Her Older Biker - Page 2

The man underneath her, a broad man with a grizzled gray beard—Giant, I assume—laughs. “She’ll keep you on your toes. Here,” he says, and slaps a five-dollar bill on the table. “Don’t let any of the Raging Angels stiff you.”

I tuck the bill in my apron and rush back to the bar, stammering my thanks.

Every table is like that—friendly greetings from scary-looking bikers and scantily-dressed women and generous tips. After an hour and a half, my apron bulges with bills, and I’m guessing there’s at least seventy-five dollars in there.

“How are you holding up? Everything okay?” Caroline asks as she plunks four beer bottles on a tray and snaps the tops off so fast that her hands seem to blur.

I nod and pat my apron. “Doing great. Everybody’s been nice.”

She grunts. “I hope so. The Raging Angels are a little rough around the edges, but they’re good people.”

I pull the tray toward me and heft it over my shoulder. “Where does this one go?”

She points toward the back of the bar. “Table three. Back wall.”

Four enormous men, tall and imposing with bulging muscles, swirling tattoos, black leather cuts and thick shitkicker boots lounge at table three, talking animatedly amongst themselves with no other women—sweet butts, I heard them called—in sight.

“Four Buds and four shots of Beam,” I say as I lower the tray to the table and start distributing the drinks.

A huge hand closes gently over my wrist. I freeze and look up to see fathomless dark eyes peering at me from a handsome face, with bronze skin and full lips. His night-dark hair is short and thick, with just a few silver hairs frosting the temples. His square, stubbly jaw would be severe and a little bit intimidating, but a slight half-smile softens him up a bit. He’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. A little older, but that only makes him sexier. I hardly know what to say as his big fingers gently stroke the skin of my arm.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks lightly.

I pull my arm away. “I’m working. I’m a server.”

He sighs. “A server, huh? Did you just start?”

“Tonight,” I say. “Caroline hired me.”

The man slowly rises to his feet, and at his full height, he’s so tall that my head barely reaches his shoulder. He takes a step toward the bar, gesturing at me to follow.

“C’mon,” he says. “Follow me.”

His thick boots thud on the scuffed wooden floors as he winds his way behind the bar with me right behind him. Caroline looks up at him and smiles pleasantly as she twirls a bottle of tequila.

“Hi Warden,” she says. “I see you met our new server.”

So this is the Warden that everybody was talking about.

He rolls his eyes. “You could’ve asked, you know.”

Caroline shrugs. “Why bother? Anyway, I like this one. I think I’ll keep her.”

Warden throws his hands up. Under his cut and tight-fitting white t-shirt, his round, tattooed biceps flex and bunch, and I wonder what they feel like. Firm and soft all at once, I bet. “You’re the real boss, Mom.”

Caroline is his mother? I look between the two of them—short, round Caroline with her wild pink hair, and tall, dark Warden, all hard muscles and flat planes.

He turns to me, leveling that dark, burning stare on me once again. “I’m Warden Kapua, the owner,” he says. “If anybody gives you any shit tonight, especially club members, come straight to me, understand?”

Those penetrating eyes, hot and dark like the strongest espresso, pin me into place, and I can’t do anything but nod, my mouth dry. Warden stands so close to me that I can see the individual whorls from his intricate tattoo sleeves and smell the soft leather of his cut.

“Good,” he says. “I’ll be around.”

He turns and leaves, and I can’t tear my eyes away as his tall, muscular form strides away, back to the table with the other club members. I don’t know if a man like that could ever go for a girl like me, but, damn, if the opportunity ever came up I’d give it my best… ahem, effort.

“Huh,” I hear Caroline say from behind me. I turn around and see her staring at her son as he walks away, her expression thoughtful.

“What?” I ask. “Is everything okay?”