This isn’t something I’ve done out of choice but more out of necessity. Growing up around an outlaw motorcycle club, which I then managed to piss off—through no fault of my own, might I add—means running and hiding to stay alive. If King were to ever get his hands on me, I wouldn’t survive. Knowing that death chases me daily and could catch up with me at any moment ensures I always keep my head down.
The area where the diner is located is far from ideal, with drug dealers on every second corner and a nonexistent police response rate. From the linoleum flooring that’s cracked and peeling in places, to the faded leather booth seats, and the god-awful music, there isn’t a single thing about Mary’s Rib Shack that I don’t hate.
I work the evening shift until closing time, from four in the afternoon until around midnight. I want to be able to work my way out of this hellhole and provide a better life for myself. I have aspirations and being a waitress isn’t one of them.
One day, I want to be able to open my own tattoo parlor. For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved drawing and through the years, I’ve honed my craft. Add to that the fact I did an apprenticeship at a tattoo parlor, learning from one of the best, and you have my dream. The only thing I want to do for the rest of my life.
“Hey, can we get some more coffee over here?” the man with the biker’s cut sitting in my section all but yells at me.
Earlier, I saw them enter and a chill ran right down my spine. My first instinct was to run, to get the hell out of here as quickly as my legs could carry me. After catching a glimpse of their patches and not recognizing their club, I was able to calm myself.
My hands shake, and my legs feel weak as I make my way to their table. Bikers terrify me. Not some bikers, but all bikers.
The three other guys with him seem rather normal-looking although anyone with eyes can tell that’s not the case. One blond and two with dark-brown hair, all of them with protruding beer bellies. The fourth man, the one who just spoke and whom I’m assuming is the leader of this merry band of misfits, gives me the straight-up chills.
He’s large, burly, and bald, with a snake tattoo running down his arm to his wrist. It’s garish and badly done with absolutely no detail. The man looks me over with eyes the color of mud as I refill the cups. There’s no depth to his eyes, just a flat deadness, and I try to avoid eye contact at all costs. I refill all four cups and start to move away when a large hand clamps around my wrist and pulls me back. Again, I feel this crawling sensation running over my skin. It takes everything I have within me not to pull away from his grip.
“Why don’t you sit down with us for a minute, darling?” the leader drawls at me.
“I can’t. I’m on shift and have to get back to my customers,” I reply while trying to pull my arm from his grip.
My breathing becomes shallow and a shiver works its way through my body. The need to get his hands off me is almost overwhelming.
“Well, now, Mary won’t mind, and the other waitress can see to your customers while you have a seat with us.”
He uses a tone that’s supposed to be reassuring but simply serves to creep me out even more. He yanks on my arm and I lose my balance, toppling forward and pouring half the remaining coffee down the front of his pants.
“You stupid fucking whore,” he bellows.
Before I can react, he backhands me across the face, causing me to fall. My head connects with the counter and then the floor with a resounding thud. Lying on the floor, all I can think is this is it, my last day at Mary’s. I would rather live on the fucking street than work here one more day. Regaining my senses and opening my eyes, I find complete chaos around me. All the guys from the table are on their feet. The two dark-haired men are holding back the guy who just slapped me. He’s doing his best to pull away from their grip and has his eyes trained on the front door to the diner.
Storm, my best friend, stands in the doorway. She’s a petite Asian woman with long black hair streaked with purple, full sleeve tattoos—courtesy of myself, a small waist, and an awesome set of all-natural C-cup breasts. Storm knows how to defend herself from the time she spent living on the street. She may be a stripper, but she will never let a man get the upper hand again. Apparently, she learned a painful lesson and quickly found someone to teach her how to defend herself.
In three-inch stilettos with her gun pointed straight at him, she stands her ground in front of this monster of a man.
“Viper, why don’t you take your little cronies and leave?” She’s deadly calm in the face of this man and for a moment, I envy her confidence. I haven’t moved from my spot on the floor and simply watch their exchange like the coward I have become.
“You know good and well that your kind isn’t welcome around here. Or do I need to make a call?” She appears calm while taking her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans.
Viper tries to charge at her again but the blond man steps between them.
“Time to go,” he says, and the other two men start pulling Viper toward the door on the other side of the diner.
“I’m gonna get you. You and your little waitress friend. You’re gonna pay. You hear me, Storm? You and that little cock tease!” he bellows as he’s dragged out. “That pussy club ain’t gonna save you.”
As soon as they are on the motorcycles and roaring into the distance, Storm puts her gun back in her purse and rushes over to me. “Oh, sweetie. Are you okay?” she inquires while pushing my hair from my face to inspect the damage.
“Hurts like a bitch but I’ll live. Gonna be blue tomorrow and I’ll probably have an egg on my head later, but I’ll be fine,” I assure her as I push up from the floor. “Thanks for the help.”
Storm looks at me with sympathy in her eyes, something I despise more than I can ever explain. I hate being seen for the weak, broken, scared little girl I become once I am faced with something that triggers my past. My past affects me more than I would like to admit, even to myself. So many things can trigger me and have me turning back in on myself. For years, I have secluded myself from people except for a select few. My friendship with Storm often pushes my boundaries and I feel like she is helping me rejoin the world again, one little push at a time.
As she opens her mouth to respond, Mary comes shrieking around the corner.
“You stupid bitches. Do you know what you’ve done?”
Her face is blood red from the lack of oxygen during her rant and her over-styled, bleach-blonde hair flies all over the place.
“Those assholes are gonna burn my place to the fucking ground because of the two of you!”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Storm turns a glare on her. “One of your staff members was just attacked, and all you can worry about is your business? What kind of person are you?”
Mary stares daggers at Storm as I pull myself to my feet.
“What’s wrong with me?” Mary continues shrieking. “Do you know who the fuck those guys were and how bad it can get when you fuck with them?”
“Yes, I do,” Storm says calmly. “Those are the limp-dick Mongrels MC and ain’t shit gonna happen to anyone. Pope is gonna lose his shit when he hears they were in his territory.”
Mary pales when she seems to realize Storm actually knows what she’s talking about.
“Now,” Storm says, looking back at me over her shoulder, “I am gonna take Hadley home and get some ice on her face. You’re gonna cover her tables and still pay her for the hours she’s missing. Because that’s what a good boss would do.”
“Oh, go choke on a dick, Storm. You won’t be telling me how to run my goddamn business. Why don’t you and Hadley just get her shit and get out because I don’t need to draw any more attention.”
She calmly turns to me and, looking me in the eyes, says, “You’re fired.”
Before I can think it through or contemplate my actions, my fist flies out and connects with Mary’s nose.
She gives an undignified shriek as she cups her nose. “You cunt! You broke my fucking
nose.”
I stare at her before regaining my footing. Today may have been my breaking point. I have never—and I mean never—in my life laid hands on another person. “Oh, bite me, Mary. You’re a fucking bitch and I quit.”
Between hitting Mary, telling her to piss off, and quitting my job, I feel like I’m on top of the world. For the first time I can remember, I stood up for myself.
With what I’m sure is a seriously crazy smile on my face, I turn away from her. I head to the back of the diner where my personal effects are in a locker and change out of my shitty uniform. Taking a deep breath, I realize what I have just done. I stood up for myself but in the process, I’ve quit the only job I have. How am I going to pay rent, buy food, or pay for my damn car repairs? I am so fucked.
Instead of lingering on that, I square my shoulders and walk out to the front. People are crowded around Mary while Storm is smirking from her spot at the front door. Looking back at Mary, I smile. As I walk out of the diner, I give a single finger salute in farewell, light up a smoke, and walk home.
End of sample chapter
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His Refused Mate Page 6