Evelyn's dream of securing a scholarship to America's top ballet school shattered when her mother was brutally murdered during her teenage years. Determined to make a difference, she became a detective, ready to take on the world. Assigned to invest...
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Jeremiah stood behind the bar, polishing glasses and straightening bottles, though his mind was far from still. Thoughts buzzed in his head like an angry hive. He needed to restock the vodka, definitely. And the rum... only a few bottles left. Not nearly enough for what the night might bring. He scribbled the list on a scrap of paper, tucking it into his back pocket before moving on to inspect the beer taps. He muttered quietly to himself, letting all his focus sink into the familiar comfort of inventory. Even if it irritated him his men and woman under him didn't write things up when it ran out.
It was easier to think about alcohol than about the rumour he'd heard earlier, that the hot detective had been by. The same one who'd already managed to get under Jax's skin. Apparently, the prez hadn't taken it well. He'd locked himself away with his second and third-in-command for hours. Jeremiah knew that meant trouble. There'd be a meeting soon, no doubt, and if he knew Jax, the man would try to drink his temper away later. The door creaked open and Maddox strode in, the cool evening air clinging to him. Without a word, he dropped into one of the high black chairs at the bar. His gaze followed Jeremiah's movements, silent but steady. It was a familiar feeling, Maddox had always been a man of few words, but the kind of friend whose quiet presence carried more weight than most people's chatter. They'd been like this for years: comfortable in silence.
"Did you see the detective?" Jeremiah asked, eyes still scanning the neat line of beer bottles. Maddox leaned forward on the counter to peer over the bar. A low growl rumbled from his chest in answer. Jeremiah looked up from his task.
"Is it true she's going to live here for a while?" Instead of answering straight away, Maddox's hand inched towards a bottle on the shelf. Jeremiah's eyes narrowed. He flicked the man's knuckles with the end of a bar towel.
"Leave my alcohol alone, Maddox." The biker fixed him with a stare that could have belonged to someone who'd just been insulted. Jeremiah knew that look. Without another word, he reached for the bottle himself, plucked two shot glasses from under the counter, and poured.
"She said that," Maddox replied finally, his expression softening just enough to betray the flicker of a smile. Jeremiah slid one glass across to him, and in seconds they'd both knocked the liquor back, the heat burning a swift path down their throats. Jeremiah returned the bottle to its place and picked up a cloth, resuming his cleaning.
"I heard she bolted like her feet were on fire," Jeremiah chuckled, picturing the beautiful detective making a quick escape from Zeus. He wished he'd seen it himself, but he'd been at the hospital that afternoon, sitting by his mother's bedside for a couple of hours.
"Having a detective around could be... interesting," he said, polishing a glass until it gleamed.
"I don't know. Zeus says she's trouble," Maddox replied, watching every move Jeremiah made. He absently rolled his empty shot glass between his fingers like a chess piece, his mind clearly elsewhere.
