Patriot (Dark Falcons Book 3)

by Em Petrova

  “Hi, I’m Aarica. I thought I’d stop in and see if you need any waitresses or bartenders.”

  The woman’s eyes slid up and down her. “You look young.”

  “I’m twenty-three.”

  Still sizing her up, she nodded. “You ever served before? Bartended?”

  “I did two years at a pizza place near the farm where I grew up.”

  The woman groaned. “Fresh off the farm. You’ll be lucky to make it a night here.”

  She ignored the comment and latched on to the rest of the statement. “Does that mean I’ve got a job?”

  “We can use an extra hand on Monday nights. The games pack the house, and my other waitress can’t always keep up. Ever used a fryer before?”

  She nodded. “The pizza place where I worked had wings and fries on the menu.”

  “That’s all you need then. You’re hired. Come back at seven. That’s when we get busy.”

  Trying not to let her surprise show that getting a job had been so easy, she stepped closer to the bar. “What’s your name again?”

  “Fiona. I own this place.”

  She looked around. “The Painted Pig.”

  “Yup.”

  “What’s it mean?”

  Fiona eyed her. The tough little blonde had an exterior that would put most grown men in their place, but something about her smile reminded Aarica of one of her older female cousins who always took her under her wing.

  “Come back at seven and you’ll see what the name stands for.”

  “Uhh, okay. Should I wear anything special?”

  “Yeah, a turtleneck if you have one.”

  She blinked. “A turtleneck?”

  “Yeah, with a body like yours, fights will break out over you. Can’t have that.”

  Aarica stared at her for a long minute.

  Finally, the woman laughed. “I’m kidding. Just wear something comfortable you can work in.”

  With a smile, Aarica wagged her finger at her new boss. “I’ll have to watch out for you, I see. Thanks, and I’ll be here at seven.”

  “If you can handle it.”

  Aarica left the bar with a smile plastered on her face. Food service wasn’t fantastic pay, but it was a start and would fill in some gaps. Plus, she wouldn’t have to worry about her shifts overlapping her nanny duties with Jay, since that was during the day.

  Since she didn’t have much to do now besides wait for seven o’clock to roll around, she took a drive. Exploring Mersey and the nearby area had been something she longed to do, and now seemed to be a good time. The quaint town had an old charm mixed with tourist spots, and she stopped at a couple shops to browse. Then she got in her car and looked to the skyline. The mountains hung as a breathtaking backdrop against the low buildings scattered through the low elevation making up Mersey.

  But in the distance, a tall Ferris wheel had been luring her in since the moment she drove down that highway. Rumor was that Mersey boasted its own fairgrounds, open almost year round for the tourists. She couldn’t wait to check it out.

  When she continued to follow the route, she eventually spotted a sign that the fair was open Thursday through Sunday. She paused at the gates to stare in. A big bandstand, rides, lemonade and burger stands were all currently closed up and that big Ferris wheel really was the showstopper. She could see how, between the townspeople and tourists, this place must be booming on weekends.

  She spotted a flyer flapping on a nearby pole and peered closer at the big letters.

  AUTISM AWARENESS

  She got out of her car to read the fine print, and saw that the local motorcycle club, The Dark Falcons, was putting on a benefit night, with all proceeds going to help autism.

  The Dark Falcons. Her stomach bottomed out, but a rush of warmth poured into the hollow.

  Patriot sported the Dark Falcons patch on his leather jacket.

  Knowing the man she made out with was part of this only piqued her interest more about him. A big, tough guy who also worked on a construction crew helped raise money for a cause such as autism?

  She took out her phone and snapped a photo of the flier to show to Mrs. Post. Then she headed down the road farther, meandering toward the mountains, her thoughts pinned firmly on Patriot.

  The man had been haunting her dreams since their encounter. Seeing him working on the Posts’ roof might have been coincidence. But now this? Surely, it was a sign of some kind that she would cross paths with him again. And when she did…then what? His scorching kisses wouldn’t be forgotten soon. Now she felt more drawn to the man, and for reasons beyond physical attraction.

  When Aarica walked into the packed house, she paused in the entrance to gulp down her shock. She never realized there were this many thirsty people in Mersey. And wasn’t there a limit on the number of people allowed in?

  She pushed through the crowd to the bar. Fiona glanced up from pouring what appeared to be a line of ten shots. “I’m glad you’re early,” she threw out to her.

  “What can I do?” She rounded the bar and jumped in to action.

  Fiona reached under the counter and then grabbed something black. She tossed it at Aarica, and she caught it easily. Thank goodness her male cousins had kept her on her toes, always tossing dinner rolls or baked potatoes at her across the table.

  “Put that on and take some orders,” Fiona called out.

  As she wrapped the apron around her middle and tied the strings, she bounced up to a group of customers clustered at the corner. “Hi! Have you been waited on?”

  “No, and we’re parched.” One of the men grinned at her, earning an elbow in the side from his buddy.

  “What can I get you?” she asked.

  “You don’t have a pen and paper.”

  “I don’t need it. I’ll remember.”

  “We’ll see about that.” The guy proceeded to give her a complex drink order, and his friend added to it with his own detailed drink as well as wings with a certain dipping sauce that she wasn’t sure if the Painted Pig served.

  “All right, I’ll be right back with your drinks.” She turned to the liquor wall and searched for the bottle.

  “What did they order?” Fiona asked.

  Aarica told her, still searching.

  She grunted. “Assholes. Third bottle on the second shelf.”

  “Thanks.” Aarica pulled it down as well as a second bottle. She grabbed a couple glasses and quickly poured their drinks. After she delivered them to the customers and received their money, she spun to Fiona. “They want a dozen wings and siracha sauce.”

  “Dickheads. We don’t have that sauce and they know it. They were fucking with you because you’re new.” Fiona shook her head. Clearly she was not the type of woman to take crap from any man. “Give them barbecue.”

  With a grin, Aarica nodded.

  “Kitchen’s through that door. Destiny’s on the fryer right now. Give her your order, but waitresses set up the wing and fry baskets with sauces.”

  “Got it.” She whirled into the kitchen and introduced herself to a young woman her own age manning the fryer. She gave her the order.

  “Take these with you, would ya?” She pointed to the filled baskets.

  “Sure thing.” She grabbed the baskets and hurried to the front. Standing at the bar, she called out, “Ranch wings with two baskets of cheese fries!”

  She barely got the words past her lips when she felt a stare on her. Not any stare, but a hot, heavy stare that drilled her into the floor. She relinquished the wings to the customers who’d ordered them and slowly turned her head to see who was watching her.

  She knew before she even met his gaze. Patriot.

  As their eyes locked, she felt as if all the air had been sucked from the place. His attention moved over her face…her hair…and inched down her white T-shirt. A tendon in the crease of his jaw bulged.

  For a moment, she expected him to turn and leave. But in two strides, he reached the bar.

  “Hey, Patriot. Your usual?�
� Fiona called out, thankfully oblivious to the electric heat passing between them.

  “I want her.” He pointed to Aarica.

  Fiona’s mouth fell open. So did Aarica’s. Did he mean…?

  A drink. He wants me to serve him.

  Composing herself, she still sputtered when she said, “W-what can I get you?”

  “Tequila and tabasco.”

  Spicy. Hardcore. She couldn’t think of any drink that suited the man better. She nodded and somehow uprooted her feet from the floor to move for the tequila bottle. She felt his stare moving with her and recalled every hint of pressure from his mouth on hers.

  On knees as wobbly as a new foal’s on the family farm, she managed not to stumble and drop the bottle. She grabbed a glass and poured. And poured. Not paying much attention to how much she poured, she didn’t immediately realize she’d grabbed a margarita glass rather than a shot glass.

  Hoping her new boss was too busy to notice, she threw a glance over her shoulder to find Patriot’s undivided focus. For a blip in time, she watched him back, seeing everything as a movie reel. People milling behind him, laughing and talking, cheering over their team. Then the clink of glasses as Fiona amped up her speed in order to serve people faster.

  Suddenly, the moment released her from its grip and Aarica set herself in motion again, grabbing the tabasco. She poured a hefty amount and then plunked it on the bar before Patriot.

  His stare shifted from her at least. When he looked down at the big glass of enough alcohol to knock even a big man like him on his ass, the corner of his hard mouth tipped up. Without a word, he curled his fingers around the glass and dragged it across the bar toward him. The scraping noise of glass on wood sent echoes through her system.

  “Thanks,” he drawled out in that quiet voice filled with the intensity she remembered all too well whenever she thought of him.

  She couldn’t speak and only managed to nod. He stood there a heartbeat longer than any other man would to claim his drink and then she realized she’d forgotten the price of the drink. She started to open her mouth and then slammed it shut.

  She couldn’t call him back, because she wanted to leap over the counter and attack him. She’d pay for his drink from her own tips rather than call his name.

  A bump from behind made her look around. Fiona stood there with her head cocked and a brow hiked high on her forehead. “What was that?”

  Half a dozen answers revolved through her mind, none of which she could say.

  “You know that drink goes in a shot glass, right?”

  She nodded agreement. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “No, you were staring.” Amusement settled across Fiona’s pretty face. “Don’t forget next time.”

  A fierce heat lit up her cheeks, and she ducked her head to hide the blush as she took several more orders and managed not to flub them up. The crowd seemed to swell and she served more wings and beer in an hour than she thought possible. When she finally got a moment to breathe, she stared out over the bar in search of Patriot.

  People congregated in the main space, but finding his black leather jacket should be easy—if he hadn’t removed it. The thought of his broad, sculpted chest glistening in the sun as he stood on the roof had her mouth going dry.

  A few people moved, and she spotted black leather. Then more black leather. An entire long table at the rear was filled shoulder to shoulder with bikers.

  Another nudge from Fiona brought her from her daze. “Those are the Dark Falcons. My man’s the dark-haired one at the head of the table. I’m going to talk to him for a minute since we have a lull. Watch the bar, would you?”

  She nodded, dizzy with excitement as she latched her gaze on to Patriot. In profile, his face took on that of a model and warrior with his straight nose and angled jaw. He spoke to someone next to him, and she studied his mannerisms intently. Then he shifted in his seat, lifting his drink to his lips, and she couldn’t believe he was still nursing her awful creation.

  Fiona reached the group and slipped her arms around her man from behind. He broke away from his conversation immediately and dropped his head against her chest. She leaned over him, hair swirling, and kissed him.

  When Aarica pulled her gaze from the pair, she realized with a start that Patriot stood, topping most men in the room by a good six inches.

  Oh God, he’s moving this way.

  At some point she’d lost all her bravado from the dark campsite where she begged him to give her release. While she thought of bumping into him over and over again since that time—and after seeing him at the Posts’—now that the moment arrived full force, she had no idea how to act around the man.

  Nerves pulled her teeth down on her lip. Needing something to busy herself, she grabbed a bar cloth and began wiping the top where people vacated.

  Suddenly, Patriot stood in front of her. She lifted her eyes and found his. That night flooded in, along with several haunting dreams before this.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked without any warmup conversation at all. Just direct, straight to the point.

  “Working.”

  “I thought you worked for the Posts.”

  She nodded. “I do that too.” Latching her stare onto his hard mouth proved to be a really bad idea, because her insides jittered so much she didn’t know if she could pour a drink if he asked her.

  “I’ll take a beer,” he said after a moment where she forgot how to breathe. She felt as if she might have a seizure. Why did he make her so nervous? She grew up around so many boys—not only her cousins but all their friends streaming in and out of the house. She knew how to deal with teasing as well as bullies. She’d crushed on some and hated others. Why did being around Patriot bring up every single one of those moments and direct them into one sharp pang of awareness?

  Moving into action, she grabbed a glass. “Draft?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  She poured the beer without a massive head of foam that would leak out her amateur bartender status. When she pushed the glass across the bar to him, he slid a hand toward it. She stopped, thinking his callused fingers might brush over her knuckles. Or the back of her hand.

  Just touch me. Anyplace.

  She sucked in sharply when his long finger extended to within a millimeter of hers. Her gaze locked on his finger as he stroked it along her own, without ever touching skin.

  Jerking her stare to his, she recognized that same burning expression he’d worn in the campsite. She swallowed hard.

  With a nod of thanks, he picked up his beer and turned away. She watched him walk to the back of the room and resume his seat at the table with the other bikers.

  Crap—she forgot to receive payment again. It seemed she was buying Patriot two drinks tonight.

  At that moment, a woman curled her hand around his shoulder, swung herself around his body, and landed right in his lap.

  Aarica’s heart fell. He was attached? Either that or a player.

  She twisted away and began to wipe down more of the bar in an attempt to keep her attention off the enticing man. Of course her mind—and her gaze—floated to that woman in Patriot’s lap. She was pretty. Aarica expected nothing else. Patriot could attract the most desirable of women.

  He must be one of those guys her cousins warned her off of, with a new woman in his lap every night.

  I was that woman… I’d still like to be.

  She shot the table another look, only to see the woman no longer seated on Patriot’s lap and instead, Fiona leaned over him, talking. Then they both looked straight at her.

  Quickly, she dropped her gaze. She couldn’t understand this attraction between her and the sexy older biker, but she was beginning to think her cousins were right—she was too innocent and would land herself in trouble.

  One more peek at the man sporting the Dark Falcons patch had her burning.

  She had a feeling that getting in trouble with Patriot would be the thrill of a lifetime.

  Chapte
r Four

  The bar patrons began to drift out in pairs or groups, until only a few die-hards remained at the bar. Plenty of Dark Falcons had called it a night too, each with early starts to their days. Despite operating his own business in the bike shop and having lenient hours, Tank bugged out to go home and meet his woman, who was getting off a late shift.

  Dixon hung back, waiting on Fiona. There was no earthly reason why Patriot should stick around. Aarica went home shortly after the big rush, and he’d missed her—partly on purpose.

  First, he told himself that she was nothing to him but a beautiful woman he’d made moan a little.

  Then he tried to convince himself that men like him didn’t involve themselves with innocents. Not only was he facing some hard charges barring conviction of stolen property but he had too damn many obligations to his crew and his club to put time into a woman.

  After he finished the warm draft beer he’d nursed most of the night after giving up on the terrible drink she’d fixed him, he finally decided to ask her if he could take her home.

  But she’d already left.

  Maybe he was waiting to speak with Fiona about her new hire. Or to find out Aarica’s address.

  He spent a long minute battling with himself before giving in and approaching Fiona. She glanced up from the stack of money she counted. “Everything okay?” she asked him.

  He leaned against the bar. “I wanted to ask about your new girl.”

  A beat of silence passed between them. “Ah. I thought something might be going on between you two. You know her?”

  He opened his mouth to come out with some sarcastic comment about her needing more training to make a decent drink, but at that moment Hunter walked up. “Can I do anything else for ya before I head out, Patriot?”

  He and Fiona exchanged a look. She twisted her lips to contain her amusement.

  Looking down the bar at a couple of the drunk customers slouched on the stools, he jerked his thumb their way. “Yeah, take one o’ them home so he doesn’t kill someone driving drunk.”