by Jayne Blue
“Our businesses?” Kellan asked. “Well, then she needs to put her time in at the bar. Let the guys get to know her.”
“Yeah,” Colt said. “That’s kind of the plan. George gave me the impression this chick hasn’t worked an honest day in her life. But he said she’s smart and he’s hoping he can talk her into either learning how to be his paralegal or even head to law school down the road.”
“George looking to retire?” Joker asked.
Colt shrugged. “Not anytime soon. He knows I’d kill him. Anyway, I already talked to the head waitresses. Sydney, that’s her name. She’s going to work here a night or two a week. Now, that’s enough talk about George Bailey’s twinkie of a niece. What else have you all got for me?”
We went around the table. I had a hard time focusing on business. I couldn’t stop thinking about seeing Sydney Bailey in and around the bar, and wearing the tight tank tops the rest of the waitresses wore. She’d gotten under my skin already. I didn’t know when. I didn’t know how. But my gut told me something about that girl would spell trouble for me. Only I wasn’t sure I minded.
Chapter Five
Sydney
“Sydney.”
His smoky voice sent goosebumps down my spine. His deep, sultry laughter held a promise of something dark. Something delicious.
He hovered over me, his rippled, tattooed arms forming a cage around me as his kisses licked at my ear. He smelled so good. Leather. Musk. Danger.
A sharp, shrill siren cut through the air. I woke up tangled in the bedsheets, covered in sweat. I pulsed with need as I shook off the last vestiges of the dream I’d been having.
Torch.
Oh God. Torch. I wondered how close reality would come to that dream if I ever let him touch me.
I reached for my phone, but only accomplished knocking it off its charger. It landed face up, and a picture of my father’s smiling face stared up at me. It was an old one, taken on a vacation to the Bahamas when I was thirteen years old.
I pulled my tee-shirt down over my ass, scrambled out of bed, and picked up my phone one ring before it went to voicemail.
“Hi, Daddy,” I said. I clicked on the speakerphone as I checked the time: 8:27. I had to be at Uncle George’s office by nine.
“You don’t answer your phone when I call?” he asked.
“I mean ... I just did.”
“I called you twice last night.”
I checked. Two missed calls coming in at 1:00 a.m., then 2:30 a.m. So he wasn’t sleeping again. The rest of us were expected to adapt.
“Did you tell her?” I heard screaming in the background. Lord. My mother was with him. That couldn’t be good. Gavin and Paulette Bailey did far better on different coasts. She was supposed to be at the big house in Monterey Bay.
“What’s going on?” I asked and instantly regretted it.
“Sydney,” my father said. I could pretty much guess at the expression on his face. Stern disappointment. And about a minute from now, he’d take on that hunched shoulder posture that made it look like he was carrying the weight of the world on his back. Well, not the whole world. Just that special brand of oppression only Paulette Bailey could bring him.
“Let me talk to her!” my mother yelled.
“Paulette,” he said. “I’m talking to our daughter. It’s what you wanted.”
I was already feeling a headache coming on. “Daddy,” I said. “I’m going to be late for work.”
He laughed. “Work? You mean with my loser brother? What’s he paying you? Minimum wage?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m learning a lot.”
“You’re learning how to sin,” my mother yelled. There was so much vitriol in her tone.
“I’ve booked you a flight,” my father said. “Tomorrow morning. Can you find a way to get to Detroit?”
“You hear that?” my mother yelled. “You’re flying commercial.”
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Are you sick? Is there an emergency?”
“The emergency is,” my mother said. She’d obviously grabbed the phone from my dad. “Your little temper tantrum is over as of now.”
“This isn’t a tantrum,” I said. “I’m taking control of my own life.”
“You are a selfish, ungrateful girl, Sydney,” she said. “After everything I’ve done for you.”
“Mama,” I cut her off. “You’re mad at me because I left school. That was my choice.”
“Do you have any idea how embarrassing this had been for your father and me? The Stevensons called in big favors to get your internship at the governor’s office. You would have been able to write your own ticket after that.”
“Mom,” I said. “I appreciate all of that. I really do. I’ve said that a million times. I just needed some time.”
“Time for what?”
I’d told her that a million times too. “Time to figure out what I want for my future. You and Daddy have just assumed everything for me. I’m twenty years old now. It’s time for me to make my own decisions.”
It went so much deeper than that, but my head was starting to really pound now. I had about a five-minute window of time to take one of my pills before this thing had me vomiting and curled in a fetal position for the better part of the day.
“Paulette,” my father said. “Let me finish my conversation with my own daughter.”
“Fine!” she said. “But not until I say what you haven’t had the nerve to say. Are you listening, Sydney?”
“I’m listening.”
“This is done. It’s been three weeks. That’s about twenty days longer than this should have gone on. You want clarity? Here it is. No more. No more allowances. No more credit cards. Nothing. You’re cut off. You won’t see another dime of our money until you knock off this nonsense and get back here where you belong.”
Strange. I suppose that threat should have scared me. Uncle George wasn’t actually paying me. He was letting me stay rent-free in an apartment building he owned just down the road from the office.
“Mom,” I said. “I can take care of myself.”
“We’ll see about that,” she said.
There were sounds of a shuffle. Then my father sighed. “Sydney?”
“I’m here.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I really am.” Though a wave of panic started to set in. Would my mother do worse than cut me off from my funds? Could she even do that at all? The bulk of the Bailey money came from a trust my great-grandfather set up before I was even born. He’d started a church at the turn of the last century and turned it into an evangelical empire. He’d been one of the few whose fortunes sustained through the market crash and the Great Depression.
Now, my father had built on that fortune as the head of the family megachurch and a charitable foundation. I was expected to take over the foundation one day. But only after I’d gotten the right pedigree at Yale or Vassar or another suitable Ivy League university. Then I was supposed to marry well and make a good political wife or something akin to it. Which was all well and good, but no one in my family ever seemed happy.
Except for Uncle George. The one that got away.
I don’t even remember most of the rest of the conversation with my father. It was really more of listening to my mother yell at him in the background. They were married on paper, but little else. If his congregation ever found out, it could ruin him. I couldn’t remember a time when my parents weren’t in some sort of argument or another. Usually it was about me.
I found a way to say goodbye. As I put my phone back on the charger, it occurred to me I was on my father’s plan with that as well. If he made good on his threat to cut me completely off, it meant he wouldn’t be able to get a hold of me so easily. That made me smile.
I got to the bathroom and took my migraine pills and prayed it was soon enough. I followed that with a full glass of water and a vigorous tooth brushing. A lukewarm shower, and I felt worlds better. I threw on a pair of black pants a
nd a pink blouse. I only had enough time to twist my hair into a top knot before I headed out the door.
I felt the faint fog of the migraine pills kick in. I could concentrate on them, but they always left me feeling like the voices around me were far away.
I drove a rented Honda. That was another thing I’d have to deal with. I knew my mother wanted me to be scared of jumping off this particular cliff. But as each minute passed, I felt kind of excited.
There was only one problem. Uncle George wasn’t paying me other than free rent. That had been a lifesaver, but I needed money if I wanted to build a way out for myself.
I found him sitting in his office, mulling over deposition transcripts. He looked up and smiled, then dropped it when he saw the expression on my face.
“What’s wrong?”
I gestured to a chair in front of his desk. He nodded. I sat down.
I gave him the highlights of my conversation with my parents, leaving out the part about how they screamed at each other.
“Can he do it?” I asked. “My allowance, I mean.”
“Cut you off?” George asked. “I mean ... yes. Technically. He’ll need a consensus from the cousins who sit on the board. They all act as co-trustees. But they won’t want to get in the middle of a family squabble like this.”
I nodded. “Plus, they all probably agree with my dad that I’m out of my mind for coming to Lincolnshire.”
Uncle George smiled. “Yeah, they haven’t quite gotten over my doing it.”’
“But you survived. You don’t draw from the trust anymore. I mean, I’m sorry if I’m getting too far into your business.”
He put up a hand. “No. It’s okay. And the answer is no. I disclaimed any interest in that trust long ago. My grandfather put too many morality conditions on it. Best decision I ever made. It was a long time ago, though. You sure that’s the road you want to take?”
I felt liberated a little while ago. Now my uncle’s question lingered in the air, I felt anxiety pressing down on my chest.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I need ... Uncle George, I’m going to need to earn an income. I know when I came out here I agreed to work for you for free if you gave me a place to stay.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “We had a deal, Sydney. I said I don’t regret getting out from under the Bailey family bullshit. I didn’t say I was willing to stir more up by pissing off my brother.”
I folded my hands in my lap.
A twinkle came into my uncle’s eye. Dammit, he was teasing me.
“You’re smart, Sydney,” he said. “And so far, you’ve done everything I asked of you, and well. I told you the other day I wanted you to start learning about the GWMC’s businesses. I mean it. I need help there. Whether you decide the law is for you down the road is up to you. But I can’t keep all of this in my brain alone forever.”
“I can do it,” I said. “Whatever you need. Just give me a chance.”
“The Den,” he said. “The best way to get to know the members of that club and their business is to work in the trenches. As it happens, I was going to talk to you about this anyway. You ever waitressed, Sydney?”
My mouth fell open. “No.” I sat up straighter. “But I’m not opposed to it. I want to learn.”
“Good,” he said. “I’ve always said everyone on the planet should spend some time working in either food service or retail at least once in their lives. Colt, the club president, is willing to try you out. Just know that it’s not entirely up to him. You’ll have to prove yourself. He’s got a head waitress who will train you. If you can’t keep up, they’ll bounce you.”
“I’ll keep up,” I said.
“Who knows,” he said. “You might even like it. Those girls make a mint.”
The club. The Wolf Den. Had I just agreed to work there? Would I be around Torch and the others every night?
“Here’s what we’ll do,” my uncle said. “Colt said he could use you two or three nights a week. You’ll be busy. Because I still need you here during the day. You think you can handle that?”
“I do,” I said.
“Good. Head over to the Den tomorrow at three o’clock. Ask for Shannon. She’ll get you set up.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Don’t thank me yet. That job isn’t easy. And it’s hard to get. Everyone in the tri-state area knows about the Wolf Den. Don’t be surprised if you being there pisses a few girls off who think they were more deserving of a shot.”
“I understand.”
“Good. So you’ll get to know the clientele. You’ll learn what works. What doesn’t. And you’ll get to know the members of that club. That’s important. They need to trust you. You’re no good to me down the road if they don’t.”
I started to rise. “I can do this.”
“I know you can,” he said. “Even if your mother doesn’t.”
It was the closest Uncle George had ever come to badmouthing his brother’s wife. I respected him for that, even if my mom had given him plenty of cause over the years. She’d certainly done her share of trying to tear Uncle George down in my and my father’s eyes.
Uncle George had swiveled his chair and was already back to his depositions. My heart swelled in my chest. I just prayed I could live up to Uncle George’s high opinion of me ... and that I could earn the same from the men of the Great Wolves M.C.
Chapter Six
Torch
Mondays, we kept the Den closed to the public. It gave us a chance to restock and let the cleaning crew a chance to do their thing. We also held club meetings at noon. Today’s was nothing but good news. Receipts were up at the bar. We’d made a small fortune hosting a pay-per-view party for an MMA championship match last weekend. The best news of all came from Colt. He couldn’t contain his smile across the table.
“We’ve already sold out of the Great Wolves’ brew in Cleveland, Toledo, and Detroit.”
Hoots and whistles went around the table. Joker sat beside me and gave me a bone-crushing slap to the back.
I wanted to be happy. I was. I guess I hadn’t realized how much I’d been holding my breath waiting to see how the craft beer launch would go.
“That’s great,” I said. “I mean ... wow.”
“There’s more,” Kellan said. “Chaney’s up in Traverse City wants an exclusive deal for northern Michigan and the U.P.”
Dutch Chaney had been one of our champion MMA fighters. He retired two years ago after a knee injury. He’d taken his winnings and opened a sports bar in Traverse City in a prime, downtown location. He was making money hand over fist.
“That’s really good news,” I said. “Damn good.”
The meeting devolved into good-natured ballbusting. Only Brax kept a frown. It took a minute, but Colt noticed it.
“You got something you want to bring to the table?” he asked.
Brax leaned forward, folding his hands in front of him. “No,” he said. “Nothin’ concrete. I’m just waiting for some other shoe to drop. Tim Davis is still the damn police chief and I was wondering when we were going to do something about it.”
The table fell silent. Tim Davis had been a beat cop in Lincolnshire years ago. He’d planted and sold phony evidence against the club to the Lincolnshire P.D. on the dime of our biggest club rival, the Devil’s Hawks M.C. Brax’s wife, Nicole, had almost gotten hurt because of it.
“I’m aware of that,” Colt said. “For now, Davis seems to understand he’s better off with the Wolves operating as we are. The Hawks have enough trouble of their own.”
“I don’t like it,” Brax said.
“I know,” Colt answered. “But he was sworn in over a year ago. Yeah. Maybe he’s playing a long game. But we’ve got nothing to hide. Everyone knows how to stay sharp. So keep doing it. And let’s enjoy what we have for once, okay?”
Colt adjourned the meeting. Brax wasn’t satisfied. It was written all over his face. Kellan and Colt hung back. The club’s senior leadership had so
me shit to iron out. The rest of us were dismissed.
I walked into the bar, and my heart stopped. She was perched on a stool at one of the high-top tables. She wore that flaming red hair slicked back into a bun. Tight skirt. High heels.
“Damn,” E.J. said beside me. “That is one fine, refined piece of ass.”
Anger flared deep. I clenched my fists. E.J. was shrewd enough to catch it.
“Sorry, man,” he said. “You planning on laying claim to that?”
“Easy,” Joker said.
“What’s she doing here?” I asked. Shannon, our head waitress, sat opposite her going over some paperwork. She had her own head of red hair, but it looked somehow duller next to the sunlight that was Sydney Bailey.
“Job interview, I guess,” Joker said. “Colt said we might be seeing her around more.”
Shannon looked up. She held up a finger to Sydney, gesturing for her to wait. Sydney turned her head, watching Shannon as she hopped off her stool and headed toward us.
Sydney saw me, and I swear that was a blush I saw creeping into her cheeks.
“Hey, guys,” Shannon said. “You know how much longer Colt or Kellan will be? Colt said he wanted one of them to finish up with the new girl.”
Shannon rolled her eyes. No doubt, if it were up to her, she wouldn’t have even let Sydney in the door.
It wasn’t up to her though.
“They’ll be a while,” E.J. said. “I’ll talk to her.”
“No,” I blurted out. “I’ll take care of it.”
A look passed between Shannon and E.J. Beside them, Joker smirked. I had the urge to punch the smile right off his face.
“You do that, brother,” Joker said, patting me on the back.
“Fine by me,” Shannon said. “It wouldn’t disappoint me if you could scare some sense into her. She seems like a nice enough girl. Smart. But I’m sorry. I think she’ll get eaten alive here and I don’t have time to babysit a deer in headlights.”
It ended up being Joker who rose to anger.
“Shannon,” he said. “Colt told you to give her a chance. You got a problem with that?”