The Butcher of the Bay Part II - J. Bree Page 0,47
haven during the colder months. Not that it ever gets really cold but the tourists stay clear. I stick out like a sore thumb, my leather jacket and biker boots not the regular rags people up here wear but the tattoos and mean look on my face help keep people the fuck away from me.
I go into a tiny roadside cafe, the type that decorates with a theme so the entire place is covered in surfboard and shark teeth. Sand crunches under my feet, as if the patrons regularly come straight here from the beach and the easygoing vibe is tangible in the air.
I hate it.
Gimme the gritty, whiskey-soaked, bloody nights of the Bay anytime.
I take a booth and the waitress eyes me like I’m on the fucking menu. My lip curls in her direction, a clear fuck-off, but she only adjusts her tits so they try to spill out of her shirt.
I pull a gun out and sit it on the table as she hands me a menu. That gets her attention.
“You got a license for that?” Her voice is too high-pitched, too sweet, all fake and fucking disgusting.
“No, doesn’t mean the bullets won’t kill you if you don’t quit your shit. I want a coffee, black, and I want you to leave me the fuck alone once you’ve brought it over. Button your shirt up and I might even tip you.”
She huffs and leaves me.
I prefer the women in the Bay. They only approach me if I wave them over, the whole lot of them trained without me doing a fucking thing to stay the hell away from me. If I’m out, there's a good chance I’m working, so even before Odie I didn’t want them chasing me. Too easy for them to get in the way and catch a stray bullet to the head.
Pretty fucking handy now that I’ve got my baby girl.
I sit and drink my coffee, waiting in the booth and watching everyone around me. Tank gave me a description and details of his kid’s daily routine. Not that he knows it from being so close to her, nah he’s much more fucking absent than that.
He has a couple of his guys watching her.
Nothing says fatherly love like an MC club stalking you.
Fuck knows how she even got a boyfriend with them on her tail like that. You’d think Tank would’ve told them to step in, but I guess he doesn’t care about her enough for that shit. He said she picked the wrong guy, not just that there’s a guy to begin with.
I sit there for over an hour waiting, the waitress getting fucking twitchy about not being able to approach me now I’m taking up a table as the cafe gets busy but finally my patience pays pff.
I notice her right away.
A whole tumble of strawberry blonde hair is curling down her back, the waves of it like the wild mane of a summer child. The color is the same as her dad’s, though his is shaved and it’s his beard that shows his coloring.
She’s wearing the tiniest pair of shorts that show off her long legs and a crop top that has her ink showing where it curls around her back and over her stomach. There’s a leather jacket slung over her shoulders, and the helmet on her arm is the same style that old bikers wear.
She looks like a biker bitch, through and through.
I’m going to be lucky to get through this without having eight new bullet holes in my body for my girl to fuss over later.
She walks in on her own but greets the waitresses like they’re old friends before ducking behind the counter and into the back. When she comes back out she’s changed into one of the little uniforms, an apron tied around her waist and a notepad in her hand.
From biker bitch to diner waitress in under a minute.
I hear my waitress telling her about me, and the gun, and Savannah scoffs before stalking over to me, no fucking fear.
“There a reason you’re walking your ass into my cafe with a 9 mil and a shitty attitude? We don’t like your type around here, maybe you should head on home.”
I look up and I see her eyes taking every inch of me in but it’s not at all her checking me out. Nope, she’s assessing the situation, looking for more weapons, judging what it’s going to take to get me out of here without any casualties.