Harm's Way: Riot MC Biloxi by Karen Renee (best e book reader .TXT) 📕

as the after-work crowd added to the tourists, which helped the rest of the day fly by. There were four empty seats at my table and I heard four names called to report my table. One by one, four men sat down with their chips. They were all in their twenties, but one of them gave me a charming grin and I simply nodded in return.

I welcomed them and ran their Player cards.

As I dealt the next hand, the grinning man spoke. “So, uh, you’re not the first lady dealer, but you are the first one I’ve seen wearing anything like that around her neck.”

I gave him a nod. “It’s a fashion statement.”

One of the regulars raised after the flop and the action slowed. As I watched a player deliberate, I felt pressure against my neck and suddenly the scarf was gone. My head whipped to the side and I watched Har saunter around the table while tucking the scarf into the back pocket of his jeans.

I closed my eyes and shook my head.

The grinner asked, “Do you want me to get that back for you?”

I smiled demurely. “No. I assure you, that’s exactly what he’s after, seeing as he made the scarf necessary in the first place.”

The other mens’ eyes went straight to my neck, but this guy wasn’t quick on the uptake.

“How’s a scarf necessary?”

His buddy nudged him. “Look at her neck, L.J.”

After his eyes locked on my neck for a moment, he looked at me with disgust. “You let a biker do that?”

I looked up to see Har standing behind the man. “Men like you are the reason why I did it.”

Hard to say what surprised me more, the fact he didn’t insult L.J. or the fact Har was being relatively chill about the guy’s judgment of bikers.

L.J. looked up at Har and spluttered. “Sorry, uh, I, uh, didn’t mean...”

Har smiled. “Now don’t lie, L.J. You absolutely meant what you said and you meant it to be insulting. But I don’t give a shit. You know she’s claimed and you can stop flirting with her.”

I bit my tongue to keep from intervening. Him telling another man not to flirt with me wasn’t cool. I understood where he was coming from, but he needed to trust me.

L.J. continued to stare at Har.

Rather than let the tension build, I spoke to Har. “Sir, please step away from the table. If you need a table assignment, the floor director will be happy to assist you.”

He looked at me and chuckled. “All right, babe.”

I thought he’d turn around, but a devious light hit his eyes. “But so you know... this?” He whipped the scarf out of his pocket, “Doesn’t belong around your pretty neck. I’ll show you how to use it when you get home.”

I felt my cheeks heat from embarrassment but my traitorous nipples hardened.

Thank God for padded bras.

Har

HE LET HER HAVE HER play, but she needed to learn that he did not like other men flirting with his woman.

His woman?

Maybe he needed his head examined. Yes, he claimed her in most of the physical ways he possibly could, and told her she was his and he’d be exclusive. Yet, the force with which he felt that she was ‘his woman’ was new territory.

Climbing the stairs of the parking garage, Brute asked, “Whatcha gonna do with that scarf, man?”

“You heard what I said. Gonna show her how to use it when she gets home tonight.”

Brute groaned and raised a hand. “Ugh. Sorry I asked. Know I said we aren’t really family after so much time, but seriously, man. I don’t want to think about that shit.”

Har laughed. “Then why the hell did you ask?”

When they reached their bikes in the parking garage, Block and Cynic were just dismounting.

“Glad we don’t have to go huntin’ for you two,” Block said.

Cynic took off his helmet and shook out his long brown hair. “Massive and Wreck had another hitch with this week’s distribution.”

Brute muttered a curse, but Har focused on Cynic. “Again? Was Massive high? We gonna find out it wasn’t an undercover cop after the fact again?”

Cynic shook his head. “They’re both busted up pretty fuckin’ bad, man.”

“Shit,” Har hissed.

“Said it was the Miscreants. Cut them off near the clubhouse. Seven against the two of them. Kicked their asses and took the product.”

“That’s fucked up,” Brute muttered.

Har agreed, but something about the whole thing was off. “They were able to get back on their bikes—”

“No,” Block said, his e-cigarette at his mouth. “Layla drove up on ’em after they were jumped.”

“Yeah,” Cynic added. “Then Mensa and Gamble went after their bikes on foot.”

“One of y’all call Doc Silvie out?” Brute asked.

Block and Cynic shared a look.

“They didn’t want that,” Cynic said.

To his surprise, Brute asked, “You trust that shit?”

Cynic slowly shrugged. “If they didn’t get jumped, then I have to wonder where the product went. And if you don’t trust what they say, do you think they’d beat each other for some reason?”

Block blew out a plume of cinnamon scented smoke and nodded. “Yeah, and why would Layla come up on them like she did?”

She could be in on it with them.

None of this sat well with him. He couldn’t talk to his brothers freely. This type of thing needed to be aired out with everyone present.

“All right. Let’s hit the clubhouse. See how they’re doing—”

Block shook his head. “Layla took ’em both home.”

His lips twisted to the side.

“Yeah,” Cynic said. “That’s the biggest reason I don’t trust them.”

Har looked to Brute. “You got plans tonight?”

He grinned. “Not now.”

“What about you two?”

“Got no ball ‘n chain. I’m down for whatever you got in mind, Prez.”

Block shook his head. “I’m in, but I got a bad feeling.”

Har grinned. “You can sit this out if you want, Block.”

Block tucked his e-cig away and grabbed his helmet. “No. Don’t put words in my mouth. Where are we goin’?”

“The source. The Miscreants have our product; I want to know why, and I’m gonna