Twenty
TINY
"Nice to see you again, Tiny."
I notice two missing front teeth when Jake grins at me, and it makes him look kind of trashy. He should really see about getting that fixed. From what I've heard, Chosen Riders make enough money to afford decent dental insurance.
"Hi, Jake."
He leans into the counter.
I try not to stare at the gaping hole in his smile.
"You're looking extra hot in those jeans today."
Oh, good grief. Could he be any less original?
"Thanks, Jake."
I can feel an unwavering glare from across the room. It's Stone, and he's walking over toward us with the same rigid look on his face that he's been wearing all day.
"You all right?" he asks me while looking straight down Jake's throat.
"I'm good," I say in a placating tone.
Frankly I'm a little shocked by his...I'm not sure how to explain his dominant behavior? Maybe he's taking his new job super seriously. Thinking that he's actually security in here. Another thing on my list to talk to him about. He'll scare away the clientele with that attitude. Not everyone that comes in here to buy a bike is going to be a horny, middle-aged woman looking to find her own personal Magic Mike.
"Why wouldn't Tiny be all right, new guy?" Jake questions. Offended by Stone's tone. "She's here talking to me."
Stone's posture stiffens.
Even stiffer than it was if that's even humanly possible.
"Arianais on phones tonight, not sales." It doesn't get past me that he stresses the pronunciation of my first name as a direct affront to Jake's use of my nickname. "You want to buy something, you talk to Savannah. You want to shoot the shit, you call Ariana on her off time."
This is not good.
We're in a room full of Chosen Riders and Jake of all people is the wrong person to get confrontational with. Another part of his legend is that he's known for being hotheaded. Hence the nickname, Crazy Horse. I heard that one time he turned someone's car completely over on its side with his bare hands just because it had Florida plates. Evidently, he had some sort of bad bar fight in Florida that involved getting tasered by an off duty Florida State Trooper, and now he's blaming the whole entire state for it.
"The fuck you say?" Jake puffs his chest out.
Then about seven heads turn our direction. All featuring varying degrees of scowls across them. All wearing Chosen Rider cuts.
"Jake, he didn't mean–"
Stone places his hand on my forearm. Resting it there for a moment. Essentially shushing me.
"I think you heard every word I said," he says to Jake. "Keep it the fuck moving. This is a place of business. Not a bar."
It's so quiet in the shop you can hear a pin drop.
"Is this disrespectful cocksucker your old man, Tiny?" Jake asks. Spittle practically flying out of his mouth, as he asks his question with a mouth full of missing teeth and fury.
I need to be really careful here. However I decide to answer Jake and the other seven Chosen Riders who are listening to this exchange is going to determine whether or not there's about to be a bloodbath in my father's shop.
If I tell the truth and tell Jake that Stone is nothing to me, Jake is probably going to hurt Stone and I cannot have that. My father would have a hissy fit and like it or not, Stone is a guest in my home. So maybe if I lie and say yes, then the riders will walk away out of respect for me or at least for my father. He's been a longtime friend of the club.
"Yes, he–"
