Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry. I know I’m probably not decent. I was just going to change clothes.”
He sighed. “Girl, stop. Take a breath.” I know I stared wide-eyed at the older man, but I couldn’t help it. The only men I’d had contact with the last ten years had been prison guards. And they never had my best interest at heart. This guy was more intimidating than anyone I’d ever met. I did as he instructed but only because I knew from experience, he’d keep me there until he got what he wanted. So I did what I was told. Just like I’d learned in prison.
“Now, tell me why you look like a drowned rat.”
“Because it’s raining?”
“Yeah. I can see that. Pourin’. Why the hell were you out in it?”
I blinked. “Uh, I had to get to work, Pops.”
He stared at me for several moments, his gaze piercing me uncomfortably. It was like the man was trying to look into my soul and find the answers to all his questions. So far, he hadn’t asked me about my time in prison or my version of the events leading up to it, but I figured it was just a matter of time. If he gave me this particular look, there was no way I’d be able to not tell him. If he asked. I wasn’t volunteering anything.
“Did you walk to work, Cotton?”
“Yes, sir.” I looked down at my feet, fidgeting uncomfortably.
“Why didn’t you call the compound like I told you to?”
“What?” I chanced a glance up at him.
“I told you if you needed anything you were to call the compound or me and we’d make sure you were taken care of.” He sounded -- and looked -- angry as fuck, but he didn’t raise his voice.
“Well, I didn’t see a need to bother anyone. I’m perfectly capable of getting to work on my own.”
“You could have called a taxi. Or, better yet, called me. I’d have sent one of the boys after you.”
“What does it matter, Pops? I’m here. I’d have already changed if you hadn’t stopped me. I’m not late. The bar doesn’t open for another hour.” I didn’t mean it to sound belligerent, though the second I uttered the words, I knew I probably did. I was genuinely confused. Why would he want to help me?
“It fuckin’ matters because it’s fuckin’ pouring the fuckin’ rain, Cotton! You’ll catch your death out in this shit! Besides, if you’re still living in that fleabag motel, it’s too far for you to be walking. You could get hurt.”
“I’m fine. Really. It’s not cold outside or anything. Now, I need to change. Then I’ll clean up my mess.”
With a scowl, Pops muttered something about “damned stubborn girl” as he turned and stalked away from me. I ducked my head and hurried into the bathroom where I put on my (mostly) dry clothes and went back out to mop up my mess. Pops was just finishing up with the mop. He glared at me before shaking his head and turning his back on me.
“You need a keeper, girl,” he said over his shoulder.
“I’ve been kept too long. I just want to make a new life for myself and be left alone. I didn’t mean to be a problem, Pops. I won’t be again.”
Pops scowled and grunted before walking away from me. I went to the front of the bar to get ready for opening. Pulling chairs from the tables, I moved around the room before giving each table one more wipe down. By the time I’d finished, members of Bones MC started arriving. They always arrived about an hour before the bar opened. It was why I started coming in early. To get the bar ready for the club.
The Boneyard was owned by the club. As bars went, I suppose it was decent enough. A little rough, but the guys in the club usually kept a handle on things. I did my best to not interact unless I had to. As a result, I think most of the guys thought it would take too much effort to get me to loosen up. And really, I wasn’t much of a catch. They probably all knew my past and had no interest in getting involved. Which was fine by me. I just wanted to save enough money to get an apartment not in a motel. And maybe have a cat.
Once the boys started filing in, I lost myself in work. Trying to keep drinks straight. Keeping the tables clean. Dodging hands of patrons. I hated being touched. That came from prison. The only time people touched was to hurt.
“Get a move on, girl!” A large man with a thick, chest-length beard and a bald head snapped at me when I didn’t immediately bring his beer. He was here at least three times a week. Always, he harassed me. He wasn’t overt about it, and he always stayed away from the bar and Pops and as many of the Bones men as he could.