Chapter One
Hadley
I hate my job.
It isn’t something I say to get people to pity me. I genuinely hate working at Mary’s Rib Shack. I hate the mauve one-piece uniform, made of an awful, itchy fabric. I hate that the owner likes us to show off our assets, which means our uniforms are short around the legs and low around the neck. I don’t particularly enjoy showing off my barely-there B cups, especially not to our clientele. I hate that Mary’s is in downtown Gypsy Falls and the people who show up here are sketchy at best, but most are completely creepy. But Mary pays in cash and I need to stay off the grid.
This isn’t something I’ve done out of choice but more out of necessity. Growing up around an outlaw motorcycle club, which I then managed to piss off—through no fault of my own, might I add—means running and hiding to stay alive. If King were to ever get his hands on me, I wouldn’t survive. Knowing that death chases me daily and could catch up with me at any moment ensures I always keep my head down.
The area where the diner is located is far from ideal, with drug dealers on every second corner and a nonexistent police response rate. From the linoleum flooring that’s cracked and peeling in places, to the faded leather booth seats, and the god-awful music, there isn’t a single thing about Mary’s Rib Shack that I don’t hate.
I work the evening shift until closing time, from four in the afternoon until around midnight. I want to be able to work my way out of this hellhole and provide a better life for myself. I have aspirations and being a waitress isn’t one of them.
One day, I want to be able to open my own tattoo parlor. For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved drawing and through the years, I’ve honed my craft. Add to that the fact I did an apprenticeship at a tattoo parlor, learning from one of the best, and you have my dream. The only thing I want to do for the rest of my life.
“Hey, can we get some more coffee over here?” the man with the biker’s cut sitting in my section all but yells at me.
Earlier, I saw them enter and a chill ran right down my spine. My first instinct was to run, to get the hell out of here as quickly as my legs could carry me. After catching a glimpse of their patches and not recognizing their club, I was able to calm myself.
My hands shake, and my legs feel weak as I make my way to their table. Bikers terrify me. Not some bikers, but all bikers.
The three other guys with him seem rather normal-looking although anyone with eyes can tell that’s not the case. One blond and two with dark-brown hair, all of them with protruding beer bellies. The fourth man, the one who just spoke and whom I’m assuming is the leader of this merry band of misfits, gives me the straight-up chills.
He’s large, burly, and bald, with a snake tattoo running down his arm to his wrist. It’s garish and badly done with absolutely no detail. The man looks me over with eyes the color of mud as I refill the cups. There’s no depth to his eyes, just a flat deadness, and I try to avoid eye contact at all costs. I refill all four cups and start to move away when a large hand clamps around my wrist and pulls me back. Again, I feel this crawling sensation running over my skin. It takes everything I have within me not to pull away from his grip.
“Why don’t you sit down with us for a minute, darling?” the leader drawls at me.
“I can’t. I’m on shift and have to get back to my customers,” I reply while trying to pull my arm from his grip.
My breathing becomes shallow and a shiver works its way through my body. The need to get his hands off me is almost overwhelming.
“Well, now, Mary won’t mind, and the other waitress can see to your customers while you have a seat with us.”
He uses a tone that’s supposed to be reassuring but simply serves to creep me out even more. He yanks on my arm and I lose my balance, toppling forward and pouring half the remaining coffee down the front of his pants.
“You stupid fucking whore,” he bellows.
Before I can react, he backhands me across the face, causing me to fall. My head connects with the counter and then the floor with a resounding thud. Lying on the floor, all I can think is this is it, my last day at Mary’s. I would rather live on the fucking street than work here one more day. Regaining my senses and opening my eyes, I find complete chaos around me. All the guys from the table are on their feet. The two dark-haired men are holding back the guy who just slapped me. He’s doing his best to pull away from their grip and has his eyes trained on the front door to the diner.
Storm, my best friend, stands in the doorway. She’s a petite Asian woman with long black hair streaked with purple, full sleeve tattoos—courtesy of myself, a small waist, and an awesome set of all-natural C-cup breasts. Storm knows how to defend herself from the time she spent living on the street. She may be a stripper, but she will never let a man get the upper hand again. Apparently, she learned a painful lesson and quickly found someone to teach her how to defend herself.
In three-inch stilettos with her gun pointed straight at him, she stands her ground in front of this monster of a man.
“Viper, why don’t you take your little cronies and leave?” She’s deadly calm in the face of this man and for a moment, I envy her confidence. I haven’t moved from my spot on the floor and simply watch their exchange like the coward I have become.
“You know good and well that your kind isn’t welcome around here. Or do I need to make a call?” She appears calm while taking her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans.
Viper tries to charge at her again but the blond man steps between them.
“Time to go,” he says, and the other two men start pulling Viper toward the door on the other side of the diner.
“I’m gonna get you. You and your little waitress friend. You’re gonna pay. You hear me, Storm? You and that little cock tease!” he bellows as he’s dragged out. “That pussy club ain’t gonna save you.”
As soon as they are on the motorcycles and roaring into the distance, Storm puts her gun back in her purse and rushes over to me. “Oh, sweetie. Are you okay?” she inquires while pushing my hair from my face to inspect the damage.
“Hurts like a bitch but I’ll live. Gonna be blue tomorrow and I’ll probably have an egg on my head later, but I’ll be fine,” I assure her as I push up from the floor. “Thanks for the help.”
Storm looks at me with sympathy in her eyes, something I despise more than I can ever explain. I hate being seen for the weak, broken, scared little girl I become once I am faced with something that triggers my past. My past affects me more than I would like to admit, even to myself. So many things can trigger me and have me turning back in on myself. For years, I have secluded myself from people except for a select few. My friendship with Storm often pushes my boundaries and I feel like she is helping me rejoin the world again, one little push at a time.
As she opens her mouth to respond, Mary comes shrieking around the corner.
“You stupid bitches. Do you know what you’ve done?”
Her face is blood red from the lack of oxygen during her rant and her over-styled, bleach-blonde hair flies all over the place.
“Those assholes are gonna burn my place to the fucking ground because of the two of you!”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Storm turns a glare on her. “One of your staff members was just attacked, and all you can worry about is your business? What kind of person are you?”