14. Gauge
GAUGE
“Should we go after him?” I asked as I leaned into Dallas.
We both watched him disappear around the corner of the hallway.
“Dallas?” I asked.
I looked down at him quickly enough to see the end of his shrug. “Would it make a difference if we did?”
Fair enough. “I’ll check on kitchen prep.”
“I’ll make sure the bar is fully stocked.”
“Then, we call the contractors?”
Dallas turned toward me and started walking down the hallway backwards. “Meet back here for phone calls in twenty?”
I headed for the kitchen. “I’ll be here.”
And of course, my presence wasn’t welcomed anywhere near that fucking kitchen.
“Need anything back here?” I asked as I approached the window.
DeShawn, or Chef as we’d probably end up calling him, scoffed. “Just stay out of my way and we’ll be fine.”
Eh, we didn’t expect them to take to things too well.
But, once they saw the money we could put in their pockets, we knew they’d come around.
All we needed was their trust and loyalty, and that took time to build.
Hell, when we built our mechanic shop on the other side of town, our direct business neighbors weren’t happy at all.
The smells. The noises. The hours that we kept.
If they could complain about it, they did.
But eventually, after funneling some of our business in their direction, they shut their fucking traps about things.
Money always did that to people.
Which was another reason why it wasn’t good to kick Char out of her place.
Even with the little bit of time we spent around her that evening a week ago when we came into the bar, it was evident that she ran the place.
People looked up to her. The staff idolized her.
She spoke for people. Stuck up for people.
She ran this place, no doubt. And that meant getting rid of her would make things a great deal more difficult for us.
For now, we knew what we were dealing with: the staff didn’t like the changes, they’d buck against us for a few weeks, and then once we got money rolling through their place, they’d shut up.
But, I knew they wouldn’t follow suit unless we got Char on our good side.
Unless we got her to work with us and be happy with our money, too.
That was why I hoped that Deac wasn’t up there pissing that fucking woman off.
I wonder if they realize how much money their beloved boss was throwing away on this place.
I crunched a few of the numbers in my head when we were first taking a look at things, and even by meager calculations I fucked around with in my brain, the bar had months before it closed its doors for good.
I wonder if their lovable Miss Lilly had ever told any of them that.
They wanted to regard her as family, but she wasn’t even being honest with them.
She wasn’t telling them anywhere near the truth.
The hell was she going to do? Let the doors close on them on the way out for the last time before telling them all they’d be out of a job?
Yeah, some fucking family.
“Hey, Deac!” Dallas called out.
I turned toward the bar and watched him emerge from the backroom.
He had his hands shoved into his pockets as his stare slid around the walls of the bar.
His eyes seemed unfocused. Moving, but not clocking.
And when Dallas cut a tight line toward him, I turned back toward the kitchen window and rapped my knuckles against the stainless steel shelf where food sat under a heat lamp.
“Yell if you need anything,” I said.
Chef scoffed again. “Yeah, no thanks.”
I ignored him, though, as I made a beeline for Deac.
“You good?” I asked.
Dallas placed his hands on his hips. “Just asked.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing,” Deac said flatly.
“Yeah, that,” Dallas said as he pointed nonchalantly at the man.
“Either of you called the contractor?” Deac asked.
I moved to speak, but Dallas beat me to it. “Just got off the phone with him. He says they’re going to come in later this evening to take measurements of that nasty ass bar top.”
“Thank fuck,” I muttered.
Deac simply nodded, however. “We’d better keep her close instead of letting her go.”
Dallas grinned. “Tits got your tongue?”
The look that poured over our President’s face was one I’d never seen before. Even Dallas’ smirk fell directly off his face as anger rose behind our president’s features.
What the hell happened up there? “Deac?”
He drew in air through his teeth. “She’s got a ruthlessness behind her eyes.”
“What?” Dallas asked.
“A personal vendetta that she carries with her.”
It didn’t shock me, given everything she had been through. But, goddamn it, the stare in Deac’s eyes.
I knew I’d never forget it.
“What did she say?” I asked.
Deac shook his head, almost as if he were trying to snap out of something. “We’d do better to keep someone like her close so that we can keep tabs on her.”
Dallas chuckled. “So, this isn’t about you wanting to fill the space between those thighs of hers?”
I ignored him. “She’s imperative to the bar. You’ve seen how everyone sort of rallies around her. She makes the schedule, she runs the front end of the house. We risk everyone’s trust by getting rid of her. If anything, it’s a good tactical decision.”
I lost him, though. About halfway through my spiel, he stepped in between us and bellied up behind the bar.
With his head on a swivel, he glanced around, and I looked over at Dallas as I searched for my next cue.
All he had was a shrug for me, and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out what in the hell had gotten into Deacon.
“You good?” I asked as I stepped up to left side.
Dallas came up to his right, but kept his mouth shut.
“Take it all in for a second,” Deac said.
“All I can take in is this sticky bar,” Dallas said as he pried his hands off the wood.
The sound made the hairs on the nape of my neck stand up.
“Our third business,” Deacon said mindlessly. “Goddamn it, Dad would’ve been proud of our crew.”
There it was. The problem. The point. One I hadn’t even considered when he walked up there to talk with Char in the first place. Fathers. Always a sticking point with Deac. Him and Axel had been close. Like father, like son. Fucking carbon copies of each other.
I can only imagine that talking about her father made him think about his own.
“He’d be proud of you,” I said.
It took time and effort for a crew to arrange themselves as top dogs anywhere, much less in a town like Layborn.
Bigger cities were easier. No one really knew anyone, so it was simply a matter of strategically placing loyal parties in primed positions.
But, with a small town, where everyone knew everyone else?
Making those relationships and building that trust was paramount.
It was the thing Axel always struggled with.
Even with our initial partnership with the local police force, it had taken all of us coaching Axel on what the fuck to do just to make it happen.
I knew Deacon’s father would be proud of how he capitalized on the foundation his father laid for all of us.
“All right,” Deac said as he clapped his hands, “first order of business. Cancel whatever entertainment they had coming in for tonight. I don’t wanna hear another fucking horrible country song in this bar as long as we own it.”
Dallas was quick to pull out his cell. “I’ll go find the schedule.”
Deac pointed at him as he moved away from the bar. “And when the contractors arrive, Dallas, get a schedule going. We’re gonna rotate counterclockwise around the main bar cavity and redo this place, top to bottom, one corner at a time.”
“We should get Plug in here to set up a sound system that isn’t garbage,” I said with a shrug. “Or, that can at least handle a decent playlist from someone’s phone.”
Deac smiled. He genuinely smiled. “Dancing. People dance when there’s good music on. Let’s see what we can do about rearranging these tables to carve out a temporary dancefloor.”
“I’ll help.”
Her voice chirped behind all of us and when I whipped around, I found Char standing on the other side of the bar. She reached for a liquor bottle and slid the damp rag on her shoulder off its perch, wiping it down as the three of us stared at her.
When the hell had she slipped in behind us?
“And before Dallas wastes his time,” she said as he placed the liquor bottle back in its place, “we didn’t have anyone slated for performing tonight.”
“Thank fuck,” I murmured.
“You changed,” Deac said.
“I did,” she said without hesitation.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Not just because she had taken us by surprise, which was something people simply didn’t do, but she sported an impossible tank top with the traps digging into her shoulders.
Her voluptuous tits pressed against the inside of the pathetic scrap of fabric, making my mouth water as I envisioned her tight nipples puckering against my tongue.
The jeans she had plastered to her body looked practically painted on, showcasing her curved waist that blossomed into a set of strong, primed hips.
Her thighs, primed for the taking. Her blonde hair piled itself high on her head in a bun that called to my palms. I wanted to grab that fucking thing, rip her toward me, and crash our lips together.
I wanted to seat her curves against my body and feel her excess fill the slats of my muscles.
She peered over her shoulder with those icy blue eyes of hers and tossed me the most adorable smile that had ever crossed a woman’s lips.
And in that moment, all I wanted to do was toss her onto the bar, rip those jeans down her legs, and?—
“Let’s start by moving the middle tables off to the side,” I said as I forced myself to turn away from her.
“Fair enough,” she said as I heard her slap that rag down.
I had to stay away from her. If I was going to regain control of myself, I had to keep my distance.
So, with a point of my finger, I directed her toward the other side of the tables.
Two full car lengths in between us. More than enough room for me to stop myself if my dick decided to run off with my fucking brain.
“What shape do you want the dancefloor to be?” Char asked.
I peered over at her and watched her move her first table, piece by piece. Chair by chair. Scraping things against the floor whose echo reminded me of nails on a goddamn chalkboard.
“On second thought,” I said as I strode toward her, “just get the bar ready for opening.”
“Gauge, I can move this stuff by myself.”
I began stacking the chairs back on top of the table. “Do as you’re told.”
“Gauge, cut it out,” she said as she took one of the chairs back down off the table, “I can help you with this.”
I snatched the chair away from her and placed it back on the table. “I won’t tell you again.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “And if I don’t listen?”
I ducked down and positioned my shoulder beneath the table.
With all four chairs stacked upside down on top of the squared-off slab of fake ass wood, I squatted that damn thing into the air.
I balanced the four chairs on top of that table as I moved toward the stage, and all the while I felt Char’s eyes on my back.
“Hey, Deac!” I called out as I set the table down on the stage.
“What!?” he called back.
I turned around and thumbed over my shoulder. “What do you think of using the stage as a temporary V.I.P. station?”
Deac tilted his head. “How many more you think we can fit up there?”
Char answered. “Three, easily. But, if we make them larger tables instead of individual ones, we could probably get three large tables up there.”
My gaze volleyed between her and Deac as they faced off with one another. Staring at each other from across the room like one of those stupid ass romcoms Mace watched that he thought he was so damn good at hiding from us.
Then, Deac’s voice sounded with our final command.
“Do it, Gauge.”
So, without another word spoken, I walked to the nearest table with stacked chairs and hoisted it onto my shoulder like I had before.
Only for Char’s stare to follow me wherever my body went.
I felt it the whole time. Every table. Every chair.
I didn’t look back at her once, and it didn’t matter.
I already knew what I’d find if I did, and I didn’t have room for it.
I’d never had room for it. That was the thing about men like me — the ones the world had made up its mind about before we’d said a single word.
You learned early not to want things you weren’t going to get to keep.
Still. Her eyes on my back felt like something I was going to have a hard time forgetting.