She lifted her chin haughtily. “I’m not perturbed in the slightest. But I can see it was a mistake to come here.” She fished through her purse and cursed under her breath. “Where’s my cash? I’m gonna kill Gloria.”
“John takes credit cards, too,” Saks said snarkily. The sharp tone of his own voice surprised him, and he took a sip of his beer to cover his discomfort. Why was this woman getting under his skin?
She scoffed. “Like I’d run my credit cards in this scummy bar.”
“Really? You’re the one here, sitting at the bar, asking for a drink. Or do you assume men simply buy you drinks so you don’t have to pay?” He grinned cockily. “We have those kinds of girls here, too, you know. You’re no different.”
She blinked in surprise. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t expect...” she trailed off and tilted her head slightly. Saks tried not to follow the waves of her hair as it fell. “Do you own this place?”
“No. The bartender’s brother does. I hang out here.”
“Well, that’s obvious.”
“Is it?” Man, this woman was impossible.
John brought her the glass of white wine, and the woman reluctantly pulled a card from her purse.
“Don’t bother,” said Saks. “Wouldn’t want to put your plastic at risk. John, put it on my tab.”
John arched his eyebrows with a glance toward the blonde. “You look familiar,” he said. “Do I know you?”
“I don’t think so,” said the woman. “I’ve never been here.”
“She’s a newcomer,” offered Saks with a grin, “and she doesn’t think much of the Red Bull.”
“Maybe you can change her mind, Saks.” Another patron called John, and with a nod to Saks he hustled toward his next customer.
“Saks?” the blonde said. “What kind of name is that?”
“It’s a club name.”
“A club name?” she said incredulously.
“Yeah, Hades’ Spawn.”
“Motorcycle club? Really?” She glanced over at him, her eyebrows raised as if she didn't believe him. “And how’d you come by that name?”
Saks couldn’t resist a smile. “Because I dress so well.”
The woman’s eyes traveled from his black motorcycle boots to his skintight dark jeans, then to a thick chain from a belt loop tucked into his front pocket. Finally, those dark orbs lighted on his thin black t-shirt, and she laughed. Any other time he might get offended. But her laugh was different. It was a clear, high sound that reminded Saks of the tinkling of a spring in the woods, and instantly she enchanted him. “Yeah, I can see that," she said wryly.
“This,” he said, spreading his hands, “is not my usual attire.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you dress in Armani suits.”
“Well, if I did, my name would be Armani, not Saks.” He knew she was wearing a high-end retail dress but didn’t mention it.
She laughed again and then sighed. “I should probably go.”
Instinctively, he touched her arm lightly with the tips of two fingers, and was hit with a shot of electricity.
She noticed it, too, and looked at him with surprise.
“Don’t go.”
“Gee,” she said, glancing at his fingers on her arm. “You’re a shocking person.”
Saks pulled his fingers away. “Me? Maybe it’s you?”
“I don’t think so. I’m unexciting.” Then, incredibly, she picked up her wine and knocked it back in one gulp. “See,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “Very boring.” She stood. “Thanks for the drink. See you around.” She glanced around the bar one more time before heading out.
Saks picked up his beer and took the last swig. She wasn’t interested, which oddly disappointed him. She was obviously a classy woman, and her type didn’t go for a biker/motorcycle mechanic, not unless she had a kink for slumming. And he’d had women like that. They didn’t last either. Once they satisfied their itch for a biker they went back to their white bread lives.
He pushed his empty beer mug away and shrugged into his jacket. He inhaled deeply as he walked out into the night air. Saks parked his bike toward the back of the building, and as he walked to it he heard laughter. He looked up to see a flash of blonde hair and a group of men surrounding her.
“...You don’t want to mess with me,” he heard the woman growl.
“You, chica?” The men laughed uproariously.
“Come here, mamacita. You might like to mess with me.”
Saks recognized the voice, and it raised the hackles on his neck. Damn Pez. Fucking Rojos. Saks still had a score to settle with those guys, and he didn’t mind doing it right now. He pressed a speed dial button on his phone that sent a specific message to his cousin in the bar. Then he strode purposely to the white Cadillac, where the woman stood with her hands clenched. “What the hell you doing here, Pez? You’ve been banned from the Red Bull.”
“Ah, pendajo,” said the wiry Hispanic. “I’m not looking to go in. I’m looking for your boy, Luke.”