Jet had no idea why she was drawn to such a freaking asshole.
Not just a freaking asshole, a rude and crude one, who wouldn’t know manners if they bit him in the ass.
Her unacceptable reaction was a damn mystery.
She’d dealt with alpha males and their egos practically her whole adult life. While in the Marines, during the police academy and then at her first police department after she graduated.
The male egos at Manning Grove PD could also get a little annoying. From both her own family and the unrelated male officers, too.
So, why then was her ass currently planted on a barstool in Crazy Pete’s?
If it wasn’t so late, she’d text her mother right that second to ask her if they dropped her on her head when she was a baby. That would be the only plausible explanation.
Stella had dropped off her Jack and Coke and wandered away. It wasn’t like the club president’s ol’ lady was going to hang out and chat with her. Neither would Dodge, the bar manager.
Or the two young guys who wore prospect cuts as they worked.
In the past, the couple of times she’d come into this bar to have a drink with her cousins, a “no colors” sign had hung outside the front door. But that had been when Pete was still alive and the Fury wasn’t.
She noticed that sign was no longer displayed and even Dodge wore his colors while he worked the bar and tables. None of the patrons seemed to blink an eye because of it. Maybe because it was now well-known in town the Fury owned the bar.
On the surface, the MC seemed to be staying in their lane. Jet knew that was complete bullshit and they were swerving over the lines like a drunk driver with a .10 blood alcohol level.
Max had also warned her, after she was hired, to leave the club alone unless they crossed those lines. He had a good relationship with Dutch, one of the Originals, Cage used his classic Impala convertible to haul the chief’s ass in the annual Christmas parade every year and Dutch’s Garage held the service contract for the PD’s fleet.
The women from the club were also her brother-in-law Teddy’s clients at his salon, Manes on Main.
So, the PD and the club were intertwined more in the Grove than they normally would be in any other town or city. Especially since Autumn, the club VP’s ol’ lady, allowed Matt and Carly to adopt her baby, Levi. That alone was probably the biggest and most important connection of all.
So, yes, her oldest cousin had warned her not to fuck with the MC to simply mess with them. They didn’t need to be “run out of town” or “shut down” as long as they kept their shit clean.
Everyone knew shit was never clean. It was dirty, messy and stunk.
Most likely like the Fury at its very core.
She clutched her drink as she spun her stool around to face the interior of the bar. While a mirror lined the wall behind where the liquor bottles were shelved, it didn’t give her a good enough view of the rest of the bar.
Being a cop, she’d learned to never have her back to the door, so you wouldn’t be taken unaware. But in this particular establishment she wanted to keep her eye on not only the door, but the bar’s occupants.
Or one in particular.
As the jukebox blared Mötley Crüe’s Home Sweet Home, the man who’d caught her attention had his arms wrapped around a curvy brunette as they shuffled around the floor. They weren’t the only couple dancing but the only one Jet was interested in.
The woman was stuck to Rook like a fly on sticky trap paper and Jet had no idea where her hands were because her arms were completely hidden under his cut. Jet knew exactly where Rook’s hands were. They weren’t hidden at all.
One was under her snug shirt with his fingers spread wide over the bare skin of her mid-back, the fingers of his other hand were tucked into the waistband at the back of her brown leather skirt, probably skimming the upper curves of the woman’s generous ass. She had no idea how big the woman’s breasts were because they were drilled into Rook’s chest.
Jet didn’t know who was doing the grinding. Him. Her. Or if it was mutual rocking against each other. Certainly not in time with the music, unless they had a different song playing in their heads.
The second Rook had spotted her sitting at the bar, his eyes had narrowed and locked on her.
She lifted her Jack and Coke in greeting, then drained half of it, but didn’t look away. Nor did he. If anything, the intensity of the couple’s grinding increased.
He only dropped his eyes from Jet when his dance partner giggled and glanced up at him with a huge, probably drunken, smile.