Biker's Bride (Demons MC)

I nodded, trying to pull myself together. “Rack them up,” I said.

“You’re going down. Again.” He grinned at me.

“I told you, I’m hustling you. Prepare to see my skills.”

“If you have any skills, they’re definitely not in playing pool.”

What an asshole. He was right, though.

As he moved to place the balls in the triangle, a hush fell over the bar. He looked up from what he was doing, and then stood bolt straight. I followed his gaze toward the front door, and spotted a group of three people. Everyone was quiet, and most eyes were on the leader of the trio. He was the tallest, and his hair was long and jet-black. He had a jagged scar that ran down his cheek, and his eyes were so brown they looked almost black. He was dressed in jeans and a leather jacket with a white T-shirt underneath. The other two looked almost identical; they were also tall, broad, all muscles, and their heads were shaved. They wore cargo shorts and hooded sweatshirts. The one on the left was a bit shorter than the one on the right, but otherwise they were indistinguishable from each other.

I looked back at Rex, and took in the grim look on his face with curiosity. I moved closer to him.

“Who are those guys?” I said quietly.

He looked down at me, face unreadable. “That’s my boss and his usual muscle.”

“He owns the bar?”

“Not exactly. He does, but that’s not how he’s my boss.”

I had no idea what he meant, and I wanted to ask more questions, but he had already gone back to racking the balls. The atmosphere in the room had begun to return to normal, and the trio took up spots at the bar. I thought better of pushing, especially considering the look on Rex’s face, and watched him rack and break the balls. He was a mask of serious concentration.

The game went a lot like the first one. Rex made shot after shot, and I kept finding it impossible to make the cue ball go straight. He was a lot quieter though, and didn’t joke back when I tried to heckle his shots. He still smiled and grunted, but I could tell there was something wrong. He was a bit more distant and aloof. When he sunk the final ball, he grinned up at me.

“Winner,” he said, and put his stick down on the tabletop. I walked around the table and stood close to him.

“You are the winner. So what’s your prize?”

He smiled at me, and then took a few steps toward the bar. “Drinks, that’s my prize.”

I felt a little confused. That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.

“Drinks it is then,” I said, and followed him to a nearby booth.

I slid into one side. “Whiskey and Coke, please.”

He looked down at me with a wicked grin. “Actually, Miss Spoiled, I do believe I was the winner.”

I stared back at him, not understanding.

“Drinks are on you,” he said, still grinning.

“Oh, you asshole,” I said, and laughed. I got back up. “What do you want?”

“Just a beer. And make it snappy.”

I gave him a “fuck you” look, and turned to walk away. As I took my first step, he slapped my ass, a firm hand on my cheek. It stung a bit, and I looked back at him. He was grinning his biggest grins, and I just shook my head. I wanted to be offended, but I had to admit that I liked it.

“Asshole,” I said as I walked away.

At the bar, I ordered a beer and a whiskey and Coke. I stood there waiting for the drinks, idly looking around at the other drinkers, when the man with the scar on his face caught my eye. He smiled, but I looked away quickly, feeling awkward. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. The change in Rex was palpable after he had walked in, and Rex had called the guy his boss. When I went to look back, the man was suddenly looming close in my vision, standing nearby. I almost jumped out of my skin.

“Hey there, pretty thing,” he said quietly. His voice was deep and gravelly, as if he had smoked for years. His body reeked of sweat, and his breath was strong. I fought against my desire to run away, and forced a smile.

“Hi,” I said back, meekly.

“Well now, don’t be shy. Never seen you here before.”

“I don’t come in much,” I said, looking for my drinks. The bartender was pouring the beer.

“What’s your name?”

“Darcy,” I said.

“Well, Darcy, I’m Michael. This is my bar.”

I looked back at him. His smile was huge, but it didn’t touch his dark eyes. I suddenly realized how afraid of him I was. My pulse quickened.

“It’s a cool place,” I said.

He laughed, and then coughed. “No, Darcy, it isn’t cool. But thank you for saying so.”