Cyrus (The Henchmen MC 9)

"Jazzy!" I declared when I walked in, my guitar slung around my back, my hand at my heart. "My love, when are you going to dump your detective, and get with me?"

Her detective in question was standing up by the counter, giving me a bemused look, because, well, he knew everyone hit on Jazz, and that Jazz was a flirt by nature too. But he also knew that she was as loyal a woman as there was, so he wasn't bothered by it.

Besides, when you got a woman like Jazzy, you knew you were going to have to keep a rein on your jealousy.

She was just too fucking hot to not draw attention. She was tall and stacked with curves any man would want to sink his fingers into, even if he somehow claimed to be into 'more fit' chicks or some shit. There was no passing on her. It was a biological, primal pull. And, well, she also had the exotic thing going for her with her tan skin, and sultry eyes. Her hair, which she experimented with constantly, was a grayish hue tonight.

"When are you going to hand in your manwhore card, and get yourself a good woman?" she shot back, handing me my coffee.

"As soon as you're single," I said immediately. "Or, you know, seventy. Seventy sounds like the right time for that."

She smiled, shaking her head. "You brought the puppies," she observed, jerking her chin to where three hulking bikers were walking in through the doors, drawing attention from every female inside from eighteen to eighty.

"What? They like the soulful sound of acoustic Backstreet Boys as much as the next person."

"You play Backstreet Boys in my coffeehouse, and you will be paying for that coffee with your balls."

I smiled at that, expecting that response. This was a woman, after all, who put up a sign on the counter proclaiming that no, they would not change or turn down the music, that it was the only thing that kept them from slapping rude customers. And some days, that music was Five Finger Death Punch cranked up to ear-bleeding level, so, yeah, Jazz wasn't a boy band fan.

"Threatening the customers with neutering, Jazz?" Gala, the other owner, asked as she walked in from the back room.

Gala was the opposite of Jazz in most ways. She was thin and pale with a heavy mass of deep red hair that was a mix of waves and curls, and generally just looked like she rolled out of bed without brushing it. Bed-sexy. Her eyes were an almost see-through light blue, and she had a smattering of light freckles over the bridge of her nose that almost gave her an innocent look that was completely deceptive.

"Without me? Why should you get all the fun?" she asked, moving to drop her ass onto the counter, giving me a saucy look, as she often did.

"Admit it, Gala, you just want to see me naked," I said, giving her a smirk right back.

"Sorry, Cy," she said, shaking her head. "You know I don't do the beard thing. My inner thighs get beard burn like a bitch," she added, making my mind flash to seeing those pale, soft inner thighs of hers as I made my way up to her pussy. That was exactly what she wanted me to think when she said it. "But Mr. Tall Dark and Mysterious over there might get a chance to get a tour of my bedsheets," she added, jerking her chin at Virgin.

I turned back to her with a small smile. "I will let him know you're, ah, open to the opportunity," I added, saluting her with my coffee as I made my way to the side of the stage where the first act of the night - a shy seventeen-year-old girl who could barely be heard even with the mic because she was so nervous - was wrapping things up to the chorus of snaps around the room.

"You did good, angel," I said as she moved to walk past me, her entire body visibly shaking.

I wasn't expecting a response, and didn't get one as she blushed, ducked her head, and almost ran to her waiting mother. But, hell, maybe it would give her a small boost to help her push through and do a second show. Being that there wasn't one goddamn shy or insecure bone in my body, I figured it was only right that I pay some of that shit forward.

It happened about forty-five minutes later, as I was crooning my way through a request of some shitty top-twenty radio hit.

The door opened.

And in she walked.

Though, I wasn't sure walked was even the right word. She kind of just opened the door and slid in. Like she was trying to stay unseen. Like maybe she didn't want anyone to notice her.