Page 100 of Texas Hold Em'
Brody unclipped his belt and got out of the truck. He stretched, cracked his back, and shot me a stern look over the hood. “No funny business tonight, Abel. Jackson isn’t going to stand for anyone fucking with Sam’s grand opening. She’s been waiting too long, and we all worked too hard to make this happen for someone to go spoiling it with a quick temper.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because you’re the loose cannon. And because Jackson asked me to tell you to stay in line.”
I scoffed. “If he was so worried, he should have told me not to bother coming.”
Brody hooked his thumb back at the truck as we crossed the lot and climbed the stairs. “Maybe you should wait in the truck with that attitude.”
“Fuck off.”
As soon as my boots struck the top step, a hush fell over the crowd milling about the porch. Lips stopped puffing on cigarettes and instead formed words spoken in whispers to those close by. Heads turned to watch me and Brody approach the hostess, a young, dark-haired girl with rosy cheeks and perfect teeth. Last I saw her—before the fire—she’d had braces. I couldn’t remember her name for the life of me.
“Good evening,” she said cheerfully. “Go on in. The others have already arrived and are at the large table by the fireplace. By the way, the bar looksawesome.For a minute there I didn’t think I’d ever get my old job back.” She laughed and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ears. “Thank you for rebuilding it. I know it was for Sam, but still… the rest of us are happy to be back.”
Brody tipped his head to her. “It’s good to see you back where you belong, Amber.”
Amber.Right.
She fidgeted behind the podium and giggled as Brody gave her a friendly smile.
“The girl likes you,” I told him.
“I’ve known her since she was seven,” Brody said.
“I wasn’t implying anything, just pointing it out. You made her blush.”
Brody rolled his eyes. “She’s not even legal drinking age yet. She should keep her eyes on the young and stupid ones.”
“You check at least one of those boxes.”
Brody chuckled and shoved me through the front doors of the bar.
Eyes looked up from plates and landed on us. People twisted on bar stools and shot us suspicious looks over their shoulders. Our reputation had taken a dive because of Walter Bates, but I had assumed that here, in the place we had all built with our bare hands, we’d have people in our corner.
Apparently not.
It was beginning to make a bit more sense why Jackson didn’t want us riding up on our Harleys. These people reeked of judgement.
I kept my voice low. “Maybe Jackson was right to be concerned.”
Brody stopped and tucked his hands in the pockets of his jacket as the attention of everyone in the building lingered on us. “Like I said. Best behavior. We’ll have an audience all night long, and the last thing the Devils need is the good people of Reno thinking we’re the monsters Walter Bates wants them to believe we are. In other words,” he added with a sharp, side-eyed look, “take it easy on the beers.”
We pushed into the bar, and I tried to ignore the dirty looks we got from married couples with sticks up their asses and old geezers who’d lived in Reno their entire lives. Instead, I paid attention to how good the place looked with people inside it.
The Well felt alive again.
The fire, started by Walter Bates while Sam was unconscious in the old apartment that used to be on the second floor, had decimated everything except the old stone fireplace in the middle of the structure. Sam had been heartbroken, and Jackson had promised that we would rebuild the bar in all her glory.
It had belonged to her father, after all. It had always been more to her than just a bar. It was home. It was her father’s legacy.
Looking around, I knew the old man would be proud of his daughter if he were here today to tell her so. Old black and white images had been framed and hung on the walls. Each one was of a different motorcycle from a different year. There was the occasional shot of an old car and some pictures of Reno when the city first came to be, but for the most part?
The Well was now a biker bar.
A classy one, though.
Sam had agreed to make this place our clubhouse, but she hadn’t bent when the boys all pushed for a masculine setting. She still wanted the bar to be welcoming to anyone and everyone. She wanted all her old regulars back.
