Crossing Lines (Roughshod Rollers MC 1)

“Hey!” Grant says, his tone of mock annoyance. “You never told me what you were doing here?”

“Nothing all that interesting,” I scoff, shrugging carelessly. “I felt like a trip down memory lane, is all. One last look at the place. After all, we have three days until our deadline; you and I both know we’re not going to make it. This time next week, this land will be a construction site.”

“Will you apply to help build here?” Grant asks curiously.

“Nah, I’ve got enough to deal with,” I say.

I walk out. I might be down on money right now, but there’s no way I’m going to help turn this place, the only place that I have felt that I’ve belonged in recent years, into a goddamned grocery store.

I kick my bike into gear and speed away. I don’t look back.

Grant

I sigh as I hear the sound of a bike roaring away and shake my head. Liam Hill is always so closed off, as though he can’t bear to have anyone see who he really is. As one of the founding members of the Roughshod Rollers, I know he feels some responsibility for allowing this place to be seized by Burke. I sometimes wonder if he feels that he has let George down.

Not that any of us has had any choice in the matter. A series of very unfortunate events have led us to where we are now.

I scowl at the peeling wallpaper on the wall. Burke… If I can just get my hands around his scrawny neck…

My watch beeps at me and I glance at the digital display. A half hour until my shift starts at The Anchor Bar. If I want to get there on time, I need to leave now.

I cast one last regretful look around the room, knowing that it will be the last time I will be back. Eventually, Liam or another of the founding members will return to pack up our things before the building’s ownership is finalized, but I see no point in coming back anymore when all I’m doing is just bemoaning what has happened.

I roll my bike out of the old garage and drag the door down, locking it securely once more. I doubt many thieves will be interested in a place like this, but I’m not going to take any chances; not with George’s bike still stored in there, unused since his accident. I wonder, distantly, what will happen to it.

Then I shake my head and swing my leg over my bike, fitting my helmet on my head securely. It’s not my problem.

The Anchor Bar is only a few miles away, and it isn’t long before I’m pulling up outside. I park my bike and chain it up before tucking my helmet under my arm and walking in.

I see an expanse of long, golden hair first, and my heart thumps in my chest, my steps faltering in the doorway.

Jessica…

Then the woman at the bar turns around and the world resumes spinning. It’s isn’t Jessica; of course it isn’t her. It’s Fiona, the bartender that I’m here to take over from. She smiles at me, and I manage a smile back, hoping that it doesn’t look too pained.

Fucking fool, I tell myself savagely.

“You’re early,” Fiona comments, wiping down a glass and glancing at the clock.

“I wasn’t far away,” I said gruffly. “Want to clock off early?”

“No, you go get ready, take your time, maybe have a drink… You look a little rattled.” She looks closely at me. “Is there a problem?”

“Just considering some home truths,” I say with a wry smile.

“Is this about the house?” Fiona guesses, grimacing when I nod. “Sorry, Grant. I wish there was more that I could do to help.”

“You’ve done all you can when your paycheck is about the same as mine,” I say, shaking my head at her. “Don’t be an idiot, Fiona.” I shrug. “Liam and I discussed it… We’ll use that money to find somewhere else.”

“That sounds nice,” Fiona says with a sigh. “Any idea where?”

“Nope.” Done with this conversation and uncomfortable with the tight feeling in my chest, I wave any other questions off and head to the breakroom. “I’ll be out back if you need me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Fiona says, rolling her eyes.

The breakroom is small, but there’s a little cupboard where I can store my helmet, my jacket and my bag. Then I sit on the small plastic chair and stare unseeingly down at the table.

I need to get a handle of myself, honestly. Three years later, and I’m still jumping at goddamn shadows.