Page 4 of Holly's Christmas Biker

As the night wears on, Morris steps back and allows me to handle the orders from the waitress, as well as those coming from those sitting at the bar. Thankfully, despite the vintage look the bar has, they have a state-of-the-art computer register, which makes cashing out tabs a breeze. I watch as the tip jar on the countertop fills, my eyes widening as I see a lot of green. Even with giving a percentage to the kitchen staff for the orders they’ve filled, there’s still quite a bit inside.

It’s finally last call, and once the final tab is cashed out and the patrons leave, Morris locks the door after disposing of the trash as I wipe down the bar before I finish running the mugs through the mini dishwasher. He’ll figure out the tips that were put on credit cards and I’ll get those my next shift, along with a printout ‘for my records’. Like I’d ever accuse anyone of trying to stiff me. As far as I’m concerned, the tips are gravy.

Marnie, the waitress, is busy cleaning off the tables, carrying the plates to the kitchen for them to wash. While Morris prints out the register tape for the daily sales, he counts down the money, putting the next day’s start-up till in one bag, and the rest of the money in a second one. I know he’ll go to the back and reconcile it before locking it in the safe for the night, so once I have the bar cleaned and the coolers restocked, I head out onto the floor to help Marnie.

“You don’t have to,” she says as I move toward a table to spray it down and wipe it off.

“Many hands make light the work. That’s what my grammy says, and I have found it makes sense to me. We’re all tired, and Iknow Morris won’t let us leave until we’re all finished, so why shouldn’t I help?” I reply as I wipe down the booths as well.

“I think I like your grammy,” she says, grinning at me.

“She’s a likable woman, but she definitely has strong ideas about working hard,” I tease. “Now, what else do you have to do?”

“I have to cash out to you and to the kitchen. There’s a cleaning crew that’ll come in early before we open and they’ll clean the bathrooms and mop,” she replies while shuddering. “Thank goodness for that, because sometimes, our patrons are disgusting.”

I can’t help snickering because I saw quite a few of the MC guys take women toward the back, only to emerge a bit later with the women looking a bit disheveled. Since the only rooms down the back hallway are Morris’s office, which he keeps locked, the door to the kitchen, our breakroom, the bathrooms, and a locked storage room with all the extra alcohol, my guess is they made use of the bathrooms.

“Yeah, don’t think I’d wanna clean up used condoms either,” I tease.

“Or puke. I think that’s the absolute worst thing ever. It makes me wanna hurl too,” she adds, shuddering.

Internally, I giggle before telling her, “I used to be like that, but with two little girls, I had to get over that because one is a projectile vomiter and the other tends to pick up every little stomach bug going around. It gets tiring cleaning up from themandmyself, trust me.”

Now she’s the one laughing, probably envisioning what I just said. Shrugging, I say, “It happens. I think us moms deserve more than one day a year because of it too!”

While she divvies up her tips then puts some in my jar before she hands some through the window to the kitchen guys, I pull mine out of the jar, my eyes widening even further. “Damn, if it’s like this all the time, I’ll be able to do what I set out to do working here,” I whisper.

She must hear me though because she says, “Tonight wasn’t a particularly busy night either. The weekends are when you really make bank, because nine times out of ten, the majority of the MC shows up.”

Even though I haven’t counted it since I’ll do that once I’m home, I’m just straightening out the bills, I can see I have well over one hundred dollars. Couple the tips with the fact that the bar pays at least minimum wage depending on what position someone’s working, and it will be no time at all before I’m able to pay off that bitch while making sure my girls get a nice Christmas.

Take that, Myra! You thought you were going to crush me, but I’ll show you I’m made of stronger stuff!

CHAPTER

TWO

Rebel

My phone alarm blaring has me blindly swinging my hand out to shut it off. “Fuck,” I mutter when I hear the offending object clatter to the floor. “Shoulda probably opened my eyes.”

Because now I have to. Sighing, I do just that and lean over to search for my phone, finding it just underneath the bed. I reach out and snag it, shutting off the alarm as well, while my heart pounds incessantly in my chest. I was sleeping so deeply that my alarm scared the hell out of me.

“Could’ve been worse,” I grumble as I roll out of bed, every aching body part letting me know they’re there. “At least I’m not some punk ass kid who would shit themselves.”

Snickering, I try to stretch while I head into my en suite to get ready for the day. It was my turn to pick up the cars we bid on at a salvage yard auction, but the trip had a lot of issues, which included a flat on one of the trailer tires. Waiting on the side of the interstate for help was definitely enlightening in many ways. For starters, most people completely choose to ignore thefact that a vehicle is disabled. Hell, I had the flashers on, and reflective cones out as well and I lost count of the number of cars that nearly ran into either the trailer itself or my fucking dually I was sitting in.

I catch a glimpse of my profile in the mirror as I head to take a piss and groan. “Not getting any younger, man,” I tell my reflection. Relief is instantaneous because it took a shit ton of caffeine to ensure I was able to stay awake long enough to drop the trailer behind the gates at the salvage yard before I made my way back to the clubhouse and crashed.

Turning the shower on, I discard the clothes I fell asleep in, making note of the fact I need to see if one of the girls wants to make a little extra cash by doing some laundry, then I step into the steamy enclosure. Sighing, I allow the hot water to beat down on my shoulders as I stretch to work out the kinks yesterday’s drive gave me. At least I don’t have to go to the yard and unload the trailer; one of the prospects has that duty.

We’ll go through the cars that appear to have no damage and fix them up to sell, while any good parts will be put in the shop for us to use on any incoming repairs. One of the best things we did was open up a salvage yard along with a parts store. Combine that with our repair shop, and we are able to keep our prices reasonable as hell while still turning a profit.

By the time I feel human, the bathroom is full of steam even though I left the door open, which means I have to wipe down the mirror so I can shave and brush my teeth after drying off. Finally satisfied that it’s as good as it’s getting, I walk back into the bedroom and head to my closet for fresh clothes so I can face the day.

Slipping on my cut, I exit my room, closing and locking the door behind me once I’ve set my laundry hamper outside. I don’t let any of the club girls in my room; if I need their services, we use one of the crash rooms downstairs, but my room is my sanctuary since I live at the clubhouse.

“Wish it was different sometimes,” I whisper as I head to the stairs so I can hit the kitchen for some coffee.

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