5 Bikers for Valentines - Page 4

“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.

Tags: Rye Hart Erotic
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