Page 12 of Filthy Hot

GNAW

Once the contract is signed,I make my way out of the broom closet-sized office and toward the bar. That’s when I see her again. She’s got her chin tipped down, her teeth sinking into the corner of her bottom lip as she holds the clipboard in one hand and looks down at something.

Stunning.

I walk up to the bar and stop in front of it and place my hand on the warm wooden top. Tapping my index finger a few times, I wait for her to lift her gaze to meet my own. She smiles, her gaze searching mine for a moment.

“Beer?” I ask.

She opens her mouth, but I’m not sure what she’s about to say because Sal’s voice booms through the empty bar.

“Get a round of beers, sweetheart,” Sal calls out.

Her eyes widen, and then she smiles—it consumes her whole face. She wanted to wait for permission from her boss, and I like that. A rule follower. Plus, she’s beyond stunning.

No, stunning isn’t even a word I could use to describe her. Now that I’ve seen her up close, I realize she’s not as young as I thought she was from afar. She’s not old, but she’s closer to my age than the twenty-something I thought she was.

I like that, too.

A hell of a lot.

A few moments later, there are three beers sitting on the bar, and she disappears the way a good waitress, bartender, or employee would do. Her boss is here. He’s in charge, and she is in the background to be available when needed.

Sal goes on and on about how happy he is and that this is going to be an amazing partnership. I can only smile. He’s infectious. This man is, without a doubt, a joy to be around, and a character.

We stay at his bar, all three of us taking a seat on a barstool as he begins to tell us all about his plans. And what plans he has for the future. Atomic mentions a bigger place, and Sal suggests adding on.

“It’s not a bad idea,” I say. “Everyone already knows where the bar is. There’s no reason to move it.”

Atomic hums, then he continues, and when he does, I can almost envision everything. As if I’m standing right in front of the building and everything is already done. Or maybe it’s just my overactive imagination and the fact that I’ve been thinking of this expansion for a couple of days now.

“I know the people who own the property behind the bar. That’s what we’ll do. We’ll expand backward. Taking your concept of a gaming room and a strip club, except bigger. Separate entrances are connected by just a singular hallway.”

“Two full buildings on each side. But not just a hallway. Vetting at each entrance with bouncers and security,” I say. “An upper hallway as well, a pass-through for you and your guys. That way, you can get to where you need to be withoutgoing through the crowds, with no restrictions. And you can see everything happening on the floor from up above.”

“A boss,” Sal rumbles. “Better than I could have imagined. I want this to be like a mini-Vegas,” he says.

Atomic chuckles, leaning forward, his gaze never leaving Sal’s. “It’s going to be better.”

And it is.

We have plans for this, and everything the Dark Horse MC dabbles in, we always make it better than the condition we received it in. Like the keg deliveries. When we bought the company, we went to a handful of bars, and now we service every single bar within a forty-mile radius.

The warehouse pickups and deliveries are growing by the day as well, and I have no doubt the crew in Corpus is going to absolutely dominate when they open their strip club, and we are going to do the same here with Sal’s club.

I also have a feeling when Sal is ready to retire, we’ll be buying the place from him, which means we’re not just investing in him and keeping the Southern Mafia out of East Texas. We are also investing in ourselves because that is who the Dark Horse MC truly is to the core.

All of that being said, we are still very much outlaws, rugged, and assholes. That is something that will never change. Not in a million years.

Sal’s eyes light up, and he starts to ask some more questions, but my gaze shifts over to the sexiness that is the new waitress at the end of the bar. She’s still doing shit with that clipboard of hers, but I’m going to interrupt her.

Slipping off my barstool, I carry my empty beer bottle over to her. Leaning against the side of the bar, I keep my attention focused on her and only her. Slowly, she lifts her head, her eyes finding mine, and my heart fucking stops again.

This woman has me instantly. All she has to do is look at me. “I’m Gnaw.”

She frowns, her gaze flicking to my cut, then shifting slowly upward to meet mine again. “What kind of name is Gnaw?” she asks.

Although, she sounds more curious instead of rude about it. If she said those same words in a different tone, I’d probably turn around and walk away. Which I should probably do anyway because I’m sure, without a doubt, she’s far too good for me.

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