Page 2 of Haze's Jewel

I try not to notice how attractive he is in that rough, rugged way that bikers sometimes are. He has shoulder-length dark hair, hazel eyes and is well put together. His cut is immaculate and there wasn’t even dust on his black boots. His bare arms are covered in tattoos. More are crawling up his neck.

I glance away. “I just don’t know about working at a biker bar.”

“Well for starters, we’re not a biker bar. That would imply that our clubhouse is open to the public. It’s not. The Savage Legion clubhouse is a private establishment. Only our club brothers, our womenfolk, and preapproved visitors are allowed on the premises.”

My eyes dart towards the still open door leading to the bar. Someone was shouting for someone else to take it all off. “That’s not terribly reassuring, to be honest.”

The big biker throws back his head and laughs. “How old are you? You don’t sound like you’ve been out in the world much.”

I lift my head and snatch up every ounce of courage I can find. “I’m twenty-four and trust me, I’ve been around the block a time or two.”

If this man knew everything I’d been through, he wouldn’t think I was naive. Images rise in my mind of my stepbrother snatching away my whole life when I broke up with his best friend for cheating on me. Greg always was an ass, but more so since our father died. Our uncle was the executer of his will, and he seemed to be dragging out settling his estate. When my mom had her accident, I couldn’t keep up the mortgage payments on my own and we’d lost the house. My father had reluctantly taken me in—against my stepmother’s wishes—and also paid for my mom’s care, for that I’d been grateful. However, when he and my stepmother were killed, Greg had thrown me out of the house. Greg and my ex, Trevor, were hounding my every step back in Oak Ridge. I moved to Las Salinas to get away from the pair of them, but I couldn’t tell a stranger about all my personal problems, so I bit my tongue.

He shrugs noncommittally. “Maybe you would work out better as club whore then? Some of ours live on site and draw a stipend.”

My mouth falls open for a brief second. I don’t know why I’m shocked at his tawdry proposal.

He quickly makes an imperious slashing motion with one hand. “Of course we call them club girls, because that’s much nicer.”

It takes me a second to realize what prompted the abrupt change of direction this conversation took. “I didn’t mean that I’d been around the block sexually. I meant that life has thrown me curveballs and I’ve rolled with the punches.”

He shrugs his big shoulders. “So, you adapt to being here. No biggie, right? If you want, I can show you the ropes.”

Before I can turn down his generous offer, a bar fight breaks out. Someone throws a chair, and it smashes into the wall outside the door, sending pieces flying into the room. Haze begins running out to the bar, mumbling, “Fucking prospects. It’s not normally this damn rowdy on a Friday night.”

I stare at the splintered leg of a chair lying on the floor about three feet from me, and decide this job is just not for me. Nope. I can’t do this. It’s better to leave, than waste everyone’s time interviewing for a job I won’t take. I slip out of the room and edge around the brawl taking place in the bar and I’m out the door before anyone notices. I take a minute to text Mel, thanking her for considering me for the job but saying I don’t think it’s a good fit for either of us.

My anxiety doesn’t ease up until my vehicle is on the other side of the gate and I’m rambling down the single lane road, headed for the highway. I honestly think I dodged a bullet there, almost literally going by the commotion behind me as I walked out.

Chapter 1

Haze

This has not been a good week for me. The Grave Diggers MC have showed back up in our hometown and are slowly stirring the shit to epic proportions. The clubhouse is currently on lockdown and with our families, we’re packed in, elbow to elbow. Tempers are starting to flare, particularly between the wives and the club girls, who should by all rights be shutting the fuck up and deferring to the old ladies. It’s like the club girls are all craving a property cut because they think it’ll bring them status and respect, but they can’t even manage to respect the women currently wearing them. They can be exasperating sometimes. Thank God Mel is good about reining them in. She’s the head girl and outranked by all the old ladies, but she has a tendency to say and do things to get control that the old ladies are too nice to do. She’s been more short tempered with them than usual because she’s got a lot on her plate. Her and Tracker’s baby is only three months old, and what with running the bar in town and trying to sort out squabbling club girls, she’s at the end of her tether. Tracker’s doing his best, and when she’s here he hovers over his old lady like an overly protective lion guarding his pride.

For the last couple of weeks, Mel only ever looks at me with daggers in her eyes. She’s pissed because I let her new hire get away. I keep reminding her that the beautiful redhead was just here to interview, and I’m not allowed to hold women hostage, so when she legged it, I wasn’t gonna stop her.

Things just go from bad to worse, when one of the club girls I’ve fucked a bunch, lunges over the bar and tries to take a swipe at my brother’s wife, who was helping Mel out tonight. That pisses me the fuck off, Trix doesn’t deserve to be harassed by some club girl who doesn’t really understand the full implications of her own behavior.

I start making my way across the crowded room. When I’m about five feet away, Mel reaches out and shoves the woman away, causing her to stumble back and land on her ass. When she jumps to her feet and tries to hurl herself across the bar again, I step in front of her causing her to collide against my larger and virtually immovable body. She bounces back and glares up at me.

“Haze, what the fuck. I thought we were friends,” she says angrily. Her normally pretty face is twisted with rage.

“Sure, you can call it friends if you want, Brittany, but it doesn’t matter how friendly I am with a person, I’m not going to let them put the smack down on my brother’s old lady.”

Brittany points towards Trix with one hand, stabbing her finger at my brother’s wife emphatically. “It’s her fault. The dumb bitch—”

I don’t even let her get the sentence out. Instead, I grab her by the arm and start walking her towards the door. “It doesn’t matter what she said. She’s an old lady. You don’t get to shit talk her or put your hands on her.”

Once we’re on the front porch, she opens her mouth, no doubt to justify her behavior. I cut her off at the pass because this whole situation is just ludicrous.

“Look here, Brittany. I’ve gotten to know Trix pretty well since she married into our family. I can’t imagine her saying anything offensive enough to warrant that sort of behavior. You can’t keep lashing out at everyone when you get angry.”

She folds her arms across her chest and her brows furrow. “I don’t.”

Before she can continue, I let her arm go and take a step back. “Yes, you do, Brittany. You’ve gotten into it with almost every woman associated with our club at one time or another. You run around acting like you’re operating in a consequence free environment, and I draw the line at you putting your hands my brother’s old lady.”

“She doesn’t deserve him. You know it, I know and so does everybody else in the clubhouse.”

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