“You know, I don’t know why Pres said that I needed to watch you. You are harmless and have a calm vibe. I don’t think you could hurt anyone.”
I shrug and get back to work. The day goes on in the same way. Gears talks a lot, despite him claiming he isn’t a conversationalist, and I use my hands to respond. I am still wary about Gears, even though he has been friendly. His glare and the way he puffed himself up made it feel like a challenge, so I’m a little on edge.
It’s beena week since I started working at the garage, and I finally got a room at the motel. In the beginning, all the bikers tried to get to know me, but I never responded. Now, there are only a few who still try to talk to me. I ignore them most of the time, but sometimes I will write something for them. They have all been rowdier today, saying someone is finally coming back. I don’t really care if people are coming; I just want them to leave me alone. They all see me cower when they step close to me or make fast movements, but they still talk to me.
Gunner has also asked me to help serve drinks at the bar in their club. He said he would pay me extra, so I didn’t complain. I get off work at five or six in the evening and stay until midnight with a break to eat dinner. He also said that I could always have Sundays off and would be called in some Saturdays, but not all of them.
They also provided lunch and dinner for me. Gunner felt bad the first couple of days when I didn’t eat anything and told me that someone would bring me lunch and dinner, and I could have thirty minutes to an hour off. I must have had a look of objection because he quickly informed me that I couldn’t say no. Apparently, he gives his workers a free lunch. I believe most of his workers are also part of the club, making me the only outsider.
“You can be done in the garage for today. Go relax a little before heading to the bar. Tonight, Bear is coming home, and it’s going to be busy.” Gears grins at me.
Nodding, I look at Gears. He has been super sweet to me despite his cold, closed-off appearance. With tattoos littering his skin, and his stony gaze, it’s hard to believe that he is a gentle giant who loves talking so much it is sometimes overwhelming and annoying because I can’t always respond. He normally does not smile, and always gives people glares. I have warmed up to him a little bit, but I am still wary around him. I keep an eye on him when we are working and position myself to where I can find an exit and watch him. He has asked me about it, but I just shrug or pretend I don’t hear him.
“I left some food in the fridge with your name on it. The guys know not to touch your food,” he says.
Nodding, I finish putting my tools away and make my way toward the bar instead of the kitchen. I’m not very hungry, so I will save the food for later.
The first couple of times I worked in the bar, the guys would try and talk to me. I wouldn’t reply, and eventually Gunner told them that I was mute. That didn’t stop them from talking to me. They knew I wouldn’t reply, but they didn’t mind. I was new and had ears that worked, and they wanted to talk. They also knew that I wouldn’t talk and tell anyone their information. I don’tknow why they trusted me because I could easily write it on a piece of paper instead.
“Brooke, what are you doing at the bar? Gears told me that you were going to be eating and taking a break,” Ink asks.
On my second day here, I met Ink. He is the club tattooist, and does an amazing job. He is probably five-foot-five and has muscles, but isn’t as big as the other guys around here. He is the other person who was told to watch over me when I worked in the bar. After a week, Pres told me they weren’t going to watch me as much, but that if I did anything out of place, they would have a chat with me.
I let out a sigh and shake my head. I don’t want to eat. Pres must have said something about making sure I was eating because all of these guys watch me like a hawk.
“Nope, you have to eat. Gears said you didn’t eat much for lunch, and you need to eat before Bear comes back. Things will be in full swing, and you probably won’t have time to yourself until midnight,” Ink says, standing from his seat.
Wringing my hands together, I turn around. Maybe if Ink sees me eat a little, he will let me be. I really don’t want to, but if it gets him off my case about eating, I will at least take a couple of bites.
With Ink trailing behind me, I make my way toward the kitchen and open the fridge. In the middle of the fridge is a plate with a sticky note on top with my name on it. I pull the plate out and grab the fork from Ink’s hand.
I take my first bite and close my eyes as my taste buds blaze to life. This food tastes amazing. Normally, they just give me a sandwich or takeout food, but this tastes homemade. It’s been a while since I tasted anything homemade. Jared always made me eat a salad and nothing else. Then, when I lived with my sister who couldn’t cook, and I couldn’t do much, we ate takeout everyday. This brings me back to life before I knew Jared and the short amount of time I lived on my own.
“It’s good, isn’t it? Butch made it. He is the cook around here. He came a couple of hours before Bear and decided to cook.” Ink grins, bringing me out of my thoughts.
Smiling slightly, I hope that Ink will be able to see part of it under my scarf. Ink leaves shortly after I start to eat with more gusto. Once I finish, I place my plate and fork in the sink and head toward the bar.
It is about time for me to start serving drinks. The guys are getting louder and louder the closer I get. Once all of them get off work, it’s party time. It feels like party time almost every day, except on the rare nights they relax with a drink and all is calm.
I know tonight will be different. The guys are normally never this rowdy this early. I guess it has something to do with Bear coming back, whoever he is.
Everyone has been talking about Bear coming home the past couple of days. Apparently, he is the Sergeant-at-Arms in this club. I have yet to learn what all these terms mean, and don’t really care. I don’t want to get too involved with the club, and would prefer not to learn the terms.
“I want a whiskey neat, and these two will have beers,” a biker says.
I nod and grab two beers from the cooler. I get the whiskey and a glass, pouring the amber liquid, and hand the drink to the guy.
“Thank you.” He nods to me.
Things are fairly calm until sudden chaos explodes, sending the celebration into full swing.
“Bear! Welcome home!” people shout.
I don’t bother to look up because I have messes to clean. Earlier, I spilled something and couldn’t clean it up right away. Iget a rag and soak up the liquid. All the bikers are occupied, so it gives me a reprieve to take a breath for a couple of seconds.
With my hands placed on the counter, I let my head hang as I inhale deeply. It has been nonstop, moving, and getting drinks since I got to the bar. Right now, I am thankful that Ink made sure I ate because I wouldn’t have been able to survive without food in my stomach. I am pretty sure I would have passed out, and everything would have gone sideways.
“Can I get whiskey?” a deep, authoritative voice says, breaking me out of my thoughts.
