Chapter Eight
“Damn, you’ve gota hot waitress working for you. I’d like a piece of her. Who is she?” Sangre asked as he threw back a shot of Jack that Steel placed in front of him.
Steel stiffened and instinctively looked around for Breanna, but he couldn’t spot her. “Keep away from her.” He took out his razor blade, cut open a box, and started putting bottles of whiskey on the bar shelves.
Sangre motioned for a refill as he leaned back against the barstool. “You aiming to fuck her? I thought you didn’t mix business with pleasure, but from the way she’s built, I’d make an exception too if I were in your place.”
Steel poured the amber liquid into the shot glass. “I’m just telling you to stay away from her. I don’t need to give you any fucking reason why.”
Sangre raised his hands in surrender. “No worries, Prez. I should’ve figured you’d have already staked a claim on her fine ass.” He chuckled and then brought the whiskey to his lips.
Steel scowled, then tore down the box and threw it in the recycle bin. He glanced around again for Breanna but didn’t see her. “You going back to the club?” he asked Sangre as he washed the glasses.
Sangre nodded. “I thought I’d find someone to curl around me. I need something soft and curvy tonight.” With his finger, he slid his glass toward Steel. “You lost interest in Alma? I noticed she and Paco have been getting it on for the past few days.”
Steel shrugged. “This thing with Chenoa is eating me up inside. I can’t really focus on pussy right now.” He bent down low to pick up another box.I’m only half bullshitting. The only pussy my dick seems to want is Breanna’s, and that pisses the hell outta me.
“I’m gonna take off. You gonna be here tomorrow night?” Jill asked as she pulled on her sweater.
“Most likely.” He ignored Sangre’s gaze. “Have you seen the new waitress?” He pretended to be engrossed in checking out each liquor bottle he took out of the box.
“Breanna? She left about a half hour ago. Jorge told her to take off a little early. I think he felt sorry for her feet. She was walking as though she was on glass.” Jill laughed softly. “In a week or so, her feet will be used to the torture.” She opened her purse, took out a cigarette pack, and tapped it against her finger to slide out a cigarette, putting it between her lips. “See ya.”
As she stepped out, Steel saw a flame flicker from her lighter. A billow of smoke rose up around her before the door closed.
“I’m gonna get going. See you at the club.” Sangre pushed his six-foot frame off the stool and sauntered to the door.
In a few minutes, Steel heard the roar of Sangre’s cams as his Harley pulled out of the parking lot. He glanced out the window and saw Sangre turn left at the corner before disappearing. Steel drew in slow, steady breaths and massaged his temples.I can’t believe I fucking kissed her. What the hell was I thinking?
Heat flushed through his body as he cracked his knuckles. He picked up the bar rag and wiped the counter vigorously. Ms. Quine was a distraction he couldn’t afford. He had an MC to run, the threat of a rival club war, and his daughter’s addiction to deal with. The last thing he needed was a woman—thiswoman—messing with his head. He didn’t need or want that sort of complication in his life. He was just fine with the club girls. He didn’t want a citizen—a damngovernmentworker—stealing into his life.
“You’re gonna rub the varnish off if you keep wiping the same spot.” The cash register rang as Jorge opened it, taking out the bills.
Steel’s nostrils flared. “I know what the fuck I’m doing.”
“Chill, dude. I was only joking. What’s up with you? You’ve been tense most of the night.”
“I got shit on my mind, that’s all.”
Jorge paused, then gripped Steel’s arm. “I know. It’s gotta be tough.” Steel grumbled something inaudible. “What do you think of our new waitress? She’s hot, isn’t she? She killed it in tips and this was her first night.”
Steel threw the rag into a laundry bag. “She’s okay.”
“Okay? She’s stacked just like you like them. You must’ve noticed that. I thought you’d be making passes at her all night, but you actually acted like a gentleman.”
“She’s not my type. I like dark-haired women.”
“But she’s got a good rack, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll give her that.” He picked up the laundry bag. “I’m gonna take this to the back.” He walked away, knowing Jorge was probably confused by his reaction to Breanna. He didn’t want to hear about her anymore. Didn’t want to remember how soft her lips were against his, how silky her hair was, or how her body came alive beneath his touch.I gotta rein it in. I can’t let a pretty woman with a body that’s made to be fucked rule my cock.He had to get laid, then her amazing blue eyes and soft lips would flee from his head. Going without pussy made a man think and act like a goddamn fool.
He grabbed his leather jacket and ambled out of the back room. Jorge was counting the money when Steel entered the bar area. “Need some help with that?” he asked as he shrugged on his jacket. Jorge shook his head as he continued counting. “Okay. I’m gonna take off.” Jorge nodded and Steel took out his keys, heading out the door and locking it behind him.
The ride to the clubhouse was fast and just the thing he needed to clear his mind of the blonde vixen. He pulled into his spot and made his way inside, the sweet scent of weed hitting him like a tidal wave when he entered the main room. The room looked like it was invaded by fog, and the red lights that had replaced the normal lighting accentuated the fast beats of “Ace of Spades” by Mötorhead. Steel smiled when he saw some of his brothers, the club girls, and a few hang-arounds dancing to the music. Under the lights, their skin glistened, and he had the urge to join them. He’d love to have had Breanna grinding her ass against him, helping him forget all his cares as the music carried them away.
He made his way through the labyrinth of people, a double shot of tequila greeting him when he got to the bar. He jerked his head at the prospect who was busy filling glasses, opening beer bottles, and wiping down the counter. The fiery sting of the booze warmed him, and he motioned for another. There wasn’t anything like a shot of grade-A tequila to make him relax. He’d always preferred tequila to whiskey, although he never turned away a shot of Jack. Some bikers saw this as an affront to the brotherhood, but he thought they were assholes, so it didn’t bother him any.
As the liquor warmed his blood, he began to relax. From a distance he saw Diablo marching toward him. He still marveled at the sheer size of the club’s sergeant-at-arms. At six feet four inches, Diablo was built like a tank. He was covered in tattoos from his neck downward. A scowl was his usual expression, and Steel found him to be a dark and brooding man of little words. He’d done a stint for manslaughter in the state pen a few years back. Since he never talked about it, Steel didn’t know too many of the details, but he knew the nasty scar he had on his arm was a reminder of the night he’d killed a man.
