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

fanned the cards out on the felt face down, and spread my hands over the table before I pushed up from my seat. “Have a good night gentlemen. I’m sure Tom will take good care of you.”

With my tip box in hand, I moseyed toward the back when to my surprise, Brute rounded the corner of a table and strode directly to me. “You go straight to the clubhouse when you’re done. Understood?”

My eyes widened and I stared up at him.

“All you gotta do is nod, Stephanie. You got it or no?”

I nodded. “Why wouldn’t Har just text me this?”

Brute’s eyes moved to the side for a moment. “He’s indisposed right now. You’ll know more when you get to the clubhouse. I got shit to do. Later.”

For such a large man, he could execute an about-face and hustle out of a room like someone half his size. Watching him, I realized his size was the very reason he could move through the people. Everyone gave him a wide berth, especially with the vibe rolling off him.

I wondered why Har was indisposed, but I trusted him and pushed it out of my mind.

After my tips were converted to cash, I grabbed my stuff from the breakroom and rode to the clubhouse.

On my way, I wondered how much Har had to do as President of the Riot MC. It hadn’t occurred to me to ask him about that stuff, and I felt like I had been self-centered by not asking. I made a mental note to show more of an interest in what he did.

Chapter 21 Like You Lookin' At Me Like That

Stephanie

THE GATE TO THE CLUBHOUSE was closed, but a man shoved it open as I rode up. By the time I parked my bike, the man had the gate closed again, which told me something bad was happening.

I took off my helmet, grabbed my bag and went in through the back door.

Sandy stood in the middle of the kitchen. Her eyes brightened upon seeing me, but her demeanor was very serious.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

She dipped her chin. “You’re gonna need to see to your man, is what’s going on.”

I shook my head and wandered back to his room. Har wasn’t there, so I changed from my uniform into a pair of yoga pants and a fitted red t-shirt. I grabbed my sketch book and a pencil before I went back out to the common room. Shooting pool wasn’t something I did often because I found it to be too slow. If Har really wanted to shoot a game against me, I would give it another go, but otherwise I’d be happy to sit on a couch and draw.

By the time I entered the common room, the only people there were Sandy and a prospect.

I perched on a barstool next to Sandy. “Where’s Har?”

A small smile curled one side of her lips. “They’re deciding what they’re gonna do with club business.”

I nodded.

From the other side of the bar, the prospect stood in front of me. “You want a drink?”

I looked into his dark eyes. “I’ll have a beer.”

“Bottle?”

“You have draft?”

His eyes widened while his head tilted, and Sandy laughed, which was all the answer I needed.

“Sure, I’ll take a draft. Thanks.”

Sandy smacked the bar. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, but I gotta make a run to the store so these men have food to eat.”

I looked at her askance. “Really? I thought the prospects did that?”

“Shut your mouth,” the man pulling my beer muttered.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

Sandy laughed. “No, honey. I do it so the right food gets purchased.”

“Why don’t you use a grocery delivery service or something?”

Her look said I had to be joking. “Honey, these bikers won’t go for that!”

I wanted to argue with her, but raised my hands in acquiescence. “If you say so. Do you need help?”

She chuckled. “Nope. Like I told you, you’re gonna need to see to Har, honey.”

As she hustled away, I shook my head since I still hadn’t seen him, which made me doubt he needed my assistance. I grabbed my beer, tucked my sketch book under my arm and planted myself in the corner of a couch. The first sip of ice cold beer could not be beat, so I gave myself that luxury before I got down to sketching a leopard stalking its prey.

It might have been September with highs in the low nineties, but somebody kept the thermostat of the clubhouse around the low seventies and I was shivering. A chenille throw sat on the back of the couch, so I tucked my feet under my tush and wrapped the blanket around me.

I heard doors opening and the commotion of multiple bodies moving into the area.

Then a deep voice boomed, “Fill that up for the Prez.”

I glanced up, but a weight on the couch forced my head to the side and Har’s arms wrapped around me. He nuzzled my neck for a moment before he kissed me, slow and sweet.

“Hey, Miss Priss,” he murmured against my lips.

“Hey,” I whispered, before I opened my eyes.

I pulled my head back and got a good look at him. His left eye was swollen and a deep bruise colored the side of his face.

“What happened?” I cried.

He grinned, but before he could answer Cynic walked over and held out a bag of ice toward Har.

He grabbed it, muttering, “Thanks, man.”

While he put the bag to the left side of his face, I traced the right side with my index finger. There were marks, but I couldn’t tell if they were scratches or some other type of scrape.

When I focused on his whole face, his green eyes were dancing while his lips tipped up.

My eyes narrowed. “Are you smiling at me?”

He dipped his head a touch. “Yep. Like you lookin’ at me like that, Combes.”

I threw my head to the side for a moment and back to him with wide eyes. “I’m so glad, Walcott, but it doesn’t mean I like