17. Char
CHAR
I slammed my way into the kitchen and found M.J. standing next to DeShawn with a butcher’s knife in her hand.
“Feel better holding that thing?” I asked as the doors swung closed behind me.
“I fucking hate this,” she glowered.
I shrugged. “What gives, DeShawn? This practically blows our secrecy out of the water.”
“Have you seen the sound system that guy’s been hauling around?” he asked. “It’s a pretty nice one.”
I tilted my head. “DeShawn? You good?”
He slid his hands into his pockets. “Things just looked a little tense over there. I figured if I called you over, it gave you an excuse to leave.”
I relaxed as a soft smile crossed my face. I walked over to him and placed a kiss against his cheek before I watched his skin flush beneath that beautiful ebony skin of his.
“Thank you,” I said as I squeezed his shoulder. “Really.”
“Always.”
“But, now that we’re all here,” M.J. said as she twirled the wrist that held DeShawn’s knife, “you want to tell us why you pretty much blabbed our plan to them?”
“Wait, what?” DeShawn asked.
I shrugged. “I just told them we wouldn’t go down without a fight. That’s all.”
“Why say it at all, though?” M.J. asked. “We could’ve taken them by surprise.”
DeShawn snickered. “No, we couldn’t have.”
I pointed at him. “Bingo. They’re smart. They’re cunning. I mean, come on, it’s a damned motorcycle crew. We all know this, right?”
The two of them looked at one another, but they didn’t say anything. And that spoke volumes.
“They’re good at what they do, there’s no denying that. They’ve flown under the radar for this long, doing whatever the hell it is that they do. But, do you know what most people can’t work through, no matter how hard they try?”
“What?” M.J. asked.
I smirked. “Curiosity.”
DeShawn blinked. “I’m still not following.”
“Oh, come on, guys, use your imaginations,” I said as I hopped up onto a countertop DeShawn and his guys weren’t using. “What happens when people get curious?”
“They have… questions?” DeShawn asked.
“Yes, but not what I’m looking for,” I said.
M.J. shrugged. “They ask questions?”
I rolled my eyes. “They lose focus, you guys. DeShawn, when you smell something in your kitchen that isn’t supposed to be there, what do you do?”
“I drop everything and find the source.”
“And M.J., when you get home from work and hear little Meatball making a noise somewhere, what do you do?”
“I go and find him,” she said.
I nodded. “Exactly. When people get curious about something, they drop what they’re doing in order to resolve it. So, now that we’ve got them curious as to why people aren’t actually coming into the bar, maybe they’ll focus less on us and more on the bar.”
“Unless they turn their attention toward us now that you’ve blabbed about wanting to take the bar back from them,” M.J. said flatly.
“I’m with her on this one,” DeShawn said.
I sighed heavily. “Look, they’re pompous asshats, right?
Wanting to piss all over their shit and establish that they aren’t to be fucked with?
So, we fuck with them. We throw them off their game.
We make this as difficult as possible, and yes, we use our love for this bar to justify it.
They’ll be so preoccupied with trying to tame us that maybe we can figure out a way to use that against them.
I don’t know how yet, but I’m working on it. ”
M.J. moved closer to me. “Well, work faster.”
I lowered my voice as DeShawn came closer, but something in the corner of my eye caught my attention.
I whipped toward the movement, only to find the faintest shadow undulating just beneath the double doors of the kitchen.
I placed my finger to my lips. I grabbed my best friend’s arms and turned them toward the door.
Then, I made my voice nothing more than a hushed whisper as I slipped off the countertop. “Tonight, okay? But for now, let them be curious as to why we’re congregating in the kitchen. Make them spin their wheels for the night.”
And as I reached out for the swinging kitchen door, I ripped it back toward me. Revealing a smiling Dallas as he leaned against the wall on the other side of the hallway.
Directly in front of the kitchen doors.
“Yes?” I asked.
“Anything you want to share with the class?” Dallas asked.
“No,” I said plainly as I left the kitchen.
“And away we go!” Plug exclaimed from the utility closet.
As I pierced my way back into the main bar room, Matchbox Twenty started rolling from the sound system.
The miniature drum solo ushered in the sound of a 90s electric guitar, and it paused me in the middle of the room.
I closed my eyes. I tilted my head toward the sky.
The crisp, clean notes filled my body, vibrating my bones as I swayed to the rhythm.
Music had been my escape ever since I was really young.
It was a way for me to get out of my own head.
To settle myself down. To drown out the fighting between Mom and Dad on a nightly basis.
Music calmed my soul. It cradled me closely.
It had raised me. Loved me. Comforted me, when there was no one else around.
I had to stay on my guard, though. I couldn’t let these assholes know for a fucking second that I may or may not approve of something.
After all, I knew they were hiding something big.
Something bad. I just had to find proof of it first.
You know, like I had with my father.
“Sounds good, right!?” Deacon called out.
I rolled my shoulders back before opening my eyes. “For a mid-tier sound system, sure.”
Plug poked his head out from the hallway. “Did she just say what I think she just said?”
“Yep,” I said as I headed back toward the bar.
“Hey, Deac!” Dallas called out.
“What!?”
“The contractor just called, he can’t get out here tonight. He said he’d call me back when he had?—”
“Stop talking.”
Dallas snickered. “I’m just saying, when I hear back from him?—”
“I said, shut the fuck up, Dallas,” Deacon growled.
Oh, how his anger filled me. How it brought me such sweet release.
I hoped to piss him off so much it gave him a goddamn heart attack.
Until it had him flopping around on the floor like a dying fucking fish.
I buried my smirk as I got to work cleaning down the bar for the fifth time that evening.
And all the while, I felt their stares on me.
All night, as if I were their favorite piece of art to behold.
If Deacon wasn’t staring me down from across the room, then Plug was mean mugging for talking dirty to his cute little sound system he was so proud of.
I swear, men plug a few things into some sockets and all of a sudden, they think they’re God.
And as luck would have it, not a single fucking soul came in that night.
I didn’t make one fucking drink the entire time I stood behind that bar, trying to make myself look busy.
“Are you fucking kidding me!?” Deacon exclaimed.
I heard something smash to the ground and splinter backstage, and it took all I had not to smile from ear to ear. His anger fueled me. It was music to my ears. Better than anything that could have come out of the sound system Plug had installed. And I knew just how to piss him off even more.
“Last caaaaaall!” I yelped as I cupped my hands over my mouth.
Deac stormed off the stage, leaping to the ground as he practically sprinted toward me. I held my ground, refusing to back up as he charged the bar.
“Are you just trying to be funny now?” he glowered as he leaned over the bar.
His breath pulsed against my face as a smile ticked my cheeks. “Maybe if you weren’t such assholes, people would want to come in.”
He snarled at me. “Shut that trap of yours, or you’ll be the next person fired without pay.”
I moaned before I leaned in closer, damn near fluttering my lips against his. “Oh, God, Deacon. I really hope you do. You haven’t seen what I’m capable of once you piss me off.”
I held his stare as his breath battered against my skin.
I held my position, refusing to back down as his angry brown glare attempted to do the impossible.
No one could intimidate me, though. My father had tried and succeeded many times, and I promised myself that I’d never allow a man to have control and influence like that over me again.
Deacon was just another man in a long line of men who deserved the lot they got in life.
Just like my father.
“If there’s nothing else,” I said as the bar grew silent, “I think I’ll clock out for the night.”
To my surprise, Deacon slowly leaned back. “Get the fuck out of here. I don’t want to see your fucking face until your next scheduled shift.”
“Perfect,” I said as I walked over to the cash register, “just don’t come barging into my place this time around and you should accomplish that just fine.”
And just as I punched in my hours before clocking out, the bell over the door rang.
“Hey, hey!” someone chirped. “Sorry for the delay. Bossman’s got a sick kid, so he sent us in his place.”
“Measurements for the new bar top?” Deacon asked gruffly.
“Yep. You good if we take care of it now?”
“I’ll be even better if you can get it installed before we open tomorrow. Hey! Char!”
I turned and put on my best smile. “Well, hey there, you!”
The contractor beamed from ear to ear. “Hey! Char, right?”
“That would be me,” I said as I stepped up to the bar, “can I getcha something to drink before you get started?”
“No,” Deacon said as he inserted himself into the situation, “no drinking on the job.”
“He’s right,” the contractor said, “I’m James, by the way.”
I shook the hand that he outstretched to me. “Nice to meet you formally. And don’t be a stranger, you hear? You come in and visit, and I’ll whip you up something nice.”
He smiled and nodded his head. “I appreciate it, ma’am. You have a good evening.”