Blaine and Jace were shooting pool against two guys, four women looking on. They were betting fifty bucks a game, but Jett knew that the women were the real prize. For Jett, he just sat at the bar, beer and whiskey in hand, listening to a rambling broadcast of a fucking hockey game. He didn’t give a shit about sports. Or anything for that matter. Jett had grown up rough and tough, his mother kidnapped and murdered when he was just seven years old. And it always seemed on those sevens bad shit happened. On his seventeenth birthday, he was on the streets, living alone, and found out that his father was the one who kidnapped and killed his mother. That began a long quest to find his father and all the backdoor dealings of organized crime that had been going on around Jett.
During a drunken stupor at twenty, Jett actually got into a fist fight with Miller. From what Jett could remember about that night, he did get Miller with a few really good shots to the face, but Miller was sober and his sober fists prevailed. When Jett woke the following morning, there was a note literally pinned to his stomach.
Nice fight. Let’s talk.
He met up with Miller and that began his life with Back Down Devil MC.
“Can I get you another one?” the bartender asked.
Jett gave a nod. “Sure thing.”
The bartender was cute as anything. Tall, skinny, a beautiful chest. Hair pulled back tight and a little butterfly tattoo on her left wrist. Something about that little tattoo drove Jett wild.
Fuck.
It had been a month since he last had a decent fuck. It was with someone he thought to be a girlfriend. But Ada wasn’t quite that. She was a stripper whore who loved cock and coke. She ended up getting killed ten miles south of Frelen. There was an open murder investigation, but something about it all just bothered the shit out of Jett.
With a fresh beer in front of him, the cute as hell bartender lingered. “Why aren’t you playing pool with your friends?”
“Because I have something better to look at right here,” Jett said.
“Hanging around until closing?” she asked.
“Two in the morning? Beautiful, that’s when I start living. I rise when the sun sets and watch the sun rise every morning.”
“I’d like to watch a sunrise with you.”
Jett grinned. “Trust me, beautiful, you spend a night with me, the last thing you’re going to give a shit about is the sunrise.”
“Good thing,” she said, leaning over the bar a little more. “Because there’s only one thing I want to see rising before my eyes…”
Jett squeezed the glass of whiskey so tight he thought it was going to break.
He started to stand, ready to pound the whiskey and then take the bartender somewhere - bathroom, back room, break room - and then pound her. Then he heard the familiar snapping sound of a pool stick breaking and turned his head just in time to see someone cracking a stick over Blaine’s back.
“Oh, fuck,” Jett said.
He moved from the bar to help out.
When someone attacked someone in Back Down Devil MC there was no need to ask questions. Right or wrong didn’t fucking matter. Nobody touched the MC. Nobody.
The other guy saw Jett coming and turned, lifting the pool stick. “Come on, asshole. Come on.”
So that’s what Jett did. He lunged over the pool table, clearing it, and tackling the other guy to the ground.
Didn’t expect that, did you?
Jett then used his elbows and pounded at the guy’s face a few times. He rolled off the guy and stood up, reaching back for a pool stick of his own. Blaine was getting back to his feet, and Jace was wrapped with some asshole in a black t-shirt and tattoos.
The place was bustling with screams, yells, and people trying to break up the fighting.
Jett poked the first guy in the back of the head with his pool stick. The guy turned and showed the cracked stub of his stick.
“Broke your stick,” Jett said and smiled.
“You fuckers…”
Jett smacked the guy in the face with the pool stick. The guy screamed like a girl. Jett broke the stick over his knee and then stabbed the guy in the shoulder with the broken end. That quickly ended the fight. Well, that and the fact that Blaine had taken out his gun.
People liked the fighting but not the intense violence.
Bunch of pussies.
Jett kicked the second guy in the ribs and left him on the ground.
“Okay then,” Jett said. “I think we’re good here.”
“Get the fuck out!” the cute as hell bartender yelled from behind the bar. “I’m calling the police!”
“Bitch,” Jett said.
Jace touched his lip and was bleeding. Blaine stretched his back and kept his gun handy. Jett walked around the pool table and made a line for the door. The three of them left the bar and went around to the side of the building where they had parked their rides.
“That was fun,” Blaine said.
“Remind me to never go out for a drink again,” Jace said. “Fucking hell.”
“What happened?” Jett asked.
“Blaine started to finger that guy’s girlfriend,” Jace said.
“Are you serious?”