Page 100 of WAYLON (Ruthless MC 1)
Aw, Bikers…yes, the money is insanely good at my step uncle’s roadhouse. But there are a lot of things I will not miss about working here—including the many colorful nicknames I get called for daring to be born with small breasts.
And sure enough, the guy under tips after I bring him his round of Michelobs. I swear to God, if I had a bigger rack like Red did, I probably would've met my goal and gotten out of here last year.
But then Uncle Nestor comes behind the bar with some good news. “I need you to push some crates into the meeting room. The Reapers are having an emergency meeting.”
Yes! The Reapers split and moved their club out of Tennessee a few years ago. But they still use the roadhouse as a meet-up place for both chapters once or twice a quarter.
Unlike some of these other assholes, they don’t care how small my tits are. They always leave good tips. And now there’s a whole back room of them needing food and beer.
Forget Christmas. There’s a chance tonight might be my last shift working at this ridiculous place. I would kiss Uncle Nestor on his Botoxed forehead if I wasn’t scared of catching a mustache smear from that black ink he calls hair dye.
I put five crates of beer on the trolley we keep behind the bar for big orders. Then I stuff a memo pad in the waistline of my cut-off shorts and happily sashay into the meeting room to take some orders.
But as soon as I enter the room, I know this isn’t a regular meeting.
Hades and Waylon stand toward the front of the room, with Hades pacing back and forth.
“I want to know how you're going to punish her,” he roars. “You got your woman back, but mine’s gone. I want her punished. This cannot fucking lie.”
Wow…Hades is usually the smoothest Reaper in the gang. But he’s ranting like somebody about to explode.
“She will be,” Waylon assures Hades, his voice grave and serious.
Whoa. As Nitra Mello used to say on Rap Star Wives, Ooohhh! I smell the drama!
Instead of taking orders I crane my head to try to get a better look over all the burly bikers and try to figure out what's going on here.
Someone grabs my elbow, and I turn to find Vampire looming over me. His near-black eyes heat for a moment when our eyes meet. But only for a moment. The flame disappears in an instant, like he snuffed it out.
And I have to fight the urge to cross my arms over my chest and hide myself.
I don’t know why. He just does what he always does when we spark. Looks away like the moment didn’t happen. Like I don’t matter.
But this time, his usual decision to ignore me is accompanied by a head jerking motion.
Duncan appears out of nowhere and takes me by my other elbow, like I’m a football getting handed off. And his expression is way less friendly than usual.
“This isn’t a good time to take orders,” he says, glancing down at my trolley.
He pushes a wad of bills into my hand and leads me toward the door I left open when I came in the room. The money wad isn’t as thick as the ones Waylon’s known for throwing down on dead bodies, but I instinctively sense it will be more than enough to cover the beer and leave me with a good tip.
Fair enough. But after he pushes me out the door, I have to ask, “What happened? Why is Hades so angry?”
Duncan lowers his voice even lower to answer, “He lost Persy. She left on a bus before we could get to her. Now she's in the wind, and Waylon's old lady is the one who helped her escape.”
With that, he closes the door in my face. And I go back to the bar, not knowing for whom to feel sorrier…Persy if Hades ever catches up to her, or the woman who helped her escape.
AMIRA
I'm locked inside the little roadhouse room again. But this time, instead of screaming to be let out, I sit on the room’s bed, with my hands gripped tight in my lap.
After Waylon pushes me in here, it takes a long time for him to come back. Hours. I have no way to account for the passage of time, but the dark outside the window becomes even inkier when he finally returns to the room.
He doesn't say anything when he first walks in, just locks the door behind him.
My stomach flips at the grave look on his face.
I don't want to know, but I feel I have to ask, “How did Hades take it?”
“He wants you punished,” Waylon answers in that frank way of his. “And I agree.”
He comes to loom over the bed. “You better believe me for all of time when I tell you how much I fucking love you.”
