The bar is rowdy tonight. Rowdier than usual. There’s a tension weaving over the noise, and in between the full tables. It’s making all the loud laughter sound forced, all the yells and pieces of conversation I can hear laced with harsh undertones. Or maybe I’ve just finally, completely lost my mind.
The Roadside Sinners MC bar slash clubhouse is only usually this full on the weekends or when they’re gearing up for some big thing. Neither is the case now, to the best of my knowledge. Not that I care.
When I left Monarch and the Kings clubhouse on my last evening of freedom six months ago, I thought things were looking up. I never thought I’d miss the greasy leather sofas in that place, but I’d give anything to trade this smelly, smoky, run-down bar for being there right now. Even with Monarch’s groping hands all over me. Never thought I’d miss that guy, but I kinda do. I’m very close to calling him to come to my rescue, somehow, some way.
But what’s he gonna say when he finds out his cousin Josh is dead? Will he blame me? Probably. He was never the brightest. And I bet he’s gonna know I was stepping out with Josh. He’s not the forgiving type. Best case scenario, it’s straight to one of the many truck stop whorehouses he operates for me when he finds me. Worst case, he kills me for cheating on him. I could charm him back, tell him some tale about how Josh forced me to go with him… No. It’s time I stop thinking about him altogether. I’ll get out of the Sinners’ clutches on my own. I’ll find a way.
Cleaning up after this get-together tomorrow morning will be hell, and I bet Stormi’s not gonna be around to help me, as per usual lately. I’ve developed a damn repetitive strain injury in my back from all the sweeping and taking out the trash I do around here, and she’s helping less and less now that she’s with that new guy, Ace. She’s not here now either, and she said nothing about going anywhere before she left with him earlier. I bet she sees him as her ticket out of here. Though I have it on good authority he’s not leaving this place anytime soon.
I wish I had my own ticket out of here.
But all I have is endless glasses to fill with cheap whiskey, endless bottles of beer to lug in from the back, stack in the fridge, unscrew, serve and then trash again before I repeat the cycle. And endless trying to get the president’s son Piston to take a more concrete interest in me. Something that’ll get me out from behind this bar and into some semblance of a normal life.
But I lost my touch. Lost my mojo. It died when the Sinners shot the last guy I picked to save me from a bad situation. That and I’ve also been working very hard on being a mean girl in an effort to prevent getting fucked by any of the Sinners. I just don’t know how to play nice with men anymore. Sometimes I think I deserve this. Sometimes I hate everyone and everything. Most days I just hate myself very much. Never did that before.
I had a good thing going with Monarch. I had everything I needed and more besides. Just not what I wanted.
Now I’ll be behind this bar for the rest of my life, which will probably be short. Serving bikers who either don’t want anything to do with me or hate me. Bikers who wouldn’t lose a second of sleep if I just dropped dead behind this counter. At least I’ve done a good job of keeping them from wanting anything more from me than the drinks I serve. Chasing a guy away is just the other side of the coin of attracting one. I know both sides of the coin very well.
Sometimes I think of burning it all down after the last of them leaves for the night.
Sometimes I almost do it.
Then I remember I have nowhere else to go. Besides, they’d hunt me down and kill me sooner rather than later if I do that.
“Can I get a drink over here, or what?” a guy whose voice doesn’t sound familiar says harshly.
But when I turn to him, he’s smiling, his brown eyes kind of sparkling in the overhead lights. He’s got a handsome face, soft yet chiseled in