by Tijan
We were all here sans Channing.
Heather popped in when she could and stayed as long as she could. Her mouth got tighter and tighter when the line for Mason’s autograph wasn’t getting shorter. And that happened sometimes too. There’d be an initial wave, but then people would return to their normal tables. When that happened, Mason could be normal again.
That wasn’t happening this time, and it wasn’t just bothering Heather.
Logan’s eyes were getting more and more narrow as the time went on.
Nate was drinking his beer, but he’d stopped twenty minutes ago. His looks from Logan, to Heather, to me, to Mason were getting more frequent, though.
Taylor started doing the same as Nate, but she was mostly focused on Logan and how Logan was getting more and more tense. Matteo got his fair share of autographs too, at first. His line had stopped an hour ago.
Then finally, Heather came over and stopped right next to Mason. “Okay.” She moved in, plucking a pen from a kid and pushing it back at his chest. “Zeke, get gone.”
“What?” The kid wasn’t really a kid. He looked like a future frat brother, blond hair and broad shoulders. “He’s my hero, Heather.”
Heather and Zeke were on a first-name basis? Interesting.
“No. Out. Now.”
“But—”
“Zeke.”
And that was totally unexpected, because that came from Nate and everyone’s head swung around. He was giving Zeke a hard look, his eyebrows pinched together. “I’ll get you an autograph later. Mason wants to sit with friends. Give him that respect, yeah?”
Zeke scowled at him, but then shrugged. “Fine.”
He took the pen from Heather and said, “You used to be my favorite of the women.” He leaned in, hissing, “No longer, Ms. Jax. No. Longer.” He lifted his head, his gaze going to the other side of Logan. “I can’t fan on Mrs. Kade, so I’m all about the Mrs. Logan now. Your loss, Jax.”
Heather rolled her eyes, but her mouth was fighting from grinning. “I’ll take my loss and bear it, Zeke. Get gone. Restaurant is closing. Get all your friends out of here with you.”
He grunted, but turned and let out a shrill whistle.
A large portion of people quieted, looking over.
He raised a hand up. “FCA, head out. Party’s at my place.”
And, just as surprisingly, everyone started leaving.
He glanced back. “When you’re at an extended family holiday, and Cross is bitching about me, you remember this moment, Jax. You stick up for me.”
Heather was having none of it. “Get gone or I’m siccing Moose on you.”
That hurried him up, and he headed out, but not before saluting Heather with two fingers in the air.
Heather’s mouth was pressed tight, and as soon as he was gone, she snorted, shaking her head. “That kid. Seriously.” She looked at Mason. “He’s obsessed with you, so I’m telling you now to watch out for your future stalker. He’s a punk, but I swear, sometimes you almost like the damned kid.” She seemed to be talking to herself, but then sighed. “Right. I’ll get you guys more beer.”
And she did just that.
Or, Brandon did that, because once all the high schoolers cleared out and the families who’d come in for a Saturday night meal, there was a lot more room. He brought over three pitchers, asking over the table at the same time, “Moose said Channing could use them. You want to keep them or let them loose?”
Heather’s eyes narrowed. “Reds still out back?”
“Some.”
Mason questioned, “Reds?”
“Red Demons. A couple chapters came to town for Roussou’s festival.”
“Thought that stuff was over?”
I repeated Heather’s earlier words, “It’s complicated.”
Heather shot me a grin, but then there was a shout from across the bar. A shorter version of the giant who’d blocked me had his arms spread wide. “Yo. People are coming in. Should we let ’em in or not?”
Heather groaned, glanced to her brother a second before waving. “Yeah. Let ’em in.”
And with that said, the night activities had officially commenced.
14
Bren
“Place is closed. What are we doing out here?” Zellman asked, standing on the back of Jordan’s truck, his hand held out toward Manny’s. “We’re not of age. Jax ain’t going to let us in.”
Cross was frowning at me, but I knew he wouldn’t speak up.
Jordan was frowning at me too, but mostly looking confused.
There was a tone with Zellman.
I asked, “You pissed or something?”
“Yeah! I want to go see my girl. There are parties going on. Let’s go there, not here.”
“What’s going on, Bren?”
I swung my gaze to Jordan. Both he and Cross were standing outside the truck. Cross was leaning with one shoulder our way, but Jordan had both his shoulders facing us. His hands were clasped together, his elbows resting over the back of the truck’s bed.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. We can’t leave, not yet.”
“Fucking Zeke is throwing a party. He invited everyone there. We could go there. We’re missing that shit, ’cause you got a feeling?”
Both Cross and Jordan shot Zellman with a glare.
“Fucking chill, Z. She’s saved your ass plenty of times ’cause of one of those ‘feelings.’”
Cross’ phone started ringing. He pulled it out, showing us the screen.
Taz calling.
Jordan snickered. “You know your sister’s at Zeke’s wondering why we ain’t there.”
Cross groaned, but answered and moved away a little. “Hey.”
His head folded and he paused, listening.
A beat later, “Yeah, yeah. We know. We’re waiting for something, then we’ll head there. You’re not alone, right?”
Taz started talking. All of us could hear Cross’ twin’s voice, but we couldn’t make out her words. Thirty seconds later, Cross was saying goodbye and coming back. He put his phone back in his pocket, saying to us, “She said there are no parties in Roussou. Everyone is headed to Zeke’s.”
Jordan made a face, his eyes widening. “Thought we hated that fucker?”
Zellman snorted. “We do. We did, but we don’t hate his parties. Best free booze around, man.”
Cross went back to watching me, and I went back to remaining silent. A feeling. Just a feeling.
I knew who was in there. I knew they probably didn’t need help. They could handle their own, had handled their own when they were our age, but a feeling. I couldn’t get around the feeling.
If we left, bad.
If we went inside, bad too.
So, staying. Not bad.
That’s what I was feeling and it was infuriating, but it was there.
It was another hour later when I found out why I had that feeling.
15
Samantha
Once the restaurant had closed and the entire place became the bar, it was just as busy.
The grill remained open for appetizers, but an hour later that closed. Then, the drinks flowed. And flowed, they did indeed.
Shots were called out every minute.
People had a drinking table in the corner. That was new. People could head over and lie down for body shots. There was a mural in a corner of two giant angel wings and people could stand in the middle and take photos. That was a hit.
More than a few guys came over, trying to buy Mason a shot.
He turned them down, and after twenty minutes, I could tell he was getting pissed. People were pushing the drinks and Mason didn’t like getting drunk. He was saying no, and for Mason, he was being polite.
Then he snapped.
A guy was waving a shot in the air. “Come on, man. One shot.”
“I said no, dude.”
“Come on!”
That, by itself wasn’t too annoying. But that, said for the tenth time
in a row, and Mason slapped the shot out of his hand he shoved upright. “I fucking said no,” he growled, towering over the guy.
Chairs scraped back.
Logan was at Mason’s side immediately.
Matteo and Nate moved at the same time, shoving the drunk guy back. His arm was twisted around his back, and he was marched to the door. He got booted out. The whole thing happened in a couple seconds, so the guy was to the door before he realized what happened. He started hollering then. “Hey! What the fuck? That asshole thinks he’s hot and mighty? You ain’t nothing, bruh. Nothing. You’re slime and your woman—”
Mason growled, starting for him.
Logan jerked in front, slapping a hand to Mason’s chest, but he didn’t stop. He did a circle, saying to Mason, “Stay.” And he completed his circle, moving for the guy.
Matteo was focused on the guy, so he didn’t see Logan coming.
Nate did, and his eyes got big, but then he braced, holding the guy captive. He was setting him up and then Logan was right there. The guy didn’t see that either.
“What’d you say, motherfucker?” Logan taunted once before he barked, “Let him go!”
Nate did, dropping his hands and stepping back.
Matteo was still focused on containing the struggling guy, but when the guy swung free from Nate’s side, he swung into Matteo and he used his fist to do it.
“What the hell?” That was Matteo as he took a hit to his head. He let him go, but before he could round on him, the guy was gone. He launched himself at Logan, who was waiting, who was salivating.
The guy went at Logan.
Logan ducked, then grabbed the back of the guy’s head. He pulled him down and brought his knee up.
The guy paused, shaking his head.
The guy had friends.
“Fucking rich assholes,” one guy growled, coming in from the restaurant tables, and he was wearing a leather cut.
Heather saw and swore. She raked a hand down her face. “This ain’t good.” She cast a look at me, but Mason was already moving me.
He sent me to Heather. “Put her in the office.”
Heather reached out, taking my arm, but she didn’t move. Neither did I.
We could only watch, stunned and horrified as more guys joined in the fight. That was, until someone was coming from the back, saw the fight, paused, and yelled back, “Demons! Fight!” There was a stampede of guys after that, all rushing from the back section, streaming past us and wading in.
One guy caught Mason from behind and I saw red. “Hell no!”
Heather’s hand clamped tighter on mine. “Sam. No.”
Nope. No. They weren’t going to hurt my man. I didn’t care if they were big and scary and I was an eighth of their weight. Oh hell no.
I started forward, but Heather yanked me back. “Taylor?”
Logan’s girlfriend grabbed me and both of them started pulling me backwards, but Heather stopped. “What—shit!” She let go, tearing across the bar, weaving through the fight, which now included Brandon, an older guy that I was pretty certain was Gus, Matteo, Mason, Logan, Nate, and the two guys I knew were Channing’s friends against who I was assuming were the Red Demons.
There were a lot more Red Demons and those motorcycle guys knew how to fight.
I didn’t want to find out who won. I knew our guys would do more damage than was expected.
A lot more damage.
Then, a flare shot up in the bar, half blinding everyone. Some of the guys took cover, but the others paused in their fighting and all looked to where the flare came from.
Holding it, standing in the side doorway, was Bren.
She raked everyone with a look of death. “You all know who I am.”
Two things happened then.
Heather cursed, yelling for her staff to cover whatever might start burning. And two, one of the older Red Demons broke free. He’d been holding back Matteo and he started for her. “Bren, honey—”
She turned that death look on him. She was cold, ice cold. “Don’t you dare ‘honey’ me.” She still held the flare gun and motioned to Heather who was now ignoring the confrontation. She was trying to keep her place from catching on fire. “You all care about my brother and Heather. I don’t know what started this fight, but I’m telling you that both of them care about these people.” She indicated the guys and where Taylor and I stood.
“Bren. Sweetheart.” From the older guy again.
He took another step forward.
She jerked back. “I know who you are. I know what you can do, what you can order, but I’m telling you to step back. Ask what started the fight, and then figure a way where you don’t hurt every person that my brother cares about.”
The older guy stood there. He studied her and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “We got the call that one of our brothers was in trouble. We see fighting, we wade in.”
“Channing considers them family. One is like his best friend.”
“Babe.”
“I’m not babe. Don’t do that to me. You know my story.” She gentled her tone. “Don’t do that to me.”
He stared at her again.
The whole room was tense, waiting.
She added, “You fight them. You fight me.”
The ripple of danger was still there, and at her words, it seemed to triple. It was still probing, and I swore, all of us were holding our breaths.
I mean, I knew they weren’t, but pins and needles. Pins and needles.
Then the guy’s head lowered and he turned to the group. “Who started the fight?”
One of the Red Demons stepped forward, but Mason spoke first. “One of your guys was pushing a drink on me. I can handle a few, but when I say no to the tenth one and I do it politely, I get pissed when I’m then turned on and insulted.”
The older guy stared at Mason, his head cocked to the side. “You’re that football guy?”
Mason nodded. “Yeah.”
He looked at Bren. “The best friend?”
She nodded, her neck tight. “He’s close to Channing, yes.” She found me then, and I felt zapped.
Those eyes of her. The pain she was letting me see.
I knew, without a doubt, that no one else was seeing what I saw. She had it covered up. They were getting the wall she was showing, and that was a fierce wall in here. It was jarring, but I saw behind it. I saw the emptiness there.
I felt the agony. I felt it as if it were my own. The pain sliced me, and for a second, I was rendered speechless.
It didn’t matter.
She was talking, “That one had a baby not long ago. They’re in town. They camped with us last night, and they’re having a beer with Heather because I’m assuming they’re all heading off to their lives tomorrow.”
Something registered with the older guy, and he looked back to Mason. “You’re James Kade’s boy?”
Logan sidled next to Mason, his eyes cold and narrowed. “We both are.”
The older guy nodded slowly. His eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth tightened. But then he swung around and barked, “Calder. Who started the fight?”
The original other Red Demon that started forward before Mason spoke first, then nodded. “Hyena was pushing drinks on the guy. He was out of place, and when he got escorted out, he swung on that one.” He indicated Matteo before looking at Logan. “Before he rushed that one. All hell broke loose after that.”
The older guy drew in a breath. “Fight’s on us then.”
Calder dipped his head. “Yes.”
“Well. Shit.”
Calder agreed, “Well, shit indeed.”
The older guy looked at Bren. “Good thing you got a flare gun on you, Little Monroe.” His tone was teasing.
Bren rolled her eyes, handing the flare gun to one of her guys. All three were there, and I just noticed them. They had positioned themselves around her. The golden guy was slightly in front. The tall one to her side. The shorter one on her other side, but behind her too. They were h
aving her back, literally.
The older took note too, nodding to them. “Heard word about you four. Heard word that you all got respect in your school.”
It seemed an odd thing to say to high schoolers, and this guy was in his older forties? Fifties? He looked young, but he obviously wasn’t. There was an aged depth to him at the same time, but I was also feeling other things about him too. He was smart, dangerous, and ruthless.
Not a clue why I was feeling that, but I was, and my gut was telling me that all my loved ones needed to be far away from this guy. Far, far away. As if sensing my uneasiness, Taylor’s hand slid into mine and she squeezed. She sent me a half-grin.
I sent one back, returning her hand squeeze.
Bren didn’t respond.
The golden one did, and his eyes matched Bren’s empty ones. “No offense, Mr. Maxwell, but Monroe speaks for us.”
I was going out on a limb and guessing that he wasn’t meaning the Monroe standing with him.
That seemed to be the exact thing to say because the older guy suddenly started laughing. He shook his head, his hand raking over his face before he shook his hand toward them, but in a good-natured way. “I got your message, kid. Loud and clear. You’re a smart one.” He turned to Calder, grinning. “Give enough cash to Monroe’s woman, buy that table a round, and let’s head out. Boys need to fight, so let’s go find a justified one.” He turned to Heather. “Apologies, Mrs. Channing.”
Heather huffed out, rolling her eyes. “You know we ain’t married, Maxwell.”
His mouth twitched. “All the same.” Then he made a motion. “Let’s go. Everyone out.”
It was a similar call to action as the other high school, but the two seemed a world apart.
I had to shake my head at the surrealness of everything, because like that Zeke kid, these grown and dangerous leather-wearing-cut motorcycle club members all heeded their leader’s call. One by one, they left until Calder was the last one left. He went to Heather, handing over a wad of cash. He said something to her, then placed the cash on a table and headed behind his group.