down the bar.

So much for a fun evening.

At least they were blocking my view of the stage, however.

For once, I didn’t have to make my eyeballs bleed trying to be the supportive bartender to yet another off-key singer that only thought they could play the guitar.

Most acts that we booked to perform were mediocre, at best. Young guys trying to earn some fast cash.

Bar bands made up of fifty-year-old men whose penchant for staying on tune had flown out the window.

We needed better acts, that much was for certain.

But, what would a person do? Layborn, California, was home to maybe ten thousand people, and half of the time those people were elsewhere!

I winced as the guy up on stage missed a note, his voice still deciding what it wanted to be.

“Poor boy’s balls haven’t even dropped yet,” I heard Dallas mutter.

I did my best to hide my chuckle, but it wasn’t like he was wrong.

That’s exactly what it sounded like, and I was glad I wasn’t the only person who thought that.

I cleared my throat to keep myself from barking with laughter, then checked the time on my cell phone.

Fucking hell, we had less than an hour until last call.

That meant I needed to start closing down what parts of the bar that I could.

Especially now, if I wanted to pile into bed before three in the morning.

“Another round for me and my guys,” Dallas said as I stacked the liquors back onto the shelf.

I held back a giggle as I plucked the whiskey right back off the shelf. “Sure you guys don’t want anything out of the kitchen? DeShawn back there makes some mighty good food.”

“We’re sure,” he said. “But, if you’d like, you can pass me a bowl of those cherries you use to garnish your drinks here. Fucking love those things.”

I licked my lips as I gathered the rest of the liquor that I required for their order. “Anything for you, handsome.”

Slinging their drinks was mindless, which gave me time to study the man before me.

Dallas loomed over my bar, his gaze unwavering as he watched my every move.

I couldn’t help but take a second to admire him.

The breadth of his shoulders alone could’ve stunned a horse, but it was the cheeky smile that lit up the angular features of his face.

His raven black hair had just enough length to make my fingers tingle, and it didn’t take someone with perfect vision to see his chiseled muscles screaming against the genuine leather of his jacket.

Goddamn it, Dallas was a sexy man.

“Here you go,” I said as I passed out their second round, “a Jack and Coke for the silent one, a glass bottled beer for Mr. Salt, and a whiskey neat for Mr. Dallas.”

“Please,” he said as he took his drink from me, “Mr. Dallas is my father.”

“Jesus Christ,” Mr. Behemoth muttered.

I watched Mr. Salt nudge the man, but I would’ve been shocked if the mountainous human being about to bust his bar stool even felt it. Yet still, it didn’t stop me from placing my hands on the bar, shoving my tits together, and watching as that man’s gaze dropped to my prominent cleavage.

“What if I’m into daddies, though?” I asked playfully.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” he said as he held the glass to his lips.

Dallas tossed his drink back in one gulp before he slammed the glass back down onto the bar, his eyes never moving.

His gaze, completely locked with me as the hairs on the nape of my neck stood on end.

Even Miss Lilly would get onto me for how much I was flirting with the man, but who could blame me?

I bet he had a washboard underneath that shirt of his that needed my tongue for a nice massage.

“Turn around,” Mr. Salt said flatly.

Dallas rolled his eyes. “We’ll cash out our tab whenever you’re ready.”

I nodded. “Coming right up.”

As I walked over to the decades-old register Miss Lilly refused to get rid of, I watched their reflections in the mirror in front of me.

I watched how they swiveled back around in their chairs as the young guy up on the stage started in on what I hoped was his last song.

An hour of this was probably equal to an hour of torture in Guantanamo, and I was ready to get back upstairs and get some rest. But, as I took the tab back to the guys, I couldn’t get over how entranced they were with the act.

The guy was terrible, and yet they watched him like a hawk.

Did they know the kid or something?

“Here you go,” I said as I slid the ticket toward Dallas.

It wasn’t Dallas that responded, however. Instead, Mr. Salt slowly turned his creaking barstool toward me and locked those brooding browns against my face. I watched as he pulled out his wallet. As he yanked a few bills from the fold and tossed them onto the bar.

“Keep the change,” he said as he stood.

And as I watched him pat both of the guys on either side of him on the shoulders, he raked his gaze away from my body.

Before that pert little ass of his came into view in a pair of the tightest jeans I’d ever seen on a motherfucker.

Dear God, I gotta get laid.