THIEF_Steel Saints MC

by Paula Cox

  “It's not a double date,” Naomi replied, reproachfully, pushing herself off the car hood. “It's just hanging out.”

  “At the bar,” retorted Miranda with a flat tone. She was less than impressed. Nate just broke up with her and her ex-sweetheart breezed into town. Her emotional capacitors wanted a rest.

  “Yeah, at the bar. What's wrong with that?” Naomi's head listed to the side. Her eyes caught the dying rays of the sun, making her baby blues nearly glow in the twilight.

  “You're probably going to go knock boots with loverboy and leave me in the lurch with his creepy friend,” Miranda sighed in exasperation. Naomi had pulled the stunt more than once. The worst case seemed so promising, at first. It involved a cute, buff firefighter and his friend, an old buddy from high school with a receding hairline, beer gut, and an aversion to deodorant. She waved her hand, her car keys jingling loudly. “Yeah, no thanks.”

  “You shouldn't judge people before you get to know them!” Naomi's lips twisted into a frown. She very blatantly misunderstood Miranda, whether intentionally or from sheer obliviousness. She crossed her arms over her ample bosom and pinned Miranda with a hard look.

  Miranda was completely unaffected by her friend's bluff. Naomi didn't have a stern bone in her body. Soon enough, the blonde would switch tones and resort to the puppy dog eyes. “Naomi, it's been a long day.”

  “So go to the bar. Let off some steam,” pleaded the blonde, “It'll be good for you!”

  “I don't see how, Naomi.”

  “Trust me.”

  Miranda sighed, yet again. A drink sounded fabulous after everything that happened in the last twenty-four hours. Nate would be to busy with his new girlfriend and who the hell knew where Tyler was. Her stiff shoulders eased a little, “Do we have time to go home and change, first?”

  “Yes!” Naomi squealed in delight as she hopped into her sporty convertible. Miranda shook her head as she climbed into her sensible sedan. Together, the two cars pulled out of the parking lot and headed in the direction of Miranda's apartment. She didn't know why she let Naomi talk her into these things.

  A noisy bar scene was the absolute last thing Miranda genuinely wanted. Yet, a small voice nagged at her thoughts. Someone, in particular, hung around bars and Miranda very direly wanted to see him again – even if it was a bad idea.

  * * *

  Smoke clung to the ceiling in the Firebird Bar. Chatter filled the air, along with the scent of cologne and alcohol. Country music spat into the air from the old jukebox and various, tone-deaf patrons sang along. In the far corner, pool tables rumbled and pool balls clacked loudly, punctuated by whoops and hollers. Underfoot, peanut shells cracked beneath Miranda's heeled boots. She maneuvered awkwardly through the crowd, as Naomi languidly traversed the throng. The blonde smiled and gracefully stepped around the drunken masses. Miranda felt like a bull in a china shop as she stumbled through the bodies, trying to keep an eye on Naomi.

  Just as she thought she lost sight of the blonde, the crowd opened up for her like Noah and the Red Sea. Her gaze fell on Naomi, hanging all over her date. Miranda paused, eyeballing the two men. Naomi's date stood tall and broad, with a farmer's tan and long black hair. Handsome, in a rough sort of way. His friend wasn't much different. Tall, rippling muscles, a cocked smirk, but with shorter hair than Naomi's date.

  Miranda swallowed her disappointment. She had thought, for a split second, it could be Tyler and his friend. Mentally, she shook the thought out of her head. It was ridiculous to even hold that hope. Plastering on a smile, she trudged through the bar.

  “Miranda, this is–”

  A flimsy table tumbled near the pool table. A hulking behemoth, with a beer gut to match, flung the matching chair as he snarled, “You're a damn cheat!”

  “Hey, don't be a sore loser.” From the throngs surrounding the pool table, a voice laughed. Something in the tone, or, perhaps, a lilt in the voice, caught Miranda's attention. Her gaze snapped to the corner and heat clawed up her neck. “Ladies like me, including Lady Luck.”

  The behemoth bristled, “Fuck you, smartass!”

  The snap of wood – a broken pool cue - echoed through the air, followed by a ripple of gasps through the crowd. Someone grunted. People dove out of the way and more people started to trade obscenities. The sound of fist impacting on flesh muted the lively air of the bar. Someone skidded across a table close to Miranda. She yelped and stumbled out of the way.

  Tyler groaned and rubbed the back of his neck, his sunglasses askew atop his head. As he sat up, his back groaned in protest. He caught sight of Miranda wide, green eyes. She was suddenly breathless next to him, without the counter between them. Shock and delight slammed through him. Tyler covered his surprise, and his pain, with a cheeky grin. “Oh, hey, Mir. What's up?”

  Before she could answer, another man picked up yet another chair. He swung it at Tyler just as the redhead slid off the table. Miranda screamed, her heart thrumming, as the chair burst into pieces. Using his weight, Tyler managed to tip the lightweight table up and over his head against his attacker. As his opponent struggled against the stick of furniture, Tyler swept out his feet. The man gave out a yelp and dropped to the boards, the table landed atop his torso.

  It seemed Behemoth didn't have too many friends, though. Within the next second, the subtle click-clack of a shotgun being cocked cut through the air. The bar's owner didn't even need to say a word. Behemoth and the man who attacked Tyler were promptly escorted – or, more appropriately, heaved – from the bar.

  Tyler couldn't help the smirk that curled at his lips. He turned to Miranda, his slightly buzzed hazed painting a darker flush and bedroom eyes on her face. Adrenaline coursed through her head, freezing her thoughts in place as she tried to make sense of the destruction. Their gazes locked and she steeled herself for his smart-alack comment.

  At the same time, she fought against her fluttering heart. Tyler didn't get the chance to say a word, though. Within seconds, bar floozies swarmed him, swinging their arms around him and making husky comments in his ear. They leaned their fleshy, soft bodies against him, as if mere proximity meant a better chance.

  “Oh, my God,” squealed Naomi as she sidled up next to Miranda. Her arms looped through her friend's elbow and she leaned close. “You know that psycho?”

  Miranda's tongue fumbled around the words. Thousands of answered swarmed her head from an affirmative, to a negative, to something pleasantly vague. She shook her head and forced an airy laugh to her lips, “Ancient history. So, you going to introduce me to my date?”

  As the blonde led Miranda away, Tyler watched through his little slew of barflies. The delight that flared when he saw her faltered. She was on a date. A double date. Tyler resisted the urge to scowl and forced himself to turn away from the scene. This was for the best. Miranda deserved better than him.

  He tried to take solace in that thought as he wrapped an arm around a pretty brunette who smelled of bourbon.

  CHAPTER THREE

  As the night wore on, Miranda recognized the signs of a date gone sour. Naomi and her loverboy butted heads over every little thing from song choice to drinks. Miranda's own forced date wasn't so hot either. His eyes kept wandering to skinny, younger ladies, with salon perfect highlights, and long manicured nails. A swell of rejection simmered in Miranda. She suddenly felt dumpy, thanks to her date's wordless distaste in her.

  She sighed and fiddled with her empty beer bottle. She fought the urge to swing her gaze, hopefully, around the bar. The last time she caught sight of Tyler, he was the central figure in a dance floor humpfest. A few girls probably took him up on everything he had to offer. Miranda swallowed down her prickly emotions at the mere thought, but she knew she had no right to the feeling. Tyler was his own man.

  “Look, I'm just saying this didn't work out,” Naomi's date said, hands flung up in a sign of defeat. His tone held a challenging edge, however. “Why should I blow money on a lady I won't be taking home?”

  Nao
mi's eyebrows rose to her hairline, irritation glittering in her eyes. Her lips twisted into a scowl as she said, with an incredulous shrill, “Uh, because you invited us to this bar, you cheapskate!”

  “Sweetcheeks, you got a pretty face and I'm sure you get free booze all the time.” Her date – Josh? Jonah? whatever – snorted as he shook his head. “But I ain't footing your bill tonight.”

  “You're an asshole,” snarled Naomi, her face turning a ruddy red as she stood.

  Miranda marveled how, even while spitting mad, Naomi seemed to exude grace and beauty. Her friend's irritation was catching, though. Miranda could feel her own temper rising, just beneath the surface. She tried to busy herself by watching the drunken masses writhing on the dance floor. If she and Naomi made a scene, there would be way too many people to relay the gossip all around town. Miranda had her job to think about. Who would want a foul-mouthed she-witch as their bank's manager?

  “Hey, no reason to sink money into a profitless investment.” Naomi's date punctuated his sentence with a mirthless chuckle.

  Miranda could feel her friend's ire rise. Her own anger itched beneath her skin. Usually, this wasn't such a big deal. However, when he went out of his way to order drinks for them, Miranda felt their irritation justified.

  Naomi's shriek pierced through the delightful bubble of heat and chatter in the bar, “What?!”

  Unable to contain her rage much longer, Miranda stepped into the conversation. As quietly as she could, Miranda pushed her chair away from the table and stood beside her friend. Catching the blonde by the shoulder, she leaned closer and murmured, “Naomi, let's just buy our drinks and leave.”

  Naomi wheeled her enraged gaze on Miranda, who returned the fiery look with a stern glare. Just as Naomi opened her mouth to sputter out an exasperated reply, someone else stepped in. “Is everything all right over here?”

  “Yes, it's fine,” snapped Naomi, her face reddening further as she spun on her heel. She stopped as she came face-to-face with a scruffy, leather-clad dirty blonde. Naomi gasped theatrically, her petite hand hovering next to her smile. “Oh, it's you!”

  The man nodded, a polite grin on his lips, “And you, angel.”

  “Are you following me?” Naomi narrowed her eyes, though her lips wouldn't curl down. She was smitten with this man, if Miranda were any judge.

  Her gaze bounced between her friend and the stranger. She had the feeling she had seen his face somewhere else. Her mind itched with curiosity. Where had she seen him before?

  “Oh, yes. I'd never ever be caught dead in a place like this,” he answered, his tone thick with sarcasm. A wry smile twisted at his lips and Miranda could see why Naomi was suddenly all smiles. The man wasn't hard on the eyes, that was for sure. When he smiled, his attractiveness was even more evident. His gaze flickered to Naomi and Miranda's dates, his eyebrows quirking curiously as he brought his gaze back to the blonde. “You sure there's no problem here?”

  “Now that you mention it,” Naomi's eyes sparkled with impish glee. Miranda stifled a laugh, watching their lackluster dates from the corner of her eye. Both of them tensed as they fell under the biker's scrutinizing leer. “These two gentlemen,” even Naomi's tongue writhed insincerely around the term, “offered to pay for our drinks before they realized we were incompatible. Now, because it's not a sound investment, they're backing out.”

  “Oh, really?” Jack cocked an eyebrow, his grin melting into a rather displeased frown.

  The sour date forced a stiff laugh as he dug into his pocket for his wallet. “She's joking! Haha, Naomi, such a kidder.”

  “Don't worry about it.” Yet another voice echoed from the bar, stepping up beside Naomi's handsome scruffy biker. Miranda's face warmed with a blush and her heart fluttered in her chest. Tyler fished out a few bills from his wallet. After waving down a harried waitress, who bounced from table to table in the bar, he handed her the cash with a wink and a grin. The woman giggled before scurrying off, tucking the money into her apron.

  “You don't have to do that,” muttered Miranda, heat licking up her cheeks. She couldn't meet Tyler's gaze when he turned around.

  A ruffle of amusement tickled through Tyler's thoughts. Memories danced through his head where he committed a good deed and she had a hard time accepting it. That was his Mir. Tyler clamped down on that thought and mentally shook his head. No, she wasn't his.

  “Miranda, where are your manners?” Naomi sighed loudly, like a mother disappointed in her child for spitting in public. The blonde faced Tyler and his friend, a smile stretching over her lips, “Thank you. You're way too kind, guys.”

  Introductions were traded, but Miranda still couldn't get herself to turn her gaze toward Tyler. Something in her shivered, knowing he was so close. Naomi continued to flirt with Tyler's apparent buddy – Jack, if her half-attention heard correctly – while awkward silence planted itself in Miranda's throat. The blonde suddenly twittered something about 'her' song being on. Before Miranda could register the words and manage a protest, Naomi dragged Jack off into the dance floor.

  Soon enough, both disappeared among the writhing throngs. Miranda swallowed heavily, staring forlornly in the direction they had disappeared. She needed her best friend to play buffer. Her awkwardness was catching.

  At least the shoddy dates were long gone. They had scurried out from the table as soon as Tyler paid the tab.

  Tyler stood beside Miranda, helpless and hapless. A battle warred inside him. The desire to talk to her, to reconnect, fought against his sense of responsibility. The right thing to do would be to wade back into his little throng of adoring barmaids. Yet, Tyler hesitated. He peeked at Miranda from the corner of his gaze and words fumbled across his tongue, “So, how do you like working at the bank?”

  Miranda mumbled, “It's good work. Long hours, so it keeps me busy.”

  “Oh.” Silence strung out from between them. It seemed a bubble of tension coiled around them while the rest of the patrons sounded muffled beyond.

  Miranda shifted from foot to foot, peanuts snapping under her heel. Manners demanded she say something. Yet, part of her wanted to remain silent. The less the two of them talked, the better. Miranda couldn't help herself, though. “Um, what do you do, now?”

  “I work at a junkyard and a garage.” Tyler shrugged, trying not to think about what actually happened at both places of work. This time, he couldn't meet her eye. His gaze flicked around the bar. Jack and Naomi had fully disappeared into the crowd. Or, perhaps, they sneaked out the back for a quick rendezvous.

  “Wow, two jobs?” Miranda raised her eyebrows as she listed her head toward Tyler. Years ago, Tyler struggled to even land one job in Legacy. Everyone knew his reputation and very few put up with him. The few people he did work under always seemed to have excellent reviews. Well, until Tyler stopped going to work.

  Tyler resisted the urge to hang his head. The auto shop and the junkyard worked in tandem and he doubted Miranda would like to hear the shadowy side of their business. Instead, Tyler muttered, “They're owned by the same guy, so they're more like one job.”

  Silence fell again. Someone stumbled by them, braying like a donkey. Somewhere in the busy bar, a glass shattered and someone screamed. Miranda gave in and looked at Tyler. His profile in the dusty light of the bar reawakened short snippets of memory. Her gaze flicked to the leather vest he wore, a question toddling into her head, “So, who are the Blacksteel Bandits?”

  “We're a motorcycle club,” Tyler answered, mechanically. He glanced down at Miranda, forcing himself to meet her eye. He had nothing to hide. After all, clubs weren't illegal. Something in him shirked away from telling her a half-truth.

  Miranda's curiosity sparked and, just slightly, an intrigued smile curled at her lips, “Motorcycle club? What do you do?”

  Tyler averted his gaze. He didn't want to think about Pete or Pete's businesses. This was a little getaway to distance himself. Instead of answering, Tyler flashed Miranda one of his heart-melting grins. H
er cheeks instantly pinked. A swell of delight and smugness rippled through him. “Enough about me, Mir. What about you? How've you been?”

  “Good,” she answered, suddenly feeling extremely boring compared to him. Then again, Tyler always seemed to live a life of adventure. She always envied him for that fact. “You know about the bank. I have my own apartment and, uh, a great car.”

  Nosiness got the better of Tyler. “Got a boyfriend?”

  “No,” Miranda's face flared with a blush. “Not that I haven't dated since you, you know. Men are just assholes.”

  “Yes, we are,” Tyler laughed. A pang of guilt cleaved through him, but he brushed it aside. Hadn't Miranda just gotten out of a relationship with someone? The tension in the air was becoming palatable and heavy. If he didn't do something soon, their little reunion would end with a fizzle. He didn't want that. His hand shot out, curling around Miranda's wrist before he made a beeline for the back.