Edge Of Fear (Arrow's Edge MC Book 4)

by Freya Barker

  I scramble trying to get to my feet, but slip on the slick floor.

  “Whoa, careful.”

  He reaches out and I reluctantly grab hold, retrieving my hand the moment I’m solid on my feet.

  “The dishwasher’s leaking.”

  “I can see that. You’re wet.”

  Of course he would point that out. Not that it’s hard to notice, my favorite linen pants are plastered to my legs and I do a quick check to make sure I don’t inadvertently have other attributes on display. Luckily only the bottom of my shirt is wet where it dragged in the water when I was mopping.

  “Cut off the water?”

  I throw him an annoyed look.

  “Of course, but it cuts off water to the entire kitchen. Whatever idiot installed this thing didn’t put in a separate shut-off valve.”

  He grins and shakes his head before pulling the spare trays from the cabinet beside the dishwasher and reaching a long arm inside.

  “The valve is right here…” he looks up at me, “…and I’m the idiot who installed it.”

  “Oh.” Embarrassment washes over me and I can feel my face flush. “Well, I’ll leave you to it then.”

  Tse is clearly amused when I scurry off to the other side of the kitchen to warn Chris he can turn the water back on. Then I disappear to my office for the change of clothes I keep there. I learned my first week that accidents happen all the time, when I ended up wearing roasted red pepper soup and had to run home to get something clean to wear. Ever since I’ve made sure to always have a spare set of clothes in my office.

  Mack is behind the bar when I walk into the restaurant.

  “Everything under control?”

  He slides a couple of glasses on a tray that is already full of drinks.

  “These need to be delivered. Tables three, seven, and twelve. The long wait for food is making some of the guests grumpy.”

  “Comp each table one round of drinks on their bill. Food should start coming out soon.”

  I grab the tray and carefully balance it as I move toward the first table. I don’t have any more clean clothes if I make a mess now.

  Half an hour later the customers are eating. I’m behind the bar rinsing glasses, while Mack is on a smoke break out back, when Tse comes walking out of the kitchen. I’d like to say I almost forgot he was there, but that’d be a lie. I’ve had half an eye on the kitchen door the entire time, and that annoys me.

  He pulls out the stool where Wapi usually sits and leans his elbows on the bar.

  “All fixed.”

  I wipe my hands on a towel and turn my body toward him. Time to eat some crow.

  “Thank you and I’m sorry I was snippy earlier. I had a dining room full of people waiting for their food and a chef who wouldn’t cook without running water, so I was a little stressed.”

  “Didn’t even notice it,” he lies with one of his charming smiles.

  “Drink?” I offer.

  “Whatever’s on tap is good. How’s business been?” he asks, when I go to pull him a draft.

  “Not bad. Weekends are pretty busy.” I pour myself a glass of water, just to give my hands something to do. “Have you eaten?”

  “I’ll grab something later,” he says, just as Mandy walks up to the bar.

  “A draft, a dry white, and a cosmo for table seven.”

  She casts a curious eye in Tse’s direction.

  “Mandy, could you ask Bernie to put together a plate of brisket for Tse while I get these?”

  “Sure.”

  She heads to the kitchen but not without thoroughly checking him out in passing. I can’t blame her, but it annoys me all the same.

  “You didn’t need to do that.”

  “This is a restaurant and you just fixed our dishwasher. We can feed you, unless you’re suddenly allergic to meat?”

  His chuckle is deep and a little raspy. “Not a chance of that.”

  I get Mandy’s order ready and it’s waiting for her when she appears from the kitchen and slides a steaming plate in front of Tse. He rumbles his thanks and digs in.

  A moment later Mack walks in from the back, takes over the bar, and I can slip to my office, where I spend the next hour or so working on payroll and hiding out. Still, when I finally surface, I’m disappointed to see the empty stool at the end of the bar.

  We have a pretty effective routine closing the restaurant at night. One where everyone chips in to get the place open-ready for the next day. It doesn’t take long before the last person has left.

  I slide the till in the small safe in my office, turn off the lights, and lock the door. Then I grab the trash bag by the back entrance someone forgot to take, step outside, and lock that door as well, before tossing the bag in the large bin.

  My vehicle is the only one still in the parking lot that wraps around the side to the back of the restaurant. As I make my way toward it, my eyes automatically scan the shadows where the lights don’t quite reach. It’s not until I hit the unlock button on my key fob, I notice movement near the rear where the parking lot meets the property behind us.

  I keep my eyes on the two figures sliding into the shadows as I get behind the wheel.

  Then I hit the ignition, shift in drive, and peel out of the parking lot, my heart pounding in my chest.

  Tse

  Man up. Asshole.

  I glare at Ouray, who is hanging out at the bar when I walk into the clubhouse.

  It’s a miracle I was able to peel my ass from that stool and walk out of there. Heck, I’d probably still be sitting there, gagging for a glimpse of her, if not for that waitress paying me a little too much attention. Mandy. The woman made sure there was no doubt in my mind she was game for a hookup.

  Not even a year ago I would’ve been all over that, wouldn’t have thought twice about following her into a bathroom or taking her behind the building. Quick and easy has always been my MO. I’ve always been honest about that too. Never made promises to call or handed out my number, and every woman I’ve been with knew the score.

  Then I met Sophia.

  “Didn’t expect you back so soon.”

  I take the stool beside Ouray and notice Wapi sitting with Nosh on the other side of the bar, glaring at me.

  “Was easily fixed,” I dismiss the chief before motioning to Shilah, who is tending bar. “Hit me up.”

  “Would’a thought you’d make better use of your time than that,” Ouray mumbles beside me, and I turn in my seat.

  “I don’t get you. Last month you basically told me to back the fuck off, and now you’re shoving her in my face.”

  His face cracks into one of those smug smirks that get under my skin and I close my fist around the bottle Shilah slides toward me.

  “Letting you yahoos figure this out on your own wasn’t working, so I figured I’d jump in. The kid had a month to try and get somewhere without you horning in, but it’s pretty clear he’s spinning his wheels. Thought you’d welcome the opportunity to try.”

  “Jesus, man. You matchmaking now?”

  “Fuck no, but this tug-of-war between you two is a drain on my goddamn club. One of you better piss or get off the pot when it comes to that girl or it’ll never end.”

  “Been easier to leave her in Denver,” I grumble, tilting the bottle against my lips.

  “Not like she wouldn’t come to visit, and I don’t wanna deal with you guys pissing all over each other every time she does. Time to settle this once and for all.”

  I drain my bottle and lift the empty at Shilah, who nods his understanding and goes for a fresh one.

  “Not sure I could give her what she deserves,” I admit.

  “Then tell Wapi the road’s clear for him.”

  The thought makes my blood boil and I hit Ouray with an angry glare.

  “Like hell. The kid barely knows how to tie his own shoes, let alone look after a woman like Sophia.”

  That infuriating smirk is back on his face as he gets to his feet, claps a hand on my shoulder, a
nd leans in close.

  “Might as well give in, brother.”

  Then he walks to the door, throwing the guys at the other end of the bar a two-fingered salute, and disappears outside.

  Arrogant asshole.

  I spend the next ten minutes nursing my beer, and staring off into space, before getting up, and without a word head to my room at the back of the clubhouse.

  I’ve just come out of the shower and flip on the TV to watch the late-night news when a knock sounds at my door.

  “Got a minute?”

  Paco is leaning against the doorpost, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “Come in.”

  He saunters in and plops down in the only chair in my room. I grab a bottle of scotch and two tumblers from my dresser drawer, pour each of us a couple of fingers, hand him one, and take a seat on my bed.

  “I need your help.”

  “With?”

  He takes a fortifying sip before he speaks.

  “I wanna build a house. Got a parcel of land off Lightner Creek Road I bought ten or so years ago.”

  Paco has lived at the clubhouse as long as I’ve been here, most of the single brothers do. It’s not until they find a woman, start a family, that they find their own place and those numbers have grown over the years. I always took Paco to be like me, destined for the single life, and I’ve never once heard him mention land, so this comes as a bit of a surprise.

  “That Habitat for Humanity build got me thinking maybe I could do it myself. With some help,” he adds.

  “No shit, huh? You got a woman you’re keeping to yourself?”

  “Why does everything have to be about a woman? Is it against the law for a guy to have a place of his own?”

  I lift my hands defensively at his spirited response.

  “Whoa, brother. Just asking, that’s all. What kinda house are you looking to build?”

  By the time he walks out of my room it’s close to two in the morning, my bottle of scotch is almost empty, I have a rudimentary idea of what Paco wants, and I don’t have a single doubt he has a woman in mind.

  No man I know cares about spare bedrooms, soaking tubs, or walk-in closets.

  CHAPTER 3

  Sophia

  “REAGAN HAS A boyfriend.”

  I almost choke on my granola.

  “A little young, don’t you think? She’s only eleven,” I remind my sister.

  Bianca usually calls early Sunday morning when John and her girls are still in bed. It’s the only chance she gets for some privacy and both of us have always been early risers. Even though we haven’t always been as close as we are now.

  Just two years apart—Bianca is older at thirty-seven—we weren’t exactly friends in our teenage years. We hung with different crowds and had different interests. It wasn’t until I was in college and she got married to John that we started getting along. It only took both of us moving in different directions: me to Denver and Bianca to Eugene, Oregon.

  Our parents still live in Arizona where we grew up, but even our baby brother moved over state lines first chance he got, shattering their lifelong dream of a family commune. That’s why we all scattered; Mom and Dad are remnants of the sixties and seventies and don’t believe in personal space or boundaries of any kind. They don’t see the need for them, which made for an awkward adolescence.

  “Mom says I should embrace the fact Reagan is becoming a woman,” Bianca shares with appropriate disgust in her voice. “Yesterday I had to break up a fight between her and Avery over crayons for crying out loud. A woman?”

  Bianca’s disgusted snort makes me laugh.

  “Who’s the boy?”

  “A kid in her class. Connor. Cute boy, super shy, and about ten inches shorter than she is. They hold hands on the bus.”

  “Aww, that’s kind of cute.”

  “Yes, except, on Friday another boy on the bus was bullying Connor, and Reagan felt it necessary to jump in.”

  “And that’s bad?”

  “It is when the principal calls me because my daughter swung at a boy two years older and broke his nose.”

  “No! For real?”

  I try to keep the grin out of my voice because I have a feeling that won’t go over well. Inside I’m giving my niece a high five. I hope that kid will think twice before picking on someone again.

  “Oh, shut up,” Bianca grumbles. “You’re grinning ear to ear, aren’t you? And I’m stuck here with a grounded, prepubescent holy terror.”

  “Mo-om!” I hear my niece’s cry in the background.

  “Oh for Pete’s sake, can’t I even talk to my sister in peace?”

  “Is that Auntie Soph? I wanna talk to her.”

  There is a rustling as the phone transfers hands and then I hear Reagan’s voice, sweet as punch.

  “Auntie Soph? Can I come live with you?”

  The next twenty minutes I spend listening to my niece rant and attempt to talk some reason into her. In the end, I have her hand the phone back to her mother so I can say goodbye.

  “You know, I could put her on a flight this morning,” Bianca offers with a hint of a plea.

  “Oh, Sis, wish I could help, but I work crazy hours. Maybe later this summer I can take some time—”

  “I’m just kidding,” she interrupts. “We’ll be fine.”

  We say our goodbyes and I carry my bowl to the small sink.

  I like the apartment, it has the basic things I need, but I’ll be glad when I have some more room to move about. A bigger kitchen where I can prepare actual meals instead of the hotplate and small microwave I have here. Sandra is wonderful, she’s Jaimie’s mother, who is married to one of the MC brothers, Trunk. She reminds me a little of my mother, but without the boundary issues.

  Last Monday I was finally able to meet up with Meredith and Jay, the nice couple I talked to at the restaurant a few weeks ago, to see the rental property. I fell in love with the A-frame on the spot. Exposed beams, massive windows, an awesome loft with a bedroom and bath. The kitchen is one I can see myself spending a lot of time in when I’m not sitting out on the deck, enjoying the stunning view.

  It’ll all be mine in a month.

  Oh, yeah, I can’t wait.

  I take my time applying my makeup and getting dressed for work. I’ve always worked a nine-to-five job, so these restaurant hours took some time getting used to. Especially working evenings and weekends. But Monday is a day off because the Backyard is closed, and Ouray insisted I take one additional day a week.

  So far I haven’t yet, I felt I had too much to learn, but maybe this week I’ll take Tuesday as well. It’ll give me a chance to call a mover and book a date to move my furniture here, and maybe do a little shopping. I’d like to pick up a few things now that I’ve seen the place. Meredith offered to leave some of her furniture for me to use, which was very kind, but I really want to put my own stamp on the place. Make it mine, even though I’m just renting.

  I wave at Sandra, who is weeding her flowerbeds in front of the house, as I get into my Jeep. I’ll sure miss our occasional chats when I leave.

  It looks like Bernie beat me to the restaurant; his car is parked at the edge of the parking lot. We are always the first two to get here. Bernie is often already inside by the time I arrive. He’s responsible for the food prep, but more so he likes to be here for the food deliveries in the morning. I like to get an hour or so in on paperwork before the interruptions start with the arrival of the rest of the staff.

  I pull into my spot—a little closer to the building—grab my bag and get out.

  It’s not until I’m a few steps away, I notice the back door isn’t quite latched. Bernie must not have pulled it shut all the way.

  “Morning!” I call out as I step inside, but there’s no response.

  I pass by my closed office door and head straight for the kitchen. The moment I round the corner I know something is wrong.

  The kitchen is a mess. Boxes of the produce delivered daily are toppled over on the
floor, which is littered with vegetables. Then I see a pair of legs sticking out from behind the prep table.

  “Bernie!”

  He’s facedown and the back of his head is bloodied, but when I touch his neck to feel for a pulse, I hear a soft moan.

  “Hang in there, Bernie. I’ll get help.”

  With shaking hands I pull out my phone and dial 911.

  Tse

  “So the front is facing north?”

  Paco points at the concept drawings I made him.

  Apparently, his land at one time had a building on it and he wants to use the remaining foundation as the footprint for a house.

  “Northeast actually. That’s a good thing, you’ll get the most out of your sun-hours at the back of the house.”

  We’re sitting in front of the clubhouse at one of the picnic tables, having a coffee and soaking up the sun. It’s the quietest place we could find to spread out the drawings since the clubhouse table is filling up with late risers eating breakfast.

  “Is that a second deck?”

  “Yeah, off the master bedroom. That whole wing is the master suite. The main deck is off the kitchen at the back.”

  “Gonna cost.”

  I chuckle. “Yes, it is, but this is just a concept, you don’t need to build that second wing. You can go smaller, if it’s just for you.”

  I look at him with an eyebrow raised but he stares me straight in the eye, not flinching. He’s not biting.

  “How long?” he finally asks.

  “Brother, that depends on a lot of things, but using that existing foundation is gonna save a chunk of time. Still, even if you can find an architect who can draw up these plans on short notice, you’ll still need a crew who can start right away.”

  “I’ve got brothers.”

  “Yeah, and I’m sure everyone is gonna chip in, but you’ll need someone in charge who can manage a construction schedule. Have you checked with Jed Mason?”

  “Not—”

  “Tse, Paco, saddle up!”

  Ouray comes barging out of the clubhouse, Wapi on his heels.