I was pretty sure I was forgiven.
I ate my burger, enjoying it thoroughly. I had no recollection of tasting it last night. The manager, Tom, came over and spoke to me.
“You’re the guy who ran off the bikers?”
I wiped my mouth, preparing for a huge discord with him—chasing off business, etc. I planned on telling him what I thought of his management style. Or lack thereof.
“Yes.”
“Thanks. Your bill is on the house. That group causes a lot of trouble. Whatever you said, I’m grateful.” He walked away before I could speak my mind. I had a feeling he knew he was in for a dressing down.
“Damn,” I muttered, turning back on the barstool and looking at my half-eaten burger. “I should have gotten rings with the burger.”
Tally laughed. “I can add them.”
“And a Guinness.” At her raised eyebrows, I chuckled. “I’ll sip it. But a burger without a beer—a free one? Come on, woman.”
She poured me one, the head foamy and perfect, the dark ale bitter and satisfying on my tongue. She stepped into the kitchen, returning a few moments later with sizzling onion rings, laughing as I squirted ketchup on the plate beside them. I chewed and sipped, watching her. She was extraordinarily pretty. Even wiping the counter, collecting dishes, and pouring drafts, she drew my stare.
Tally stopped and refilled my soda, sliding it in my direction. I chuckled at her mothering ways but took a sip. “If you dislike dealing with bikers, or even the general public, why bartending?” I asked, curious.
She shrugged. “Sometimes you take what you can get. I had experience already. I had to eat and pay rent. I keep to myself here, so it works. The bikers are just my own personal, ah, thing. Otherwise, it’s an okay gig.”
I nodded in understanding, picking up my burger.
She disappeared through the door again with a trayful of dishes. I finished my burger and rings and pushed away my plate. I waited for her to return, my eyes never straying far from the door. The other bartender, Lillian, took my plate.
“Anything else?” she asked in a slightly bored tone.
A strange feeling took hold. One of worry and panic. I had no idea where it came from, but it was strong.
“Where’s Tally?” I asked Lillian.
“Oh, probably on dish duty. We’re all sharing tonight.” She walked away, backing into the swinging door with her ass. “Or taking out the trash.” She made a face. “We’re sharing that too.”
Something in me froze. The panic grew, my breath caught in my throat, and I was off my stool in seconds. Without waiting for permission, I barged through the swinging door, startling the staff.
“Taliyah,” I barked.
The kid trying to tackle the pile of dishes jerked his head. “Trash. Taking her time too.”
I was out the door he indicated in two seconds, my heart plummeting to my feet at what I saw.
Tally, terrified and crying, pressed against a brick wall, the leader of the biker pack crowding her, his hand gripping her throat.
The world around me turned red.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tally
I couldn’t believe Julian had shown up again. Or the way he’d handled the bikers that had been a problem since they’d walked in. That group always was. They were too loud, too coarse, and lousy tippers to boot. If one of the other managers were here, I wouldn’t worry so much, but Tom was inexperienced and gave them far too much leeway. Add in the fact that the security guy was useless, and it wasn’t a good night. They made me uncomfortable.
The obvious leader of the group was obnoxious, lurid, and far too handsy. We were swamped, short-staffed, and the bar was busy. He let his displeasure at being kept waiting known—loudly—and had been rude when I got to the table. I had begged Lillian to switch tables with me since I already had a dislike of bikers, but she refused.
“Your problem, not mine,” she muttered.
I had plastered a fake smile on my face and walked over to take their order. For a moment, I thought I was overreacting. The one guy asked for three pitchers of draft and a large order of the hot wings. I nodded and turned away when I felt a hand on my ass. “I’d like this on my lap too,” he sneered. “Sweet cheeks.”
I spun around. “Not on the menu, asshole. Keep your hands to yourself.”
I hurried away, trying to ignore their raucous laughter. It had only gone downhill. Tom, the manager on duty, was even worse than usual, barely keeping his head above water tonight with all the trouble that was happening. I dodged hands, closed my ears to the constant innuendos, and hoped the night would be over soon. It took all I had not to turn around and slap the biker who yanked on my braid to get my attention as I walked past delivering drinks to another table. My eyes smarted with the force of the pull, but I slapped his hand and walked away, muttering under my breath. I was going to talk to my boss about this.