Page 4 of Sabre’s Guard

“The next one is seafood,” I tell him, knowing he already said he fishes a lot. “The focus will be on knife work, filleting, skinning, and pan-searing.”

He gives me a lopsided grin. “Not to sound like station five, but that’s one I might be able to help teach.”

“Students don’t usually help,” I tell him, gently.

“In that case, I’ll just have to continue bein’ your student.”

“I look forward to seeing that filleting knife of yours in action.”

“I’ll be sure to bring it.” He taps the knife roll under his arm once, like a promise. “I’ll pay attention to every word you say and by the end of the night, you might even start gettin’ attached to my charmin’ personality.”

“Behave, Sabre. I know that’s probably pretty hard for a man like you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responds with a smile. “It’s a damn sight harder than you think it is.”

I unlock the door and he pushes it open with his shoulder. Just when I think he’s going to step out, he pauses. “Goodnight, Chef. You did a real good job.”

Before I can respond, he takes off, walking quickly down the sidewalk. I can see a bike in the distance. It’s probably his. I stand there watching him walk away, feeling mixed emotions churning in my chest. Sure enough, he stows his stuff in the back storage compartment, jumps on the bike and rides away without a backward glance.

I stand there longer than I should, thinking about him. I realize that I’ve never met a man I had so much in common with or one I clicked so well with right off the bat. This man is nothing like what one might expect from looking at him. He’s the man who made space at the board the second I asked, who made me feel something when our hands touched, and who had my back when station five minimized my skills.

He might be trouble, wrapped in an amazing package. I’m smart enough to know that. I had to fight for my freedom once already. I don’t want to take a liking to the wrong kind of man again. I don’t think I could survive it twice and now I have a son to look out for and protect. I can’t have him role modeling off a one-percent biker. Yeah, I saw his one percent patch and I’m not about to let an outlaw into our lives, no matter how nice he seems.

I flip off the lights and tell myself he’s just a student, an outlaw who likes to cook. He’ll come to one more class, maybe two, and then drift off like they always do. He’s not the kind of man who sticks around. He’s not what Noah and I need in our lives right now.

Chapter 2

Sabre

The whole point of a night ride is to clear my head. The cool air, empty roads, and the hum of the engine in my ears are supposed to calm me the fuck down. It’s always done exactly that, until now. I’m all twisted up over that chef. I keep seeing her big brown eyes, long eyelashes, and her honey blonde hair pulled back in that elegant fuckin’ knot at the nape of her neck. She’s the kind of woman any man would be damn lucky to get.

The way she looked over my knives let me know she understood their worth. My knives aren’t some pretty, high-dollar matched set. They’re knives I’ve collected over the years, each for a special task. And none of them match because it’s about utility and not beauty. Cooking has always been a passion of mine. When I was prospecting for the Savage Legion it was one of my main roles. The brothers used to joke that I should set up a catering company. Gotta admit, that’s still a dream, though I love my life now. And after tonight, I’m wondering if it could get more interesting.

Linsey is a woman who knows how to talk to people without making them feel small or corrected. I’ve been cutting shit since I was eight years old. First, it was sticks for firewood as a kid, then later it was fish, and meat of every kind. I know my way around a knife. This woman watched me work for thirty seconds and taught me a better way without making me feel like an idiot. How she handled it, well that makes me like her even more.

I force Linsey’s smiling face and soft hands out of my mind and switch gears to my destination, the Savage Legion clubhouse. I ain’t no club officer, and I never wanted to be one. Siege has the gavel because his old man founded our club. Tank has his ear as our VP. Rider grew up with Siege, served in the military with him and he keeps the peace as our sergeant at arms. And Dutch keeps the books, serving as the club secretary and treasurer. I’m just a newbie compared to the old guard. The officers’ seats are filled by men built for carrying other people’s weight. I carried enough weight as a kid and did my tour of that duty in the military already fresh out of high school. I don’t crave power the way some men do. I’m well fuckin’ satisfied being just another brother.

My life is simple. I take on only what interests me and what I can do well. I run the grill when I’m in the mood, keep every blade in that clubhouse sharp, and feed people. Now, I don’t do full fucking meals like a gourmet chef. I make what Talon called bits and bobs. Little skewers. Stuffed peppers. Smoked sausage cut into coins with toothpicks stabbed in ‘em. Deviled eggs that disappear faster than I can keep up with making them.

Talon used to give me hell about making finger foods. He’d stand there eating his fourth bacon-wrapped bit of steak and say, “You know what your problem is, brother? A real meal’s too much responsibility for you.”

I’ll admit it in the privacy of my own helmet, that bastard wasn’t wrong. Finger food is easy to make. Somebody takes it off the tray and walks away, and whatever happens next ain’t my problem. A whole meal is a different beast altogether. I never had family dinners. On the days when my old man cooked, it was usually something from a can heated up.

The sad truth is that I keep my hands busy so the rest of me stays quiet. I’m a simple man and this is enough for me, or it was until I met that pretty chef tonight. Now, I’m wanting all kinds of things that I swore off.

Just when I think all the thoughts circling around in my head are going to drive me insane, I see that Savage Legion gate up ahead. Putting on a burst of speed, I come to a skidding stop right outside the slowly opening metal monstrosity.

Levi pulls the gate open. “What’s the rush for, Sabre? You’re ridin’ like you got the hounds of hell at your heels.”

“Just tryin’ to outrun bad memories, I guess.”

Then my mouth snaps shut because that’s a little more candid than I intended to be. Levi is Tex’s boy. He’s a tall, lanky eighteen-year-old, proudly wearing his prospect cut.

He squints at my bike, and I can see the gears turning in his head. “Hey, can I ask you somethin’?”

“Yeah, of course you can, prospect.”

“Evan says the brothers used to call you Harley.” He points at my bike. “That ain’t a Harley. Is that why they stopped?”