Home > Biker Schmiker (Turf Wars #1)(5)

Biker Schmiker (Turf Wars #1)(5)
Author: Bella Jewel

“Are you going to order or just stand here tormenting me all day?”

He grins. “I’ll take the cake.”

“Cake?”

“Yeah, the cake.”

“You want cake?”

“That’s what I fuckin’ said, ain’t it?”

“Young man, watch your mouth,” Doris scoffs.

“Sorry, Doris,” Cash says, giving her a wave. “Can’t help myself, Sparkler here really gets under my skin.”

“Sparkler.” Doris nods, as if in agreeance. “I can see it.”

“Doris!” I say again, eyes wide. “Stop siding with him.”

“Sorry, dear.”

“Me and my boys will take cake and coffee,” Cash goes on. “We’ll be waiting.”

I watch them all walk over and sit at a table. I stare in horror for what seems like a few minutes too long because the customer behind them has been trying to get my attention for a few minutes and I’ve been completely distracted.

“Hello! Eve!”

I look back to her, shaking my head. “So sorry, honey. What can I get you?”

I take her order, then prepare the cake and coffee for the table of bikers that has everyone in my café staring. They’re certainly not the usual crowd we have around here, and one thing is for certain, they’re making an impression. I turn to Ramona when their tray is ready. “Take this over to them.”

“No way,” she says, eyes wide. “I’m not going over there.”

“Neither am I, take it, Ram.”

“No way. Nope. You go.”

“Jesus,” I hiss and turn to my youngest employee, Terrah. She’s busy walking food out. “You take it,” I say to her.

She grins at me. “Sorry, boss, no way.”

“Dammit,” I snap, turning and walking out with the tray. “Nobody listens to me around here.”

I walk the tray over to the table and stand there, waiting for one of them to move aside so I can put it down.

“Are you all going to pretend I’m not here, or do you want this cake?”

Cash turns, his back was to me. His eyes move up to mine, slowly, and he grins, leaning to the left so I can place the tray down.

“Sparkler, let me introduce you to my brothers.”

“Brothers?” I say. “Your mom was busy.”

“Not that kind of brother, club brother.”

Right.

Well, fine, I can take it.

“This is my Vice President, Beckett, or Captain as we like to call him.”

Captain. Lame. So lame.

Okay, it’s kind of sexy, but whatever.

Beckett is hot. He is the Thor guy we saw from the window. With the long blond hair, the beard, the big body, and up close I see his eyes are a deep brown. He’s spectacular, no doubt about it.

“Nice to meet you, Beckett.”

I’m not calling him Captain. We’re not friends.

He grins at me and throws me a wink.

Jesus.

“This is my Sergeant in Arms, Remy. We call him Remy.”

Ha-fucking-ha.

Remy is something else entirely. He’s Native American, with short, thick, dark hair, almost black eyes, skin so smooth and brown it makes me jealous, and a body that women would die for. Tall, muscular, and lean. He’s gorgeous.

Remy nods.

Not a talker I see, fair enough.

“This is my secretary, Adan, also known as Papi, much to his horror. We’ll tell you why one day.”

Adan is the one closest to him on his left, and he’s also incredibly attractive. He’s got the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen and is lighter in color to the others in the group. He has perfect skin, though, even if it is covered in tattoos. His messy, mid-length hair is black as the night and that only makes his eyes stand out in the most incredible way.

He winks at me.

I think I could guess why his nickname is Papi.

“This is my Road Captain, Hank.”

Hank is the most withdrawn out of all of them. His stare is hard, his demeanor is hard, and he’s everything you’d be afraid of if you came across him on a street. He looks to me and gives me a sharp nod. Although he’s dark, he’s scarily beautiful. Dark-brown hair that curls at the base of his neck, a hell of a beard, steel-grey eyes and a body that is almost bigger than all of them. He’s a brick.

“And this is our prospect, Hugh,” Cash goes on.

Hugh is the youngest of the group, but he is still easily in his thirties. He has dark-blond hair, short and messy, and stark, hazel eyes. He’s the only clean shaven one, but I can see why. The man has a jaw like a Ken doll. He’s leaner in build, but still incredibly muscled and attractive.

They’re all gorgeous.

It’s rude.

“Well, I’m glad we’re all friends now,” I say, sarcastically. “I’m Evelina, you can call me Eve and definitely not Sparkler. I own this place.”

“No doubt we’ll be gettin’ to know the place better,” Cash says, his voice all low and husky again.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” I point out. “I’m sure there are more where you all came from, and I’d appreciate if you all behave because this place is everything to me and my customers are the most important thing.”

“You don’t have to worry, sweet cheeks.” Cash grins. “We’ll be on our best behavior.”

“That’s great to hear, Cash Riggs. I’ll be seeing you.”

He scowls at me, and I flash them a grin and spin on my heel, disappearing.

This should be fun.

 

 

THE POUNDING OF LOUD music wakes me from my sleep.

It’s two in the morning and the sounds coming from the garage next door are enough to make anybody crazy.

I am lucky enough to live right behind my café, which is the reason I jumped at the chance to buy it when I saw it come up for sale. It used to be an old antiques shop and when the lady passed, it went up for sale. I’ve lived in this little apartment for about five years, so I’m familiar with the area, and I love it here.

What I don’t love is the noise those god damned bikers are making next door.

I have to open up at six tomorrow and it took me forever to get to sleep because they were doing burnouts in the garage. Now, they’re partying like they’re teenagers and have nothing better to do. Don’t they sleep?

I shove my pillow over my head, trying to drown out the noise, but it’s no use.

They are right in the swing of things, and I don’t see them stopping anytime soon.

I get out of bed, anger bubbling in my chest, and pull my robe on.

I’ll put a stop to this. They’re going to wish they didn’t mess with me.

I storm out of my front door, around the corner slightly, and right into the front of the garage that is swimming with people. When I say swimming, I mean swimming. There are people everywhere, like an ocean of wiggling bodies. I shove through them, getting more than one interested look. After all, I am wearing my robe and no doubt my hair is a mess and my face is without a drop of makeup.

I don’t care.

I shove past the crowd and find the entrance to the house that is now the clubhouse, or so I was so politely informed. Inside, it’s thick with marijuana smoke, the scent of alcohol, and there are more than a few people making out on sofas, the bar and oh, yes, the pool table. Scrunching my nose up, I push my way through until I reach the bar where I demand to the old man behind it, “Where the hell is Riggs?”

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