“I wouldn’t put it past the fuckin’ Skull Crushers to be in on this. When we and the Insurgents kicked their asses a couple of summers ago, they calmed the hell down, but I bet they’re getting antsy. They need money. I wish the prez would give us the go-ahead so we could throw their motherfuckin’ asses outta our territory once and for all.” Muerto kicked over a stool and several members looked over, then turned back to their conversation. They were used to the club secretary’s short temper. At six feet, black hair past his collar, ebony eyes, and furious tats of demons, skulls, and bloody knives adorning his chest and arms, he exuded danger. One of his favorite things to do was fight. Steel, Paco, and the other brothers saved his ass several times when his temper boiled over. His dark features mixed in with his angry rebelliousness, drew women to him.
“The asshole Crushers aren’t in on this. They don’t have the brains or guts for it.” Paco dunked his chip in a bowl of salsa on the bar.
“I dunno. They’re stupid enough to get mixed up in it.” Muerto signaled the prospect for another beer.
“I’m with Paco on this one. If an MC is involved, I’d go with the fuckin’ Pistons. This is right up their alley.” Crow’s hazel eyes brimmed with hate.
“What do you think, Steel?” Paco crunched on his chip.
“I’m not sure an MC is involved in this. The Skulls would be signing their death warrant if they are, and the Pistons know if we traced this to them it’d be war.” Steel leaned against the bar and looked at his brothers. They wore the faces of concern, loyalty, and determination. He knew they’d take to their weapons and engage in battle with the Pistons if they were involved in this mess.
“The damn badges are lookin’ to us to solve the problem. Lazy asses.” Crow hopped up on one of the barstools.
Steel nodded. “They always do. Fuck, we should be getting a cut of their pay.”
Paco, Muerto, and Crow laughed.
The Night Rebels and the sheriff’s department had an understanding: as long as the brotherhood kept hard drugs out of Alina, the sheriff would turn a blind eye to their illegal gun running. It’d worked for the past decade, until now. And it ate up the brothers that the junk had slithered into their territory.
Ruby, Alma, and Angel came into the room and walked over to them. Steel tilted his chin at them. Ruby cozied up to Crow. “You guys gonna just stand around and talk all afternoon?” She rubbed against him like a cat in heat.
Crow grinned and slinked his arm around her small waist. “You got something better in mind?”
She put her finger in her mouth, then traced Crow’s lips with it. “Uh-huh.” He sucked her digit into his mouth as he cupped her ass cheek. “Let’s go have some fun, baby,” she rasped.
He nodded at the brothers and walked away with her.
Angel looked pleadingly at Muerto, who laughed, scooped her up in his arms, and walked toward the basement stairs.
Alma ran her fingers up and down Steel’s arm. “You wanna have some fun too? It’s been a while for us.” She stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his chin.
Steel looked at her big brown eyes and silky dark hair. I should take Alma to my room and fuck her good and hard. She’s dying for it. Alma had the looks he loved: dark hair and eyes with an olive complexion. Not blonde and pasty like the mouthy social worker.
“What do you say, dude? Poor Alma’s practically begging you for it,” Paco said.
Steel pushed her away gently. “Sorry, chica, but I got work to do.” He turned to Paco. “You interested?”
The vice president’s gaze lingered on Alma’s well-endowed chest. “Fuck yeah.” He looped his arm around her and drew her close to him.
Steel saw the look of regret in her eyes. “Then it’s all good.” He strode out of the room and went to his office. Instead of sitting behind his desk to attack the mountain of paperwork he had to go over from the various businesses the club owned, he went to the window and looked out at the Harleys that were parked in the lot adjacent to the clubhouse. The chrome sparkled under the afternoon sun, and he had the urge to take a long, hard ride to clear his head. The last thing he wanted was a war with Satan’s Pistons.
He ran his fingers through his long hair, exhaling loudly. A knock on the door broke his concentration. “Come in.”
Paco came into the office, darting his eyes from the desk to Steel and then back to the desk. “Need some help with the paperwork?”
Irritated by the intrusion, Steel looked back outside. “Nope. I thought you were with Alma.”
“I will be. She’s doing something.”
“What?”
“Some girl shit.” Silence descended on the room. Paco cleared his throat. “You okay?”
Steel looked over his shoulder. “Yeah. Just worried about Chenoa, and all the shit that’s going down.”
“You usually fuck a club whore when you’re stressed. Alma’s wondering why you haven’t had her in your bed.”
Steel shrugged. “You know me. I get bored.”
“Just like that? You coulda fooled me. A couple of days ago you didn’t seem bored with her.”
The president whirled around. “What the fuck? You don’t want her? Fine, tell her to find another brother. There’re plenty of them who like her lips wrapped around their cocks.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want her. I’m just wondering why you don’t. Pussy always makes you relax.”
“This isn’t your fucking business. Back the hell off.” He frowned. I wish Paco would shut the hell up and get out. “Go fuck Alma.” He turned his attention back to the parked Harleys.
“Something’s under your skin, dude.”
He inhaled a long breath then blew it out slowly. “I got a meddling social worker who’s in my business. She pisses me way the hell off. I need to set her straight, but I do think she’s trying to help Chenoa. And she was at my mom’s house yesterday. I was so fucking pissed when I saw her. Then she made this damn good omelet. But she’s got a mouth on her. Has some burr up her ass about bikers, I think. I don’t know. She’s just a pain in the ass.” He swiveled around, heat rising inside him when he saw Paco’s grinning face. “What the fuck you smiling about?”
“Is she hot?”
Steel bristled. “What the hell does that have to do with what I’m saying?”
Paco laughed. “So I’ll take that as a yes. Bro, I’ve never seen you so bothered by a woman. Now I get why you’ve been pushing Alma away. This woman’s got a hold of your cock. She must be fuckin’ sexy.”
Steel clenched his teeth. “I’m not bothered by her or any other chick. And no one’s got a hold of my dick. As a matter of fact, I don’t like her. She’s a know-it-all, sassy, and uptight as fuck. I just don’t need her around interfering with me and my family.”
Paco nodded, a sparkle in his eyes. “Sure. Gotcha.”
Steel crossed his arms. “I got work to do. I’m sure Alma’s waiting for you.”
“Right. I can’t wait to meet her when you bring her to the club.” He chuckled and ambled out.
Steel slammed his fist against his thigh and swung around, looking outside again. In the distance, the San Juan Mountains loomed. Bring her to the club, my ass. Paco was way the fuck outta line. He kept his gaze on the mountains, letting their calming effect wash over him. My life is outta balance. Chenoa is safe for now, but what about the next time? And he knew if she didn’t give up the drug, there would definitely be a next time. He had to bring that chaos under control.
Then there was the caseworker who’d been invading his thoughts too much. He didn’t trust her. He didn’t need someone from the outside coming into his life, especially her. Why did she bug him so much? He’d admit that she was a hot piece of ass, but he could go in town and find several women who were hotter and prettier. He shifted his stance. She does something to me. I don’t know what the fuck it is, but it’s something real and deep. And he was madder than hell that he felt a pull toward her. When they’d touched in his mom’s house, he f
elt a jolt rip through him like lightning.
Fuck, I’m getting soft. Staring out the window and thinking of her like a goddamn pussy.
He pushed away from the window and kicked a chair across the room. He was done thinking about her. He had a ton of work to do. Invoices from the ink shop, the strip bar, the repair shop, the pool hall, and the marijuana grow store lay before him. The businesses did well, but having the grow and recreation license killed it for the club. Banger, the president of the Insurgents MC, was instrumental in securing the grow license for Steel and his brotherhood a few years back, getting the Insurgents’ lawyer to pull some strings. The one store made more money than the last two gun sales they’d done. He no longer had to juggle a full-time job and the responsibilities of running the MC.
The other club businesses also brought in a steady income. The tattoo shop, Get Inked, was the most popular one in Alina. Some of the residents from the neighboring towns came to it for their high-quality tats. Tattoo Mike was the ink artist and he ran the shop. Lust, the club’s strip bar, was jam-packed most weekends and had a steady flow of customers during the weeknights. It was known for beautiful dancers, utmost discretion, and strong drinks. And both the pool hall, Balls and Holes, and the auto and bike repair shop, Skid Marks, made a good income most of the year.
He took out the club’s checkbook and began writing checks. Breanna’s face popped in his head, and he wondered when he’d see her again.
He shook his head.
Yep. I’m acting just like a fucking pussy.
Chapter Six
Breanna pulled over and stared at the map. “I know the bar’s around here. Why the hell can’t I find it?” She glanced at the clock on the dashboard, realizing that if she didn’t find the place soon, she’d be late for her interview with the owner of the bar. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. I know that all I’m doing is enabling Nicholas, but I can’t turn him away. She’d always had a soft spot for him, and she knew he used that to hit her up for money or crash at her place when he found himself evicted. She sighed, opened her eyes, stared at the map for the last time, and then pulled away from the curb.
By the time she found Cuervos, she was ten minutes late. She reapplied her burnt sienna lip gloss, ran her fingers through her hair, and hurried to the front door of the establishment. On a corner lot, the outside of the bar was a nondescript tan stucco building with a bright green awning over the windows. Neon signs advertising different brands of beer lit up the windows and the thick glass door. She pulled open the door and stepped in, momentarily blinded by the dim lights. Looking around, she saw several men and a couple of women sitting at a beautifully crafted wood bar drinking. On the wall behind the bar were shelves of bottles, as well as a large moving picture of the mountains and a clear lake that seemed to mesmerize the patrons. Booths lined the walls on three sides, wooden tables and chairs filling in the middle. Classic rock tunes played out of a brightly colored jukebox, and she noticed a couple of pool tables and a dartboard. The place had a good feel to it. It wasn’t a dive, just a neighborhood bar where people could come in for a drink and a bit of food.
The tangy scent of buffalo wing sauce curled around the place. She walked up to the bar and coughed in hopes of garnering the bartender’s attention. He turned around, a man in his early thirties with dark eyes, looking her over. “What can I do for you?” he asked as he swiped his rag over the top of the bar.
“I’m looking for Jorge Mendez. I have an interview with him.”
“That’s me. Are you Breanna Quine?” She nodded. “You’re ten minutes late.” He put his rag away.
“I know. Not a great start to an interview, is it? I left in plenty of time, but I got hopelessly lost. I didn’t see the small street where I was supposed to turn. I can’t believe I couldn’t find it.”
“It can be tricky. The bar’s on one of those quirky streets that’s only a few blocks long. Let’s go in the back.” He called over a guy who was opening boxes and stocking the shelves to take over at the bar. Breanna followed him down a long hallway and into a room. “Have a seat,” he said. “You said you’ve tended bar and waitressed before, right?”
“Yes, I’ve done both on and off for a little over six years. I’m applying for the part-time position—weekends only. I work during the week, so I can only do Friday and Saturday nights, and Sunday during the day if needed.”
For the next twenty minutes, he asked her several questions about her bartending and waitressing skills. He questioned her on the ingredients for a slew of drinks, and she got them right each time. He told her the bar had fifteen beer taps, and it served basic food like buffalo wings, nachos, sandwiches, and pizza. Jorge pushed his chair back. “You got the waitressing job if you want it. Sometime you may have to bartend if Cory is a no show. Friday and Saturday nights the place is packed. I tend bar, but one bartender isn’t enough. Cory has some drama with a girlfriend, so he’s not always reliable.”
“That’s cool. I can handle being behind the bar.”
“There’s a good mix of people that come here. We get guys just off work from the bank next door stopping in for a few beers drinking next to rough guys covered in tattoos. Everyone gets along, for the most part.” He paused and ran his gaze over her again. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a very pretty woman, and you’re gonna have men leering at you, saying things, and flirting with you. You’re gonna have to know how to handle it.”
She cocked her head and caught his gaze. “I’m okay with a few smart comments and stares, but if someone touches me, I’ll deck them.” She smiled sweetly.
He laughed. “You won’t have to do that. I’ll beat you to the punch. I had a gal in here who was a nervous wreck any time a guy winked at her. She was in tears after her shifts. Obviously, it didn’t work out. Good to hear you’ve got some gumption.”
“Do the people tip well, for the most part?”
“To be honest, if you show some cleavage and flirt just a bit, you’ll do real well. You’ve got a pretty face and shape. You shouldn’t have any problem. Tips are where the money’s at.” He stood up. “If you want the job, you can start this Friday.”
She rose to her feet and extended her hand. “I’ll see you on Friday, Mr. Mendez.”
He shook her hand. “Call me Jorge.”
“Is there anything special I should wear?”
“Black mini skirt, heels are good, and a sexy shirt, but nothing over-the-top.”
She nodded. “I’ll be here at seven o’clock on Friday.”
As she drove home, she kept trying to figure out a way that she could live on what she made, but she couldn’t. It won’t be so bad. I’ll do it until I can pay off or make a dent in my debt. She had just finished paying off her student loan, but two of her credit cards were maxed from when she paid for Nicholas’s rehab the previous year, and when the county cut everyone’s hours for nine months.
She pulled into the garage and went inside. In her bedroom, she slid open her closet doors and pushed through the hangers, pulling out a spandex mini skirt she sometimes wore when she went out clubbing with her friends.
When she’d spotted a red halter corset with a front of overlay black lace in a catalog, she’d ordered it, but when it arrived and she’d tried it on, it was too revealing. It wasn’t really her style, and she’d planned on returning it but never got around to it. She held it up against her and looked in the mirror. The low-cut neckline would definitely help bring in the bigger tips.
She threw it on the bed, then went back to her closet and scrounged around for her three-and-a-half-inch black heels. Just looking at the way the shoe curved made her feet hurt. I have no clue how I’m supposed to stand and walk in these for eight hours. It’ll be torture.
She dropped the shoes and padded over to her small desk, sat down, and opened her laptop. Checking her bank account, she saw she was nearing the overdrawn mark. She sighed and glanced at the top strewn on her bed. It’s only going to be for a short time.
I can do this. She stood and hung up her outfit. At least I won’t be as stressed about paying the bills as I am now, and I can save to pay for Nicholas to get into rehab.
She glanced at her clock radio and realized that she’d promised Chenoa she’d pop by and visit her. Scooping up her keys from her dresser, she headed out of her house.
* * *
“When am I getting outta here? I’m fuckin’ climbing the walls,” Chenoa said as Breanna filled the girl’s water pitcher.
“Detox is always a bitch. In a while, you’ll feel so much better.” She placed the pitcher on the table near the bed and looked into Chenoa’s dark eyes. “Remember how shitty you’re feeling. Don’t forget it. Memorize it. Own it. It’s important because you don’t want to go through this again. When you get out and you feel the pull of the drug, remember this moment.”
Chenoa rubbed her arms, then twisted and untwisted her hair while she paced around the small room. “What the hell do you know about it? You told me you never used.” She scowled at Breanna.
“I’ve been going through detoxes most of my life. It started with my mother, and I’m still doing it with my brother,” she answered softly. “Addiction affects everyone, not just the user.” She patted the chair’s cushion. “Why don’t you sit down?”
She shook her head. “I gotta keep moving. It feels like a million insects are crawling all over my skin. I’m done with feeling like I have the flu. Now it’s just this restlessness.”
“That’s the addiction, the psychological part. And you have to take it day by day.”
STEEL: Night Rebels Motorcycle Club (Night Rebels MC Romance Book 1) Page 5
