Smoke (Steelwood MC: Meadow Falls #2)

Chapter 1 Bunny

one

Bunny

The casino is bustling, just as it always is. No matter the hour, whether the sun is high in the sky or below the horizon, there are always people around to keep me on my feet, to keep me busy.

The smile on my lips feels like a permanent fixture at this point. No matter what drinks are spilled on my dress and corset, or what gambler steps in my path and nearly runs me off course, the curve will always remain while I'm on the floor.

There is one exception. One person who makes my teeth unclench, and my stiff limbs turn into goo. One man who makes it easy to block out the surrounding noise and chaos.

He's currently sitting at a table playing Texas Hold 'Em with other gamblers who don't stand a chance of winning, his world narrowed down to nothing but the cards displayed in front of him. Too locked in to pay any attention to a cocktail waitress tending his favorite hangout spot.

That's how it's always been since Smoke appeared. A gruff man like him would never notice a woman with a few years on him, someone who wore her heart on her sleeve.

Despite my crush being one-sided, I can't help but keep tabs on him. Notice him when I should be searching for those who need more drinks.

Sometimes, I'll slow down when I'm getting near him, just so I can catch a whiff of motor oil. It clings to his leather jacket like a second skin, almost as if, when he's not winning here, he's hanging out in some kind of garage, working on his motorcycle in his free time.

Every time I hear that familiar low rumble, I always hope it's him. With how many members of the Steelwood MC come and go, it's never a guarantee that he'll be here during my shifts, but he's one of the few who spend most of his time here. He and his brother, Ace.

Unfortunately, there are hardly ever any slow periods here at the casino. Unless I have an excuse to address him directly, all I can do is coast by or watch them work their magic from a distance.

Even now, while I wait for a few drinks to be made, I search for the table he's hunkered down at out of habit. When I spot him, I can hardly work out any details, but it's enough to make my pulse shoot up, just as it always does.

A soft sigh leaves me, one I can't capture in time. Hearing just how longing it sounds, it gives me the strength to look away and return my attention to what I should be doing. Working.

Michelle sets down a few beers and two glasses of scotch for me to deliver.

I thank her before carefully lifting the tray, letting the liquid still before turning on my heel.

After all these years tending these carpeted floors, I've mastered hardly spilling a drop.

Just as I'm ready to shoot off in the direction of a waiting table, I notice another waitress approaching. Rue.

She's one of the newer girls, favored for her youthfulness and baby face. Every time I see her, she's got a worried look on her face. Now isn't any different.

"Bunny?" She's missing her tray despite looking flushed. Her fingers are still tying her corset, her uniform thrown together in a rush. She must've just gotten in for the start of her shift.

My lips curve without effort, unlike my attempt to keep my eyes off my favorite biker. "What can I do for you, love?"

There's something about the way her expression pinches that tells me there's a problem.

I've seen this look on plenty of the younger women's faces when they're feeling uncomfortable.

With how rowdy some of the customers here get when they get alcohol running in their system, I wouldn't be surprised if anyone got ballsy with her during the time she made her approach.

Still, my experience with the job doesn't come close to what someone from the security team could do for her if that's the case.

She tangles her fingers together once they're free of her uniform before glancing to the side. "Well, I saw something. I think you should see it, too."

Trying to follow her gaze to get an idea of what is stressing her out, all I have to look at are the numerous bodies crowding the space around us.

"It's in the back." Reading my confusion, Rue squirms. "Your locker was open..."

Dread fills my stomach at the warning and caution tone behind her voice. Already having an idea of what she'll have to tell me, I quickly cut her off before she can say more, not wanting more staff to hear about my current dilemma. "Let me drop this order off first."

Rue nods and follows along, so close, I'm surprised our glittering heels don't brush.

I keep my voice perky, a sweet song I’ve perfected over hundreds of shifts, as I glide to the other side of the casino, offering welcoming greetings to patrons I both recognize and don't. Excusing myself past others, I hide the worry that wants to form on my face beneath a flirtatious mask.

My hips do the extra work for me—a little extra sway, the kind that makes my uniform cling in a way that has men request me to be the one to serve them.

It's all part of my act—a persona I've honed through my time here. Thanks to my efforts, slipping into a role feels natural, even during moments like these when I panic inside.

The high-roller table erupts in cheers as I approach, with whistles and the wet smacks of drunken approval. They’ve been soaking in whiskey all night, and it requires effort not to crinkle my nose at the smell wafting from them. Despite its grossness, it's a welcoming distraction.

One of them tries to flirt. It comes out as a slurred, sticky mess.

I smile anyway, giggling as one of them cracks a joke.

Then I feel the brush of thick fingers against the back of my knees.

My body doesn’t flinch. My smile doesn’t crack.

Instead, I look down at the hand I can see—the one pinching a few crumpled bills.

That’s the real language here. The reason I can act the way I do. Any opportunity for tips is one I'll grab at.

I lean over him purposely and let him watch the way the pendant between my breasts catches the light, placing his eyes right where I need them.

“Is that all for me?” I let my voice drop just a little. Just enough to sound like a purr. My eyes flick from the damp bills to the sweat beading on his receding hairline. Grubby little fingers. My stomach gives a small, tight lurch of disgust—but I swallow it.

Do it for the dream home, Bunny.

“You already know it, gorgeous.” He grins, finally dragging his touch away like he’s doing me a favor. “Can’t you take a break? You’re always on the move. Those poor feet of yours must be killing you.”

I pluck the bills from his fingers slowly, lingering just long enough to make him hold his breath. Then I make a show of tucking them into my chest piece. His eyes follow the motion like a starving dog. Perfect. He doesn’t even notice me taking a step back.

I reach for his shoulder, give it a squeeze, and let out a giggle—light as champagne, fake as hell, and he drinks it up like he’s more special than any of these other horny dogs panting over us waitresses.

“Thank you for looking out, sugar.” I tilt my head and let my hair slip over one shoulder. “Sadly, these drinks won’t serve themselves. You'll let me know if you need anything else, though, won't you?”

A panted nod is what I expect, and it's exactly what I get.

I might be nearing my thirties, but I've still got it in the bag. Especially for men who are desperate for a little attention aimed their way.

Turning on my heel and throwing him a wink over my shoulder, I leave behind a chorus of groans in return.

Rue falls into step beside me. She flicks a glance over her shoulder, then back at me like I’ve got three heads.

“I don’t know how you do it,” she says, shivering. “Flirting with all those guys. I could barely keep my face straight as a spectator.”

I shrug, more focused on us heading toward our destination. “They’re suckers for a sultry smile and a nice rack.” I tap my chest with a wink. “And I’ve got both to give.”

It’s watching their eyes, timing my breath, knowing exactly when to lean in and when to pull away. Though, despite mastering the act, I’m not perfect.

I don’t complain to her about the one man I actually want to look my way—the one who books it in the opposite direction every time I catch his gaze and attempt to approach, as rare as it is.

While Rue murmurs her insults about her lack of a chest, she keeps walking, leading me toward the back of the casino.

Every step fills me with dread as we get closer to the back wall.

There's the same opening gap I pass by a hundred times a shift.

It belongs to the staff's changing room.

Splitting in two directions, we head toward the women's section.

The room's empty, and the silence makes it feel even emptier, and I'm grateful for it.

The room is full enough to provide every member with their own locker. For some of the older employees, we have our names written on them. Some are decked out with faded stickers and markers, while others are boring and bare.

I can't help the way I groan before we even need to stop at my locker.

"I came in, and it was already open. I closed it and found you right after, so I don't know who all saw it." Rue's the one who opens the locker, thankfully. Already dreading what I'll find this time, it's a single rose and a letter waiting for me on top of my sneakers.

Every note is different. Today's is a white sheet with different letters attached with some kind of glue. Looking creepy as hell, I'm not even sure if I want to pick it up, but I do anyway. I think I prefer the hard-to-read cursive I'd gotten last time.

Surely, whoever is leaving them must realize how murderous this looks. I think I prefer the unwanted flirtatious advances I get from those who give me tips.

"I think you should tell someone." She grimaces at the love letter that looks more like a ransom note. "This is the second one this week, isn't it?"

If Rue's caught on, then I can only imagine others have as well. Wonderful.