Maya, an innocent nurse, finds herself forced to accept protection from the Phantoms motorcycle gang, specifically the dangerous, irresistible biker, Jake Ford.
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Maya, a kind...
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"Why do you call him that? Ripper?" asked Maya.
"Because when Jake was a new recruit, he slashed the face of a rival MC's President. Ripped it to shreds with some kinda shank," Ghost replied, sounding like he was taking a joyful trip down memory lane. "And do you know why?"
"Why?" she breathed.
∞
"Finally legal, huh, Jakey boy?" Wooly chuckled loudly, wiping a beer spill on the bar countertop. "What can I get ya? The usual?"
"You're hilarious," I muttered, glancing over my shoulder at the sound of glass breaking, "but yeah."
He nodded, moving with shaky movements to grab me a cold beer. Wooly was probably pushing a hundred and had been serving me beer at The Wreck since I had one chin hair. I could only get a drink when he was working because the other fuckers were too scared of Reaper to serve me. But Wooly? He was old and faithful, like a well-kept Corvette. Loved the old bag of bones.
"Happy birthday, kid," he said, setting the bottle down in front of me.
"Thanks, Wool." I took a long, grateful gulp. "Reaper around?"
Wooly shook his head, looking regretful. "Weren't expecting you until tomorrow. Think he's still out on club business."
"Yeah. Of course."
It wasn't like I even wanted to spend time with my old man on my birthday, but still, would it have killed the asshole to stick around for his eldest son's twenty-first? Probably. What would he have made me done to mark such a milestone? Probably eat someone.
Ma, on the other hand, had baked me a cake and made me feel like I was a kid again. She'd slipped me a hundred and told me to go out and have fun with my friends. My queen. It wasn't her fault that everyone was busy, or just wasn't answering my calls.
I was two beers in when Janine, Wooly's granddaughter, took over from him. I liked her. She could hold her own when it came to the drunk assholes that frequently hit on her night in and night out. I couldn't blame them. Janine was somewhere in her late twenties and looked like a younger Salma Hayek. A younger, inked-up Salma.
"Hey, birthday boy," she said with a grin. "What the hell are you doing in this dump?"
"You know I can't stay away from you," I told her, taking a sip of my beer.
