Keep It Classy (Bear Bottom Guardians MC 7)

And that had been where I’d found the motorcycle club, the Bear Bottom Guardians MC.

They’d been sitting at the table across from me, talking and laughing.

I’d spent ten years in the military. Five years as a police officer for Kilgore, Texas. And I’d left it all behind because she had asked me to. Cher, the homewrecker.

The men of the club? They looked like they had all their shit together. They looked like they enjoyed life.

And I hadn’t realized that I’d even garnered their attention until I’d been sitting on my bike after lunch, wondering where to go from there.

“Oh, shit,” I heard a voice curse, interrupting my inward musing. “Dude, he almost decked her.”

I turned in time to see Turner on her knees, staring up at some man that was rearing back for another punch.

Only, before he could finish the downward arc of his fist, Turner reared back herself and arrowed a line drive, ramming her fist straight into the man’s balls.

The man fell over like a tree that’d been cut, hitting the ground with a loud thump as he cried out in pain.

Turner stood up then, glared at the man, and then reared back her foot and kicked him again, this time in the face.

“Dirty. I like it,” Wade mumbled.

“Shouldn’t one of y’all be doing something?” Rome asked with amusement.

“I would have,” I admitted. “But she seemed like she was handling it just fine.”

“I would have, too, but I’m off duty until Monday.” Wade laughed.

I sighed and handed the baby over, reluctantly, to Wade, who took her with a grin on his face.

“I’ll handle it,” I mumbled.

Moments later, I was pushing through the crowd that had gathered around the downed man and Turner, who was giving the downed man a talking to.

“…and if some woman says ‘no,’ she likely means fucking no unless she’s previously stated otherwise. Do you understand me?” Turner hissed, her hands on her knees as she bent over to give the man a piece of her mind.

I felt something inside of me clench.

“And when she says no, and tells you no repeatedly that she doesn’t want to dance, and you try to dance with her anyway, then you get pissed when she punches you in the throat, that’s on you, too.”

I closed my eyes as I envisioned what had just happened.

The man had gotten pissed that she’d defended herself, had pushed her to the ground or something similar, and then she’d retaliated.

“Do you need any help?” I heard asked from the other side of the huddle.

My eyes went that way to see a man in the crowd around her who was about my size, six foot three or so, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes staring at Turner as if he wanted to eat her alive.

Turner looked up and said, “No.”

The man grinned. “It looks like you could use it.”

I stepped in then, clearly realizing that Turner was about to lose her shit on a second man that night.

“She’s got help, buddy,” I said stiffly. “All of you take a hike.”

And since I was who I was, and was wearing my Bear Bottom Guardians MC cut, all of them left.

All of them but the brown-headed helpful man that hadn’t taken his eyes off of Turner long enough to see the threat standing directly in front of him.

“I said,” I repeated, pulling Turner back by her hand. “That she has help. You may leave.”

Turner came back willingly, not shaking off my hand or even trying to.

She must’ve realized that there was something more going on here.

And I really didn’t like the look of the guy that had yet to look at me.

His eyes were practically boring holes into Turner.

The more he stared, the more Turner started to get wigged out.

“How about you go back and stay with the boys,” I suggested to Turner.

Realizing that she didn’t want to stay any more than I wanted her there, she turned on her heel and hurried away.

It was only when she disappeared into the throngs of Bear Bottom Guardians that the man finally looked at me.

His lips twitched as he said, “I’m leaving.”

The man on the ground groaned, but I realized who the real threat was here.

And it wasn’t the dumbass that had the audacity to punch—or try to punch—a woman in the middle of a bar that was brimming with cops.

It was this dude, with his unnerving, unflinching gaze as he stared at me like he knew something I didn’t.

“You do that,” I said, eyes never leaving him.

The man smiled and he was gone a moment later, weaving into a crowd of people and being swallowed up as if by design.

I gestured to the prospect that was by the front door that’d been watching the entire thing and gestured to the man headed his way.

The prospect, Jarret Bales, nodded once and clocked the man, then followed him outside moments later.