“Yep. Once you do that,” I said, grinning.
Lindy was going in with me on the clothing store. We were best friends since we were in middle school. At the bar, she was another under-aged girl who looked decent in a tight leather top and short-shorts, which meant she would rake in tips as well as men who would come to drink our disgusting concoctions. She loved the idea of an affordable biker-wear store, especially since leather jackets and the lace-up shoes were always so damn expensive everywhere.
The two of us had worked our asses off to save up the money we had. We never splurged on ourselves, and never spent a penny that didn’t need spending. We didn’t have credit cards, and we drove piece of shit cars that barely got us to and from our jobs. That’s the only way we’d been able to save up so much money in only two years. Well, that, and the money Lindy always seemed to accumulate from her various boyfriends over the years. She was a trooper.
Lindy was also the girl who could fix anything, from busted up laces and beat-up motorcycle helmets, all the way to motorcycles themselves. If it was in the biker world, she could fix it. I wanted her not only as someone I could trust to help run the place but as someone who could help open the patch shop I would eventually implement.
“You girls still talkin’ about that stupid shop?”
And my mother was back.
“Hello, Gracie,” Lindy said.
“Your top’s too tight,” my mother said.
“No luck with the guy in the corner?” I asked.
“Cock’s too small.”
“Fuck, Mom. Seriously?” I asked.
“You fucking asked. Keep your mouth shut if you don’t wanna know.”
“And yes, we were talking about the shop,” Lindy said.
“It’s a stupid idea. It’ll never work,” my mother said.
“We’ve already saved up—.”
“Lindy. No,” I said, shaking my head.
“Saved up what?” my mother asked.
“Nothing,” I said.
“You’re living in my house and under my roof. You’re supposed to be helping me with bills,” my mother said.
“And I do. I pay the electric bill, the water bill, and I stock the fridge. Plus, you drink for free. Whatever I do with my money outside of that isn’t your damn business.”
I pulled another shot glass from beneath the counter and poured her a shot. She threw it back, and I promptly refilled it as Lindy’s eyes grew wide.
“How much has she had already?” she asked.
“Not fucking enough,” I said.
“Okay,” my mother said breathlessly. “Let’s go see if his cock grew a bit.”
“I don’t think you understand how alcohol works,” I said.
“How do I look, Emma?” My mother gave me a drunken twirl and landed flat on her ass. She was giggling and hiccupping as a few men began to gather around her. She looked up at them with this disgusting desire in her eyes, and I turned my back so I wouldn’t have to watch. They were ogling over her like she was in some porno, and I wasn’t going to watch my mother paint herself as that type of woman.
“You okay, Emma?” Lindy asked.
“Just let me know when she’s gone,” I said.
I hated it when my mother got this way. I hated it when she told me I would never amount to anything. Mostly, I hated it when I prayed that she would somehow transform to be a good mother when she was sober, only to be disappointed time and time again.
My mother was going to get herself into trouble one day, and she was going to end up coming to me for help. And now, she had an idea that I was stowing away money somewhere.
Which meant she was going to go looking for it.
My only hope was that that I had pumped her with enough alcohol to make her forget all about this conversation.
“Okay, everything’s good now, I think,” Lindy said.
“You think?” I asked.
“I mean, it depends on what ‘good’ is. She’s leaving.”
“Yep. That’s a good thing.” I turned around and saw my mother hanging off the guy who had his hands on her hips earlier. I had no idea where the younger girl was, and I didn't care. We had bouncers at this bar for a reason so, if something had happened, then they were on the case. All I knew was that I saw my mother—who was two shots away from throwing up her guts—shoving her hands down the pants of a boy who looked barely twenty-one years old.
“I gotta fucking get out of here,” I said.
“I can take your shift if you want,” Lindy said.
“No, no, I don’t just mean tonight. I need to get out of this bar period. Out of my mother’s house. I can’t fucking stand it anymore,” I said.
“Well, I’ll make my deposit in the morning, and then we can go shopping for a place to put a cash offer. We’ll find a place that has that loft or whatever you’re looking for, then we can start moving you in. It might not have electricity or running water, but it’ll be better than what you’re in now.”
“You’re damn right it will be,” I said.
“When’s your next day off?” she asked.
“I’ve got Sunday and Monday,” I said.
“Let’s shoot for Monday then? The deposit will have hit, and I can go with you. I don’t think I have Sunday off.”
“Monday, it is, then.”
CHAPTER 2
Another night, another shift at The Skull.
The bar was one of the most popular in my home town, Lucas Corner, California. It was a small desert town in the southern part of the state, surrounded by motorcycle clubs, which meant there was always some excitement brewing somewhere. The Skull was the only bar in town that didn't have a club designation, and it gave us an edge over our affiliated competition.
We served all the clubs without bias, and the only rule was that they couldn't start shit while they were in there. The bar’s reputation spread, and our little shithole quickly became a neutral meeting ground whenever issues needed to be resolved. If club members had problems, or if people wanted to cross-pollinate and marry into other clubs, they could meet in the bar, have a drink, be offered unbiased service, and leave with answers.
And if anyone kicked up any shit, they were tossed out on their asses.
My boss called me up and asked me if I wanted to have an extra shift, so I told him I would come in and help. The bar was always empty until eleven at night, but sometimes pre-game stragglers came in. These were the people who wanted to get drunk before they went off to their club-affiliated bars scattered throughout Lucas Corner. From eight until eleven, I recognized everyone. It was always the same people asking for the same drinks every single time. The monotony helped me mentally slip into the rest of my shift, which would work me like a dog until four in the morning.
I was so fucking ready for my two days off.
But instead of the monotony I was ready for, I had an unexpected little surprise. Three men came in through the doors of the bar. I had no idea who the fuck they were, but it was obvious they were related. They were all tall, with black hair and blue eyes, strong jawlines, and there were bulging muscles underneath their clothes that made my nipples harden.
Fuck. They were beautiful.
Their eyes scanned the bar before the three of them locked onto me. They headed toward the bar, and I readied myself for whatever drinks these men wanted. My heart was hammering against my chest as they got closer, and once they sat down, I could smell the fresh scent of their leather.
Holy hell, it was attractive when a man took care of his leather.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“Wrong question.”
The tallest one with the iciest blue eyes locked his gaze on me. His voice was deep, like distant rolling thunder. He sat with his back leaned against the chair and his shoulders upright with confidence. His chest was puffed out, pressing his chiseled muscles against his tight white shirt.
I felt myself growing weak in the knees just looking at him.
“Then what’s the right one?” I asked.