Fuse’s property cut still felt new, romantic even. I never thought I’d think a vest that said I was property would seem romantic. It felt that way to me because I chose this life with him. I was proud to wear his property cut. I guess it’s all in how you look at it.
Today I was moving double fast, stocking drinks, cleaning taps and wiping down the tables in the bar. The evening rush was just around the corner, and I wanted things to be in order when the prospects took over in the late afternoon.
My workaholic days were over. From now on I was planning to take my evenings off to spend with Fuse. My life was stabilizing. That old feeling of absolute desperation to work all the hours under the sun in order to afford to move on was gone. Now, I just wanted to work my full time hours and enjoy my free time, like a normal person.
Two prospects had torn apart our coffee pot and were installing a new heating element at a table on the far side of the room. Two of the club girls were at the high top in the corner. Their heads were bent together, looking at something on one of their phones. They were smiling and laughing. A new club girl was halfheartedly pushing a mop across the floor near the back hall.
Ever since Fuse made me his old lady the club girls had started treating me differently. I wouldn’t say they were warm and friendly. But they were cooperative and much more careful about how they talked to me. It’s true that I wasn’t a guest anymore. I never fell into the category of club girl. And now Iwas an old lady. That meant I truly belonged here, even more so than they did. They didn’t like that one little bit.
The next thing I knew, a mop came skidding across the floor. I looked up to see the new club girl, Darcy, standing there with her hands on her hips.
“I don’t see why scrubbing floors falls on me when the prospects are just standing around doing nothing,” she complained bitterly. Her words weren’t directed at anyone in particular, but I answered.
I sighed and set my cleaning rag aside. We all knew that club girls who lived at the clubhouse were often asked to do random chores. Darcy was also clear on this issue.
“The prospects are repairing the coffee pot. I’m sure you don’t want to go without your morning java, right?”
She sauntered over with one hand on her hip. “It must be nice to have the club girls doing all the shit work for you.” Her face contorted into a disgruntled expression. “You’re the one getting paid to clean the bar, so why should I mop?”
One of the girls at the high top looked up briefly and then quickly back down at her phone. She’d heard Darcy mouthing off to me and had decided it was in her own best interest to stay out of it.
“If you’ve got a problem take it to Storm, I don’t decide who does what,” I said.
I reached across the bar and picked up her glass and took a sniff. It was half full of vodka. “Meanwhile, I’m cutting you off. You’re not going to drink on the Dark Slayers’ dime while living here for free and bitching about being asked to mop an occasional floor.”
Before she could start complaining again, one of the prospects came over to hover between us.
“You need to get back to work or get out,” he said in a fairly polite tone.
She looked from him to me and back to him before grabbing her mop and walking off.
I turned back to the glasses I’d been working on. I hadn’t needed a man to fight my battle for me because I was more than capable of speaking up for myself. Still, the prospects here were conditioned to look out for the old ladies. I thought that might even be written in their duties.
That’s when it really hit me that the property cut that I wore meant club protection in addition to Fuse’s protection. He’d told me that before, but it hadn’t really sunk in until now.
When things slowed down, I took out my journal and began to write. I wrote about how somewhere along the way I had stopped trying to survive and daydreaming about escaping this clubhouse and started actually loving it. Falling in love with the biker who bought me was the furthest thing from my mind when I came here, but it happened. I felt safer and more at home here than I had ever felt anywhere.
I was still scribbling in my journal when the front doors were flung open. I glanced up and slowly closed my journal and slid it into the front of my apron pocket. Fuse, in all his tattooed glory, came stalking through the door. The other club officers came in right behind him, looking none too happy.
Everyone sat up and paid attention when the club officers were in the room. I didn’t care about that. My eyes were only for Fuse. I didn’t need anyone to tell me something had gone sideways. It was clear from his expression and the stiff way he moved when he came to the bar.
Our eyes met and I reached over the bar for him. I needed to hug him and hold him until that tight, hurt expression on his face went away. He immediately reached across the bar and our fingers touched. He got one arm around my waist, pulled me over the counter and heaved me over his shoulder in one fluid motion.
Laughter sounded around the room, mostly from the brothers.
“Fuse,” I said, “What are you doing? Put me down.”
He was already stalking towards the stairs. I looked back to see one of the prospects slide behind the bar to cover without being asked.
“Fuse, seriously, babe. I can walk.”
When he playfully smacked my bottom, something exciting rippled up my spine. I felt like I was living the cavegirl dream in the moment. Fuse didn’t stop until he reached our suite. He set me down inside our room and that’s when I realized how poorly he was doing. My sweet biker was usually poised and confident. Now, he just stared at me with a blank expression on his face.
I grabbed him by the hand and tugged him down to sit beside me on the bed. One of the kittens appeared from somewhere and jumped into his lap. He reached down to stroke her without taking his eyes off me.
I whispered, “Talk to me, babe. What happened?”
“Storm cast the deciding vote today for Viper to get Vulture’s territory.”
