by Jessie Cooke
“What’s your name?”
“Ryder Moore.”
“Ride Her More?”
Ryder laughed. “Well, I’ll be damned. Most people don’t get that so quickly. You’re good.” He was impressed. That was exactly why the guys called him Ryder...and he wasn’t kidding that most people weren’t clever enough to figure it out.
She rolled her eyes. “Figures, you look like a player.”
“Storm! Where are those glasses?” Ryder didn’t take his eyes off “Storm’s” face even as he saw Carolyn push through the swinging doors a few feet behind her. The middle-aged brunette stopped in her tracks, put her hands on her slim hips, and said, “What the hell is going on?”
“Hey there, Carolyn.”
“Ryder, what the hell are you doing in the kitchen and Storm, why are you holding a bat on him?”
“I came to pick up the receipts. Paige might be in labor; Garrett took her to the hospital. He gave me the key to the back door. It was crowded out front, so I thought I’d just slip in this way.” He smiled at Storm then and said, “Now you go.”
Storm slowly lowered the bat to her side, but she continued to glare at Ryder. “I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “I thought he was breaking in. I’ve never seen anyone come in that door...”
Ryder was just about to accept her feeble apology when the sound of a scream and shattering glass cut him off and sent a chill down his spine. He reached back for the gun resting in his waistband just as he heard the unmistakable metallic sound of a shotgun being cocked. “Fuck me,” he said in a whisper as he made his way toward the swinging door that separated the kitchen and the bar. “Garrett better at least give that kid mine for a middle name.”
2
Storm was holding her breath and watching the mean-looking but sizzling-hot biker push open the kitchen door an inch or two. Carolyn looked like she was about to run toward it. Storm put her hand on her boss’s shoulder and Carolyn looked at her with wide blue eyes filled with fear. “Robby is covering the bar.” Robby was Carolyn’s kid. He was barely twenty-one and home from college for summer break. Carolyn had him when she was sixteen and although they looked more like brother and sister than mother and son, Carolyn was a doting mother and somewhat overprotective. She’d worked hard her entire life just to give him a better one than she had and Storm knew she wasn’t about to lose him to some lowlife with a shotgun...at least not without a fight.
“The biker has a gun,” Storm whispered. “Let him handle it, okay?”
Carolyn nodded, but Storm was still afraid to turn her back on her. She glanced back over at the guy she’d just been threatening with a baseball bat. Before she took the barmaid job only a week before, she’d heard rumors that the Southside Skulls owned the bar. She had just moved into town and everyone who asked where she was going to work said the same thing: “Oh, 92 Proof, don’t the Skulls own that?” She really doubted it, though. The place had a posh décor, soft lighting, and a lot of Nickleback on the jukebox. There was a small dance floor, a tiny stage for the occasional live band and not a dartboard or pool table in sight. Not that Storm knew any bikers, but from all the Sons of Anarchy she’d watched, she doubted it was the kind of place a biker would be caught dead in. She suddenly sighed and mentally shook her head at herself and her random thoughts at a time like this. She could hear the man out front yelling at Robby to open the cash register and she could feel poor Carolyn shaking, and here she was thinking about Charlie Hunnam. It was that biker’s fault. He looked way too hot in his leather vest and stirred up all her Jax fantasies. Geez, she thought, what the hell is wrong with me?
“Ryder!” Carolyn said in a loud whisper. “My boy is out there! Don’t do anything stupid.”
Ryder didn’t look back at Carolyn and her demand didn’t seem to faze him at all. Something was holding him back, though; maybe it was the muffled sobs she could hear...did the gunman have a hostage? Storm felt like she was more nervous in back than she would have been up front where she could see what was going on. Ryder kept one hand on the door and the other one on his gun and as soon as her attention was on him and not Carolyn, Storm felt Carolyn inch toward him. “Carolyn, no!”
“Ryder! Is he okay?” The man was yelling out front and Storm could hear Robby’s voice, but she couldn’t hear what was being said. She was watching Ryder and Carolyn both and trying to decide if she should tackle her boss and hold her down or not...and then all hell broke loose, and everything seemed to happen all at once. The boom of the shotgun sent both Ryder, and Carolyn barreling through the door. Ryder went first with his gun drawn and before Storm could stop her boss, she busted through and disappeared as well. Storm cursed out loud and grabbed the door before it closed behind Carolyn. The front door was standing open, and she could hear the sound of a motorcycle out back, but she couldn’t see any people except for Carolyn, who had Robby wrapped up so tightly in a hug that he was barely visible. She had to step around the bar to see that the dozen or so patrons that had been in the bar were still lying on their stomachs on the floor. A few of them looked like they were in shock and a couple were on their phones to 911. Nobody looked hurt...and there was no sign of a man with a shotgun or the hot biker anywhere.
“Carolyn, is Robby okay?” Carolyn didn’t look at her and she didn’t let go of her son, but she nodded her head. Storm loudly said, “Is everyone okay? Is anyone hurt?” Murmurs from the crowd told her that one woman had twisted her ankle and a middle-aged guy had tweaked his back...but no one was shot or bleeding. She scanned the bar again and just over Robby’s head, above the cash register, she saw where the bullet had hit the wooden beam that ran across the ceiling. Thank God—the man must have only fired the gun to scare him. She could hear sirens and she saw a few people had gotten up and were headed toward the front door. “The police are on their way. You don’t know if the gunman is still out there. You should wait until they get here!” she called out to them. One man completely ignored her but by the time he stepped out, the walls of the bar were lit up with the red and blue lights of the emergency vehicles. The cavalry had arrived...but where did the Lone Ranger go?
Before Storm had any more time to think about that, the place was full of police, yelling at everyone to get down on the ground with their hands up. For the second time that evening the patrons did as they were told but seemed even more pissed off about it now. One by one the police made sure no one had any weapons and before long everyone was either being interviewed or waiting to talk to the police. While Storm waited, she found Robby and said:
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Fucker put the barrel of that shotgun to my head while I was trying to open the damned cash register and I forgot my code for a second. That’s when he shot the gun off. The register popped open, and he just grabbed the deposit envelope Mom put in there for Dax’s guy to pick up. He kept that woman in front of him the whole time.”
“Oh shit, he had a hostage?”
“Yeah, he grabbed some chick as soon as he came in, that’s why Ryder didn’t shoot him, I think. He dragged her outside with him and Ryder followed them...I don’t know what happened after that.” The poor kid looked dazed. Storm wanted to help him calm down, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the woman...what happened to her? Just about that time Storm saw Ryder walk back into the bar, escorted by a police officer. A young woman in business attire and make-up smeared all over her face was with them and suddenly in the arms of two other women that must have come into the bar with her earlier that evening. Storm assumed she was the hostage but couldn’t be sure. What she was sure of was that she was way too relieved that the biker she didn’t even know was okay.
It was after four a.m. before the police cleared out. As soon as they were gone, however, more bikers showed up. It was like they were waiting around the corner for them to leave. Storm watched the tall, blond one in the front. His vest said “President” and she knew he must be the Dax Marshall she’d heard about even in the sho
rt time she’d been in Boston. Storm didn’t often refer to men as “beautiful,” but if she was forced to describe him, that would be the word she would have to use. His eyes were the prettiest color blue she’d ever seen...but at that moment, they were scary intense. It only added to his “beauty,” though. The other biker, Ryder, was equally hot, but the word “beautiful” didn’t come to mind there at all. He was one of those guys that left a trail of masculinity behind him as he walked across the floor. You could almost smell it on him. He had smiled at her earlier when he was being sarcastic, and it was cute as hell. But as she watched him now, relating what had happened to his president, he was all business, and hard edges. She got out the broom while the bikers had their meeting and started to sweep up the glass as she waited her turn to be interviewed. After Carolyn and Robby both talked to Dax, he motioned her over. She propped the broom against the bar, wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, and went over to the edge of the table. Dax stood and didn’t smile.
“Storm, is it?”
“Yes.”
Dax motioned at the seat across from him and opened a file that Carolyn had brought out from the back and laid down in front of him. Storm sat and Dax took a few seconds to read what was in front of him before looking up and saying:
“Stormy Waters?” She glanced up at Ryder, who was standing at Dax’s right shoulder. She thought she saw a trace of a smile on his face. It wouldn’t be the first time in her twenty-four years of life that someone found it amusing. Her father was a member of the Wampanoag Tribe out of Mashpee, Massachusetts. Waters was their real last name. Stormy was her mother’s idea since she was born during a freak winter storm in early March. Her grandfather always said that the gods had stirred up the winds from the four corners of the earth to announce her arrival. She went by Storm when she grew up because at least when you put the two together it didn’t sound so lame...in her opinion, at least.
“Yes.” He held out his hand and said:
“Dax Marshall. Have a seat, please.” Storm sat across from Dax and next to a big, burly biker that smelled like weed. “Did you see what happened?”
“Not really. I was in the kitchen most of the time.”
“What were you doing in the kitchen?”
“Well, I went in there to get some glasses out of the dishwasher for Carolyn, and then—” She looked up at Ryder, who was standing close to the edge of the table. “Well, Ryder came in the back door. I didn’t know he was supposed to be there, so I grabbed the Louisville Slugger that Carolyn leaves against the wall back there and while I was trying to figure out who he was and what he was doing, Carolyn came to see what was taking me so long. I think we all heard the guy come in and start yelling about the same time.”
“Was there anything familiar to you about his voice?”
“No. I don’t think so. He was yelling, so it was hard to tell. Are you thinking maybe he’s been in the bar before?”
“Yeah,” Dax said. “Maybe.” Storm wondered if it was because the guy went straight for the deposit envelope. She supposed that would look suspicious even before Dax’s next question: “Do you talk to anyone about the way things are done around here?”
“I’m sorry? I’m not sure what you mean.”
“When you go home at night, have you ever mentioned to your old man or your roommate about one of our guys picking up the deposits on Monday night?”
“No, but I only just started last Wednesday. Tonight was the first I heard about that and only when Ryder said who he was and why he was here. Besides, I don’t have an old man, or a roommate.”
Dax’s blue gaze never wavered from her face. She felt like she was coming apart inside under his scrutiny. He was making her feel like she’d done something wrong. Did he suspect that she was a part of this? “Okay,” Dax said. “Leave everything be for now; my guy will be in to take some pictures and prints soon.” His guy? The police had done just that. Dax Marshall must not be the kind of man that left anything to chance. As Storm stood up he said, “By the way, Storm, who referred you for this job, again?”
“A friend of my mother told me about the opening, her name is Stacey Sandoval.”
“And where does Stacey work?”
“Out on the Indian reservation in Mashpee. She works the tables.”
“And how did she know about this place?”
“She said that she heard from one of her customers that they were looking for a barmaid and she knew I was looking for a job in the city, so she told me about it.”
“So, did you also just move to Boston?”
“Yes, about a week before I started the job here.”
“Can I ask why?” Storm felt like the only thing missing from the interrogation was the bright light, but keeping her voice as steady as she could she said:
“My father passed away about four months ago in a freak accident and my mother wasn’t able to keep up with the house we were living in.” The truth was, her mother had a gambling problem and after Storm’s father died things only escalated. She was lonely and depressed and she spent all her time, and money, at the casino. Storm was working in the daycare center on the reservation, but she didn’t make a lot of money and after a few months the bank was foreclosing on the house, all her mother’s utilities were shut off, and the tribal council...who had warned her once before…refused to help. Storm wasn’t interested in sharing that much information with Dax, however, so all she said was, “She moved in with a friend and I thought I’d try my luck in the city.”
Dax nodded and said, “Okay, Storm, thanks. You can go home now. Someone will call you about when to come back in.”
When to come back in? She was on the schedule every night for the rest of the week. The damage to the bar didn’t seem bad enough to her that it would have to be closed down for renovations...so why wasn’t it going to be business as usual? Her mouth was dry, and Dax was still looking at her, so she didn’t try to say any of that. She just nodded, thanked him, which was silly, and headed into the back to get her purse. As soon as she walked away she heard whispers. They were discussing her...innocence? Guilt? She felt like she did when she was driving and there was a cop following behind her...she knew rationally that she was doing nothing wrong but she still white-knuckled the steering wheel until they either turned and went a different direction, or hit their lights and siren and pulled her over. She wondered which this one would be.
3
“Hey, you need a ride somewhere?” The sun was just coming up and Storm had finally been “excused” to leave. She’d gone in the back and gathered her things, slipping out the kitchen door in the hopes that she didn’t run into anyone else she had to talk to. The night had been horrifically long, and she was dead on her feet. Of course, she hadn’t gotten that lucky. Ryder’s bike was parked in the alley and almost as soon as she walked out the kitchen door, he came around the corner.
She tried a feeble attempt at a smile. Even her face was tired. “Thanks, but it’s not far. I usually just walk. Sorry about all that baseball bat stuff...”
Ryder laughed. God, he’s so hot when he doesn’t have that mean look on his face. “Well, I was going to stay pissed off about that, but then a guy pulled a gun on me and trumped you.”
She smiled again. “I’m glad he didn’t shoot you. You chased him?”
He let out a disgusted sigh. “For all the good it did. I ran out after him and watched him throw the woman he was dragging at me before jumping into an old pickup and taking off. By the time I made sure she was okay and ran around here to get my bike, he was long gone.”
“At least you tried,” she said. “Well, I’m exhausted so I’m going to get home and get some sleep.”
“Why not let me give you a ride? Even if it isn’t far, you do look like you’re about to fall over.”
She looked at the bike. She’d never been on a Harley, unless you counted the dreams she often had at night about being one of the old ladies on her favorite show. In her dreams she was clad in leather from the
neck down with her boobs pushed up, and a pair of six-inch heels to top off the outfit. She smiled at the stupid thought and then realized Ryder was still looking at her, waiting for an answer. “Oh, I’m sorry...sure, okay...I guess...”
He laughed again. “First time on a bike?”
“The kind with a motor, yes.”
“Well, you picked the right guy for your first ride,” he said with a wink. He took a small black helmet off the handlebars and handed it to her. “I started riding a dirt bike when I was four years old. My brother and I tore up the back roads and fields on those and ATVs growing up, and my first job was washing dishes at this little bar and grill in Stockton.” He chuckled and said, “I made extra tips driving the guys home on their bikes when they had too much to drink.”
“Really? How old were you?”
“Fifteen when I started. I worked there until I was eighteen and joined the army as soon as I graduated high school. I bought my first Harley when I got out of the army, and of course Edith...”
“Edith?”
He grinned again and there was a look of pure pride or adoration in his eyes when he said, “I’ll introduce you to her someday.” She was both thrilled that he assumed they would see each other again and jealous of whoever this “Edith” was that seemed to make him so happy.
“You never forget your first ride on a Harley. You’re gonna love it.”
She slipped on the helmet and tucked her hair underneath. “I’m sure I will,” she said with more bravado than she was feeling.
She watched him slide his long leg over the seat and realized she was staring again. When she looked at his face she saw amusement in his light-brown eyes. He knew how hot he was and he knew what kind of effect he was having on her. She cleared her throat and tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to her. So, with a warm and probably red face, she climbed onto the back of the bike and settled into the seat behind him. Her legs dangled off the ground, as the bike was not only tall but wide as well. She had to hold onto his vest to steady herself.