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

by Freya Barker

  Mandy—my latest hire—came to me on Tuesday and offered to work in the kitchen. She apparently has previous experience as a prep cook. Bernie has been improving since his surgery, but I don’t see him coming back to work any time soon. But with Mandy now filling Bernie’s spot on the schedule, I’m once again short in the dining room.

  I’m not sure if that’s what she’s looking for, though.

  “It’s waiting tables, though,” I tell her. “The kitchen is covered, so is the bar, but I don’t have enough servers.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Okay. What do you have by way of experience?”

  Not that it really matters, I wouldn’t dream of turning away a club wife when the club owns the damn restaurant, but since it appears to be important for Lea to do this under her own power, I’m going to treat her like any other applicant.

  “Well, before I got pregnant with the boys, I worked part time at a diner in town. After they were born I stayed home, but I helped Momma out at the clubhouse a lot.”

  I’ve heard about Momma. She ran the clubhouse before Lisa. She was Nosh’s wife and Yuma’s mother.

  “If you can handle that clubhouse, I’m sure you can handle the dining room. There’s not much that changes about serving.”

  “Actually, that’s my one concern. I’m not very computer savvy and from what I’ve seen everything is done on computers these days. Taking orders, taking payments. I’m being honest here, it intimidates me.”

  I reach across the table and put a hand on her arm.

  “That’s easily learned,” I reassure her, but she still wears a dubious expression. “And if not, it’s easy enough for Emme or Mack—that’s the other bartender—or me, whoever is handy, to put in your order for you. But I don’t think you need to worry about that, the system we have is very simple.”

  “Simple is good.”

  I smile back at her. “Drink up your coffee and we’ll head to my office and have a look at the schedule. When can you start?”

  The dinner rush is just starting by the time she leaves with a few Backyard T-shirts and a printout of the new schedule with her name added. I watch her get into her SUV and am about to close the back door when I notice movement.

  There, right at the edge of the parking lot, under the same trees. This time, though, there’s a security camera aimed in that direction.

  I rush inside, pull up the feed on my computer, and dial the detective’s number.

  Tse

  “Where are you off to?”

  I swing a leg over my bike.

  “Backyard.”

  Paco grins and shakes his head.

  “You still chasing that piece?”

  My knuckles turn white as I clench my hands around the handlebars.

  “Her name is Sophia,” I grind out.

  Not intimidated in the least, Paco laughs out loud.

  “Guess that’s a yes.”

  We just spent most of the day with Jed and some of his guys on Paco’s land, digging up the old septic tank, which has to be replaced. A job I never want to repeat in my life. I had to shampoo four fucking times before the stench was out of my hair and beard, and the smell is still stuck up my nostrils.

  I’m already in a pissy mood and Paco is not helping.

  We’re supposed to have the plans back from Jed’s architect after the weekend and Ouray has a contact with the city, who promised to expedite the permits we need. Fingers crossed, with a bit of luck we could be framing sometime next week.

  I’ve had a few late nights helping Brick in the garage while Wapi held vigil at the restaurant, but tonight, come hell or high water, I’m heading to the Backyard, and not just because of the killer brisket.

  There are a fair number of vehicles in the parking lot, but the one catching my attention is the police issue Explorer. It could mean nothing—maybe just a follow-up visit—but I quickly park my bike and rush inside anyway.

  No sight of Sophia or the cops, but both the bartender—a pretty blonde covered in art—and a young waitress are leaning on the bar; their heads turned my way.

  “Hey!” the blonde calls out when I walk right past them and start down the hall. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  I look over my shoulder and see she’s followed me, a baseball bat in her hands. I almost laugh, the woman doesn’t even reach my chin, but her expression conveys she means business and I’m not about to test that.

  “Here for Sophia. Name’s Tse.”

  She tilts her head, scrutinizing me from the shades I pushed up on my head down to my boots.

  “Yeah? That supposed to mean anything to me?”

  I don’t bother fighting the grin; this is fun. I like this chick. She’s got balls.

  “I’m her man.

  I can see that shocks her but it doesn’t take long for her eyes to narrow to slits.

  “Bullshit. Aside from the fact she’s never mentioned your name, you’re definitely not her type, and I’ve never seen your ass in here before.”

  “Better get ready to see a lot more of me, darlin’,” I drawl, purposely goading the pint-sized ballbuster with a wink in her direction.

  “What is go—” Sophia sticks her head out of the office and catches sight of me. “Tse? What are you doing here?”

  “Ah shit,” the blonde mumbles before turning back to the bar.

  “Tse?”

  I face Sophia and am about to answer when Ramirez steps up behind her.

  “Come in, I want you to see this.”

  He disappears back into the office and I step up to Sophia, who stands frozen in the doorway. Leaning down I drop a kiss to her forehead.

  “You heard the man, Fee.”

  She abruptly moves aside, color flushing her face.

  Ramirez waves me over. “Have a look.”

  I get behind him and direct my attention to the computer. The screen shows the feed of a security camera, from the angle I’m guessing it’s the one I know Ouray and the guys mounted over the back door earlier this week.

  The picture is of the east side of the parking lot where it backs onto a run-down property, separated only by some brush and trees. The boarded-up house is on the next street over and faces the railroad tracks and the river beyond.

  The first guy approaches from the south, moving in the shadows along the line of trees. The second figure suddenly appears at the back of the neighboring building. I’m not sure whether he actually came from the house or from the narrow alley on the side. With the tree coverage it’s difficult to see. They appear to talk for a minute and then exchange something before each of them heads back in the direction they came from.

  “Looks like a drug transaction,” I suggest.

  “That was my take. And in broad daylight. We were just going back through the feed and it looks like that wasn’t the first deal of the day.”

  “Not a bad location for it,” I point out. “From what I recall, that building,” I tap on the screen, “is condemned, and from there it’s easy to disappear in the overgrowth along the railroad or the river. Lots of businesses along this side to park a car unnoticed and walk under cover of those trees. It’s less obvious than stopping at a street corner or parking in a back alley somewhere.”

  “That’s what I figured. This doesn’t look like some kid selling a bit of pot on the side. Too many transactions and too well thought out. It looks professional and organized.”

  He turns his head and looks up at me.

  “You boys wouldn’t still have an ear to the pavement, would you? Maybe heard of any new players in town?”

  Sophia, who’s been quiet so far, makes a small sound in the back of her throat as her eyes flit to me. But I focus my angry attention on the cop.

  “Go fuck yourself, Ramirez. You know damn well that’s ancient history.”

  It’s been at least a dozen years since we had anything to do with drug trade in this city, and the fucker knows it. Not a part of my past I appreciate being broadcast in fr
ont of Sophia.

  “Relax. All I’m asking is whether anyone’s picked up on any chatter. People are more prone to talk around you than they do around us.”

  As fast as my hackles went up, I calm down again. I hate to admit he’s got a point.

  He pulls a flash drive from a port on the computer and gets up, tucking it in his pocket.

  “Taking a copy of the feed with me, but it would be helpful if we could monitor traffic remotely. It’s currently on a closed network.”

  “I can ask Paco, he knows about that stuff,” I concede.

  “Great. I’ll be in touch.”

  With a nod to Sophia he’s on his way, leaving us alone in her office.

  “There was a time when the club was involved in the drug business, weapons trade, a lot of illegal shit I’m not particularly proud of,” I volunteer softly without looking at her. “That was over a decade ago, before Ouray took the helm.”

  “Drugs?”

  Now I look up at her expecting to see judgment, but other than maybe a hint of concern there’s little else showing in her expression.

  “Among other things. Ouray’s plans for the club met with some resistance at first—money had been good and the brothers didn’t want to give up on that, some of them left for other clubs—but over the years he made good on his word we could make decent money going legit.”

  “Oh.”

  She folds her arms in front of her and doesn’t appear fully convinced, so I take a step toward her and put my hands on her shoulders.

  “Those of us left from the early days and stuck it out are happier for it. I won’t say there aren’t times the boundary of the law isn’t tested, but what I can guarantee you is that not one of us has regrets leaving that life behind us.”

  Large, honey-brown eyes look up at me, searching for the truth in my words. I know she’s found it when her features finally soften into a faint smile. My gaze is drawn to her lips. Pink, soft, and full.

  Fuck me.

  “Okay,” she whispers.

  The next moment my mouth is on hers.

  At the first taste of her I groan softly. The urge to claim her is strong, but instead of plunging my tongue in her mouth, I slick the tip over the swell of her bottom lip before lifting my head. Her eyes flutter before they open on mine, her pupils dilated.

  Any other time, with any other woman, my hand would already be down her pants, interested in only one thing. Sophia is different—she’s more.

  I don’t want her to see me as the proverbial bad boy.

  I want her to see me.

  CHAPTER 7

  Sophia

  “PUT THIS ON.”

  He hands me a helmet and it suddenly gets real.

  The helmet is similar to his—little more than an inverted bowl—although I see this one looks a bit more padded and has a bright red stripe running front to back.

  “This looks new,” I observe.

  “It’s yours.”

  I’m not entirely sure what, but I get the sense when a biker buys you a helmet it means something. My hands are shaking when I put it on my head and try to fasten the strap under my chin. Unsuccessfully. His steady hands brush mine aside and he tilts his head down to see what he’s doing. I notice his thick dark eyelashes, the slight bump on his nose, and the crease that runs down the center of his full bottom lip.

  “There,” he mutters, as his eyes come up and lock on mine.

  “Thank you.”

  For a moment I think he might kiss me, but then he straightens up and I try to hide my frustration.

  He hasn’t touched me since he kissed me in my office on Thursday. Not that he hasn’t had a chance; he’s been around enough. He waited around that night and followed me home on his bike again, watched me get inside, and drove off. Friday night he walked in around nine to see me home.

  Same routine last night. Except last night, he’d called out to me to make sure to pack light. That resulted in a bit of an argument since I hadn’t clued in to the fact this would be an overnight trip. I don’t know why not, it makes sense it would be. I’ve had so much stuff going on, I just didn’t pay close enough attention, but that didn’t stop me from blaming Tse for tricking me.

  That made him laugh and he told me, in no uncertain terms, when the time was right he wouldn’t need to trick me into bed. Then he drove off and I spent the night restlessly rolling in my bed, the implication of those words keeping me awake.

  Then at eight this morning he was back in the driveway, smiling as if nothing was wrong, this time to pick me up.

  The modest bag he told me to pack is already strapped to the back of the seat, which suddenly looks very small for the two of us. A change of clothes, a few toiletries, and at the last minute I stuffed a pair of winter pajamas in there that would cover me neck to ankle. I’m not sure what our sleeping arrangement will be, when I asked, Tse only said it was taken care of, but I don’t want to make assumptions or create expectations.

  He confuses me.

  When he swings a leg over the bike and shows me how to get on, I take a reinforcing breath and climb on behind him. We’re wedged tight, his hips cradled between my legs. It’s almost impossible not to be plastered against his broad back.

  “Relax,” he coaxes over his shoulder, before reaching for my arms and pulling them around his waist.

  Then he revs the engine—the vibrations shoot straight up through my body—and peels out of the driveway.

  It’s a beautiful morning, but the first ten minutes while we’re weaving through city streets to get out of town, I barely notice. After we leave the city behind, though, I become aware of the sun on my shoulders, the fresh air, and the beautiful views as we slowly leave the mountains behind.

  Tse rides at a decent clip but not ridiculously fast, and he handles his bike so easily, his confidence is starting to rub off on me. By the time we pass Mesa Verde, I’m feeling the last of the tension leaving my body.

  We’re stopped at a traffic light in Cortez when he turns his head.

  “Hungry?’

  I didn’t manage much more than coffee and a slice of toast at six this morning when I was too wound up to sleep any more.

  “I could eat.”

  I figure he’ll stop somewhere in Cortez, but instead he turns onto a county road. After about ten minutes we pass through a quaint little town and on the other side, he pulls off to the left into the small parking lot of a place called Arlene’s Diner.

  It’s Sunday morning, probably around nine o’clock, and the parking lot is full. Glancing in through the windows I notice the diner looks busy. I have my doubts we’ll be able to get a table, but Tse doesn’t appear deterred. He stores our helmets under the seat, grabs my hand, and leads me to the entrance.

  We’ve barely crossed the threshold when I hear a loud woman’s voice call out his name.

  “Oh hell, look what the cat dragged in.” The woman behind the counter is older—I’m guessing in her fifties—tall, with short blonde hair, and a scowl on her face. “Seb!” she yells over her shoulder and behind her a man steps out of what I assume is the kitchen.

  Silver-streaked dark hair and arms covered in tattoos that would have Emme drooling, the guy—Seb, I take it—grins wide when he catches sight of Tse and makes his way around the counter. My hand is released so he can greet Seb with a man hug and bone-breaking slaps on the back, only to be grasped firmly in his again after.

  “Been too long, brother,” Seb, who is dressed in a large white apron, voices.

  “I know. Been busy.”

  That’s when the man glances over at me, his grin widening.

  “I see that.”

  “Quit your drooling,” the blonde snaps, pouring two mugs of coffee. “You’re gonna get your bacon burned.”

  Tse bursts out laughing as the other man turns his grin on the woman.

  “You love my bacon and you know it, Arlene. Besides, you know I love only you.”

  So she’s the owner of the place and maybe Seb is
her husband?

  “Whatever,” she huffs.

  “Arlene, Seb, I’d like you to meet Sophia.” To me he says, “Arlene makes the best coffee and Seb does a killer breakfast griddle that makes you wanna come back.”

  “Not bad enough, clearly,” Arlene mutters.

  She tucks a couple of menus under her arm and grabs the two mugs as she moves around the far end of the counter. With a jerk of her head, she indicates for us to follow her.

  “Never mind her,” Seb says with a smile. “It’s not you, she was born in a bad mood. Nice to meet you, Sophia.”

  “You too,” I manage before Tse pulls me along, weaving through the diner to an empty table where Arlene is already waiting.

  “You can pick from the menu or trust me to order for you,” she says when I take a seat.

  With the intense way she scrutinizes me, I get the feeling this is some kind of test.

  What the hell, I’m already living on the edge today.

  “Sure, you pick.”

  She doesn’t say anything but gives me a tiny nod before turning to Tse.

  “You’re lucky I still remember what you like.”

  “Missed you too, Arlene,” Tse calls after her, as she makes her way back to the other side of the diner.

  Her hand appears over her shoulder, the middle finger clearly extended, and I start laughing. It feels like I’ve landed in a sitcom.

  Tse is grinning when I turn to him.

  “I know it’s hard to tell, but that woman has a heart the size of an ocean.”

  “How do you know them?”

  “Years ago I was on a ride, saw this place and stopped for a bite. Got to talking with Seb about ink, mostly.”

  I look down at his hands where tattoos cover even his fingers. I can’t help wonder what the rest of his body looks like.

  “Food was great, so whenever I was in the neighborhood I’d make a stop, we’d talk. Turns out we know some of the same people,” he explains.

  “Small world.”

  “It is, especially in this neck of the woods. Everyone knows everyone.”

  The way he says that makes me think maybe he’s not originally from here.

  “Is your family from here?” I ask, curious to learn a little more about him.