Sentinel - Devil Riders MC Book 1 (MC Romance Novel with FREE Bonus Novel!) (7 page)

"What? You tryin' to get rid of me? C'mere, just a kiss."

He tugged on her again, harder this time.

Chrissy saw red, and she didn't know what she would have done if she hadn’t been rescued by a voice from the entrance suddenly booming out, throwing the room into silence.

"Get your hands off her, Trigger. Are you so fuckin' drunk you lost your memory?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t know you remember last night, beyond you getting to bash a moron in the face? You don’t think the last thing Chrissy needs or wants is you pawin' at her?"

Chrissy looked over to see Rafe standing in the doorway. His face showed anger and disapproval, and once again she found herself marveling at the sheer physical presence of the man. He commanded the room—every eye was on him.

Trigger immediately took his hands off her and looked embarrassed.

"Sorry boss. Just havin' a little fun."

“And you think that getting all bad ass and pushy with a girl we just rescued from some asshole is gonna make her think you’re a fucking hero?”

Trigger looked at Chrissy and she saw him shake his head remembering. The tough guy melted away abruptly. “Fuck, Chrissy. I’m sorry about that shit. I guess I did have a few too many. Sometimes the thing I’m best at is being a jerk.”

She smiled at him. The scary moment had passed. It amazed Chrissy that a big and powerful man like Trigger could look so contrite. “It’s okay, Trigger. I’d just rather it didn’t happen again.”

He nodded. “I got my bearings now.” He looked at Rafe. “Sometimes it takes me a while to put everyone where they belong.” He tapped his head. “In here, I mean.”

Rafe handed him a beer. “I know, Trigger. Go back to having a nice evening and everyone will be happy.”

Trigger just nodded, looking pleased with himself for figuring things out.

Rafe approached the bar and perched on a stool in front of Chrissy, putting his elbows on the bar. He smiled and raised his eyebrows. "It looked like you were about to clock him," he laughed.

Chrissy felt the tension and adrenaline begin to drain away.

She flashed him a grateful grin. “As it turns out I didn’t have to, but he’s lucky you saved his ass."

She noticed Rafe looking at her in a certain way, weighing up her response to Trigger’s actions. It was like he could see that something was up. After a few moments, he blinked.

"I don't doubt it," he said drily. “Now, a couple of things. First, about Trigger… he lost it tonight. So you know, he isn’t just pretending to be sorry because I’m here—he really means it. That sort of thing happens to him once in a while, but he’s a good man. He was a soldier and did several tours in combat. He has a pretty nasty case of PTSD, but he’s strong and most of the time he keeps in under control.”

“What if it happens again? I like him, and I need to know how to handle it.”

Rafe smiled. “Talk to him calmly. Remind him who you are and that you are his friend, that only shitheads treat their friends like that. Coming from you, he’ll respond. I think he has a crush on you.”

The idea tickled her. “You aren’t just the club leader, are you? I mean, these guys mean more to you than that?”

He nodded, indicating the club. “Some of us served together. We have a bond. Along the way we picked up a few other guys who have had trouble adjusting. I try to find ways they can work together and use the skills they do have.”

“Doing what?”

“Various things. Security, sometimes. People find interesting uses for dangerous people who don’t fit in well and we accommodate them. But the jobs are irregular and so I set up this club as a safe place. A kind of home where they can let off steam without hurting anyone, at least nothing serious.”

“So the girls are part of that?”

“The girls showed up and yeah, they do a lot. The rest is the booze, spending time talking with guys who’ve been through the same shit, and the beautiful distraction of a common interest in bikes.”

“And you?”

He grinned. “I’m one of them—the damaged warrior class. They wouldn’t listen to me if I wasn’t. We all have what the authorities like to call ‘troubled pasts’.”

“It’s a good thing they have this place, then. I guess you running herd on them helps you too.”

He smiled. “Good insight. I don’t think of it that way, but that’s about it. I keep my focus by assuming responsibility for them. Speaking of which, I'm sorry I wasn't here tonight like I said I would be. Had some business to attend to. Trish been givin' you a hard time?"

Chrissy looked over at the other woman.

"Nah. Nothing I can't handle."

Trish, who’d been listening, just snorted with derision and climbed off her chair, disappearing off out back somewhere. Chrissy frowned.

“I think I must’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, or I did something to piss her off. She's been like that all night. Or does she have PTSD too?”

Rafe laughed, shaking his head.

"Naw. Just an attitude. She’s been the only actual girl, a female above the fray, here for a long time and the guys mostly treat her like a kid sister, and I’d imagine she’s thinking you might take over her role. So she’s probably a tad jealous. She'll warm up to ya, give it some time. I hope.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

He leaned back and appraised her with a critical eye. Chrissy met his gaze, but found herself blushing and looked away.

"So. Does that mean you like us? You wanna work here with this buncha animals?"

Chrissy thought about it for a moment, and suddenly realized that she did, much more than she’d thought she would have. Not only did she find the people interesting, she wanted to find out if the look that crossed Rafe’s eyes when he turned those gorgeous green eyes one her meant anything. She shivered at the idea of thinking romantically of a biker, and then shivered differently when she was around him. It was insane, but there it was. If he liked her,
really
liked her, she wanted to be around to see how that went.

Another benefit of the job was that a biker bar had to be about the last place in the world Benny would look for her. Even if the idea occurred to him, anyone he sent in would stand out like a clown at a dinner party.

She held out her hand. “If you'll have me, I’ll do my best to be the best biker bartender on the planet.”

He held out a big hand and they shook, with Chrissy trying hard not to show that his touch was sending tendrils of electricity racing through her.

You can’t honestly be falling for a biker.

The truth was that she’d never been so strongly attracted to anyone in her life. What she’d thought she’d felt for Benny when he was on his best behavior had probably simply been pleasure that such a rich man, such a great catch, as her mother put it, was attracted to her. And that was odd, when she thought about it, that you could be attracted to the fact that you were attractive to someone.

"Consider yourself hired and past your probationary period. It ain't hard work, really, shouldn’t be anyway. I'll pay ya fair and treat you right, and you can keep any tips once these tightwads get drunk enough to start handin’ ‘em out."

Chrissy clasped his hand and they shook solemnly, their eyes locked for maybe just a moment more than was necessary.

Damn, but those eyes. And that body.

She felt heat rising, from deep down inside her, and had to make an effort not to let herself get carried away.

That gorgeous hunk is nothing more than your new boss, Chrissy. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Pace things. You need this job more than you need to complicate your life with a new love—try keeping your life simple for a while.

Rafe nodded, satisfied. Then he tapped the bar. “So, new bartender, show me how well you serve beer.”

She reached under the bar, opening the cooler to get out a bottle. She felt good. Maybe she could work here, get to know the guys, earn some money, and find out what Rafe felt about her. The way things had been going, she wondered if that wasn’t asking a lot. But then, it was some of the bad stuff, the horror of Benny and her last job, that got her here.

She put the bottle in front of him and watched his Adam’s apple as he took a long drink.

Let yourself live in the moment for once, Chrissy.

* * * *

CHAPTER FOUR

CHRISSY

Chrissy quickly learned that working at a biker bar meant working more hours than she ever had before. The bar didn’t close until two in the morning.

“Bikers ain’t morning people,” Trish said, sounding snide, as if morning people were beneath contempt. “Besides, a long shift is good when you get paid by the hour.”

Trish was right about the last part, and Chrissy hoped it meant she’d be earning enough to drop the shitty tutoring job with Justin. That would be sweet. The downside was that it was hard to avoid morning classes—the schedule would take some getting used to.

Suck it up, girl.

And it wasn’t an ordeal to work a long shift. Not really. Like working in the diner, the chaos of tending bar made time go by pretty fast. The thirsty bikers kept her busy, either serving beer or hauling more out of the back room to restock the cooler, or cleaning off a table when a group finally called it a night and headed out, leaving a table littered with empties that Chrissy would toss into a plastic milk carton and haul out back to dump in the recycling bin.

The work and the constant noise of the guys talking about motorcycles and sexual conquests, and sometimes old tales from their days in combat, played out over an endless soundtrack of ancient rock and roll from the juke box. Rafe had it filled with oldies: Aretha Franklin’s “Chain of Fools” seemed to be popular. Against this backdrop, Chrissy moved among the rowdy crowds at the tables and occasional dancers, and darted past guys escorting one of the willing women into one of the back rooms for another kind of dance.

In some ways she envied them, at least their ability to keep their lives simple.

Once Rafe had made it clear that Chrissy wasn’t some new toy, the guys accepted her as part of the place. She still got a few pats on the ass and a lurid proposition or two, but none of the guys was really serious. No one objected, other than to show token distress when she called a halt to it.

As she grew comfortable with their teasing, accepted the innuendo for just macho fun, she started to relax and even enjoy herself. There was something liberating about the way the guys accepted it when she talked back to them, as if they enjoyed a woman who called their bluff. The atmosphere was so different from that on campus, where you had to bite your tongue and hold things back. Here, no one here worried about political correctness. In a biker bar, the term
bitch
wasn’t even considered an insult.

It was almost a relief. Certainly a change of pace.

More than once during the evening, she caught Rafe watching as she turned around from serving a drink or cleaning the bar. They didn’t strike her as the looks an employer gives the new girl to see if she is stealing or goofing off. In fact, the sparkle in those green eyes sent rather nice tingles running up her spine.

She told herself that the idea that Rafe might be interested in her was just fantasy. Guys like Rafe didn’t go for girls like her—they liked hot, brassy women. Women who walked around in tight skirts and too-high heels.

Towards closing a tall blonde had come in, looking sure of herself, strutting around in a tank top, incredibly tight shorts and heels. The way she walked said she intended to get laid. No way was she going home alone. That was the kind of girl she imagined Rafe would go for. The woman talked to Rafe for a bit, but when it got late, Chrissy saw the woman leaving with one of the other guys, a guy called Chopper.

She liked Chopper. He was one of the ones who had rescued her and he had a ready smile.

During the evening she learned that Rafe and Trish shared an apartment upstairs. “It makes for a nice commute,” Trish said.

So when the last customer left and the last glass was put away, the two said good night and went upstairs leaving her alone. “The front door locks all by itself,” Rafe said. “Just make sure it closes.”

Fighting a sudden sense of being lonely, Chrissy watched them go up the stairs. “I’m just tired and looking forward to getting home,” she said. And she
was
tired. She got her purse from the office, got out her keys and went out the front door. The street was empty and as she let the big steel door swing shut and heard the automatic latch lock it tight, the finality of the sound made her feel even more alone. Even the street lights seemed dimmer than they should be.

She walked to her car, feeling oddly relieved that it was still there. There was no reason it shouldn’t be—her piece of shit car wasn’t worth stealing. Still everything was new, strange, and a little spooky. The old Honda was reassuring.

She got in the car and turned the key. It gave a soft, sickening click. Then nothing.

“Shit.”

The car was dead. This wasn’t the first time her beater had let her down and probably wouldn’t be the last. She’d arrived at dusk and probably left the lights on. She remembered seeing a bus stop just a couple of blocks away and headed for it. She had no idea how long she’d have to wait for a bus. At three in the morning they wouldn’t come often.

Walking through the shadows she had the sense that someone was watching her. It was a little creepy, for sure, but it didn’t have a slimy, sinister feel to it. She didn’t feel threatened. It was just unsettling. She tended to trust her feelings, her instincts about things. That didn’t always work out, but she figured she’d come out of things in life a lot better when she trusted her feelings than when she didn’t. It was both comforting and troubling to know that the shit with Benny wouldn’t have gone on so long if she had let her feelings guide her instead of listening to her parents.

Now she walked the street hearing nothing but the echo of her own footsteps. It was deathly still, she thought, then cursed herself again for using that word. It was a bad idea to use words like that when you were alone on a deserted street. The little shelter that served as the bus stop had a light, but of course some idiot had trashed it. She didn’t understand vandals. What was the point of destroying things? If they signed their work it might serve a purpose, but all this did was keep anyone from being comfortable.

Maybe that was the point. She looked at the laminated bus schedule that was in a frame on the shelter. Useless. Someone had hacked it pieces—not that she could’ve read it without a light. That made her wonder if this had been done by the same person or another. Which had they done first? Given the lack of logic, Chrissy decided they destroyed those things because they could. Anything more was beyond their limited abilities and imagination.

Go big or stay home.

As she waited, she was aware of something moving in the shadows of the parking lot across the street. She watched, peering into the dark as the moon came out from behind a cloud and she caught the glint of light off of something metal. Suddenly, without knowing how she knew it, she realized the light was reflecting off the chrome on a motorcycle. The moonlight changed the shadows and she saw someone—a man. She let out a breath. It was Trigger. She was certain it was him, just from the way he moved.

She fought back the urge to call out to him. She had a right to demand to know what he was up to. But then maybe it had nothing to do with her. Sure. And maybe she’d win the lottery. Beliefs were handy things, and the more unfounded, the better. No, Trigger was watching her. The thought made her pulse quicken. The bastard had only pretended to accept her. Now he was stalking her. He would know that Rafe was in his room. Maybe he’d done something to her car. The thought made her body tightened. She fought an urge to run back and pound on the door, call out to Rafe and Trish.

But Trigger wasn’t doing anything at all. He stayed on the opposite side of the street, and simply watched.

Lights flickered on the street, headlights dancing on black asphalt. She heard the rush of compressed air from brakes, and her bus came into view, with the half lit “Eastern” sign over the windshield nearly readable. She fumbled for her pass. The instant the doors hissed opened she got on, scanning her pass, then stepping toward the back. Looking for a seat. The bus lurched forward and she grabbed a post, stumbled past a wino with a shopping bag of clothes sitting on the seat next to him, a heavy set Mexican man who smiled at her, and some old woman in a heavy coat and a babushka who glared as she passed. She slid into an empty plastic seat, ignoring the duct tape holding it together and pressed her face against the window. Across the street Trigger walk to his bike and started it up.

It was clear to her then. The bastard had been babysitting her, making sure she got on the bus okay.

That night Chrissy went to sleep that night tired but satisfied, and excited about this new chapter just beginning in her life. Life wasn’t perfect, and her money problems weren’t solved, but she seemed to moving toward something for a change. It was nice to do that instead of running away. It was the way she’d thought life was supposed to be.

****