Page 2 of Hawke

Hawke grunted and left the bar only to go sit with hisprez, Locke. Hawke’s eyes stayed pinned on me, but I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of looking back.

“Hey, make me one of these.” I pointed to the drink menu.

Anaki cocked his head in confusion, and I shooed him to make it.

It was made in a shot glass with a whirl of whipped cream on top. I stacked it on my tray next to the pint of beer. Anaki shook his head, throwing a towel over his shoulder.

I hoisted the tray on my shoulder, sashaying around the hordes of bikers to get to the middle of the room. I could waitress blindfolded. I knew exactly where every biker sat, how close they sat to the table, down to what their individual orders were. This drink, since it was just after nine, was due to be in someone’s possession, just like every other night.

Bear lounged in his chair, contentedly rubbing his stomach after polishing off the three-pound burger. The grease from the overly fatty meat still lingered in several pools on his plate. There were no fillers in our burgers; everything was full of meat and fat. It made the fries taste even more delicious if they sat in the juices for a while.

“Your drink, Mr. Bear?” I winked and sat his large Guinness on the table, along with his water.

“I didn’t order any water,” he grumbled and took the cool glass of beer, opening up his throat.

He downed it in less than five seconds. My stomach lurched, thinking how heavy all that food must be sitting on his stomach.

I could barely eat a quarter pounder.

But he was a large man, and I guess he needed to keep up his strength. He was a brick wall, completely unmovable. He truly was a bear, the trunk of his body large yet firm. And hairy, so veryhairy.

Once he finished, I pulled the shot glass from my tray and set it down on the table. The dark drink with the fluffy whipped cream sat there a long while as Bear stared at it.

“What’s this?” He pointed, jutting his chin toward me.

“It’s a bit of sweet dessert. You should try it. Maybe knock off some of that bitterness in that sweet teddy bear face I know you have under that beard.”

Bear grumbled, pulling it toward him. I nodded, urging him to drink it.

“Is it poisoned?” he asked.

“If you think sugar is poison, then yes.” I smiled. “Now go on.”

Bear gripped the shot glass with two fingers and threw it back. He licked his lips, then ran his large hand over his beard. “Not bad. What is this called?”

I giggled. “Do you really want to know?”

The rest of the table leaned in and sat silently, waiting for Bear to finish his drink. Sizzle didn’t look my way, but that wasn’t unusual. Women made him nervous, or he hated me, one of the two.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“A blow job!” I chirped.

Bear began choking, the table broke out in a roar of laughter, slapping their hands on the table.

Bear grabbed the bottle of water, uncapped it, and began drinking right away. I laughed, picking up his glass and now empty plate so I could return them to the kitchen.

I’d been here almost exactly two years. I’d come to love these men like they were my own brothers. I’d figured out their favorite foods and drinks and knew their personalities like the back of my hand. They were standoffish at first, but once they realized I meant no harm and wanted to see them smile at least once, they settled down.

They all needed a mother figure in their life, and I was happy to be it. I’d fuss over clothes, how they didn’t clean up their feet before they walked in the door when it rained. If I was the one cleaning it up, then by golly, I was going to make sure they cleaned up their mess.

The door opened and a cold breeze followed it. Karma, who was always late to every party, strutted inside without wiping his feet. I glared in his direction, holding the tray in my hand. His face paled, and he stepped backwards to wipe his feet vigorously on the mat.

I nodded, smiling, and he waved back happily before he set off to his usual table.

What surprised these men the most was that I wasn’t afraid of them. Most of the women that worked here were still jumpy, considering their backgrounds. Heck, I should be, but I wasn’t. They save men and women from unfortunate situations. The Iron Fang weren’t bad people at all, but how they rescued a lot of us wasn’t necessarily legal.

The tattoos, the piercings, the playful banter, shoving, and the occasional punches to each other’s faces—they were just big kids trying to work out their aggression.

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