Page 4 of Harley's Hex
“I thought that I was,” he grumbled. “I’m here for moral support.” He was trying for funny, but he could tell that she thought of him as anything but humorous.
She arched a brow. “Right. And I’m making sure the customers don’t die of thirst. Move out of my way.” Harley shoved past him and grabbed a class out of the bin.
He didn’t budge. “You don’t tell me what to do, honey,” he challenged. “Savage asked me to handle things while he’s out.” He knew that he was pushing all of Harley’s buttons by saying something like that, but he kind of liked it when she got hot and bothered by him. It had happened a lot over the last week that he’d been helping her out around the bar.
“And he asked me to make sure you don’t screw it up,” she shot back, leaning closer. She had been calling Savage daily to give him updates about what was going on around Savage Heat. Bowie had told him that what she was really doing was grumbling to Savage about how she didn’t need Hex around helping her. She told him that she could handle the bar by herself, but Savage told her that he wanted Hex there too—just in case things went south.
He could smell her shampoo as she brushed past him again to give Ryder his beer. She smelled like citrus and something else—something wild that drove him crazy with desire. The club’s pilot shot him a sympathetic look, and he just shrugged.
She walked back over to Hex and stood directly in front of him. The woman had no concern for his personal space, or maybe she knew how crazy she made him, and liked to push his buttons like he did hers. “So, looks like we’re stuck with each other then,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. He couldn’t help but check out her impressive cleavage, and she barked out her laugh. “Not happening,” she insisted.
The corner of his mouth twitched, half a smirk, half a warning. “We’ll see,” was all he said, but it was enough to have her growling in frustration. Their attention was diverted when the door swung open, and a couple of club members strolled in, nodding grimly at Hex. Everyone was keeping it together for Savage’s sake, but the tension was riding high. And with the threat of the Dead Rabbits still hanging around town, everyone was on high alert. Women were being trafficked again, and the Royal Bastards knew who to blame—the Dead Rabbits.
Harley slipped past Hex to grab a bottle, brushing his arm. Electricity shot through his body like he had never felt before. He didn’t mention it, but the air thickened around them, and a part of him wondered if she could feel it too. “Bar needs restocking,” she said, not looking at him. “We’re running low on whiskey.”
“Already handled it,” he replied, pulling a receipt from his cut and handing it to her. “Got a shipment coming tomorrow.” He had come in early to help out a bit, and Savage asked him to order the liquor for the bar so that Harley could have an easy night.
She blinked, surprised. “I’ve been working on this order all night,” she said, shoving the clipboard at his chest. “You could have at least told me that it was already finished.” She was right, but when he walked in and saw her behind the bar, he lost his train of thought and really just forgot to tell her about the order he had placed earlier.
“You’re right,” he breathed, handing her back her clipboard. “I’m sorry. I meant to tell you, but I guess I just got distracted.”
“You get distracted a lot,” she challenged.
“Yeah, well, I guess I find you distracting,” he almost shouted at her. She gasped, and he instantly worried that he had crossed a line. He didn’t think about his words until they were out, and there would be no taking them back.
He looked at her, eyes steady and dark. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not perfect.”
Her lips twitched. “I’ve never accused you of being perfect,” she teased.
He let out a rough laugh — the first in days. “Careful, Harley. Keep talking’ like that and I might start to like you.”
Harley looked up at him, something unreadable flashing behind her eyes. “Do both of us a favor and don’t, Hex.”
“Don’t what?” he asked, having a hard time keeping up with her as she worked her way around the bar, refilling the guy’s beers and wiping things down.
“Don’t like me, Hex,” she breathed, not bothering to look over at him. But with the way her voice softened around his name said otherwise. It almost sounded as though she was asking him to like her, and for some reason, he wanted to tell her that he already did. Hell, he more than liked the sexy little hellcat, but telling her that wasn’t going to win him any points with her.
As she turned back to the crowd of guys sitting at the bar, Hex watched her — sharp tongue, steady hands, and a heart that matched her stubborn strength. Savage might be down, but with Harley here, the bar still had fire. He’d never tell his Prez that he wasn’t really needed around the bar to help keep it running, but that was the truth. Harley was more than capable of taking care of Savage hell, and damn if Hex wasn’t a bit pissed off and turned on by that realization.
Savage came home three days earlier than planned, looking a bit pale but breathing steadily, and his heart was healing well — and that was enough for the club to start feeling alive again. The bar had come back to life, music thumping, laughter echoing against the old brick walls, even if Savage wasn’t allowed to make an appearance yet. The good news was all the guys seemed to need to lighten their spirits—and Hex’s.
He had agreed to stop by every morning to check on Savage since both Bowie and Dallas were nervous about having him home and having to care for him. He’d assure them each morning that Savage was making good progress, and they’d both give him nervous looks and ask him to come back the next day. He couldn’t blame them. If it were his loved one, he’d feel the same way—it wouldn’t matter that he was a doctor.
He’d spent the last twelve years patching up soldiers, keeping men alive in places no one should have to die. But here, in this small town, he finally felt the weight lift off his chest. For the first time, he felt as though he had purpose. Sure, he was still working with soldiers on the military base, but he loved working in a hospital, and if he had his way, he’d find a nice little town nearby to settle down in, with a good ER, when he got out. He’d been thinking about that a lot lately—what he’d do after he was done at Redstone.
“Shouldn’t you be at Savage’s, checking in on him for the day? Or maybe even at work on base? Aren’t you needed at the hospital there—you know, to do your job?” Harley’s voice broke through his thoughts.
He didn’t turn right away — just smiled to himself before drinking down the last of his coffee. “Well, thank you for your concern, but I’m not going back for a while.”
She stepped closer, arms crossed over her chest, her tone half disbelief, half challenge. “What do you mean you’re not going back for a while? You’re a doctor, Hex. That’s what you do. And aren’t you in the military still?”
He looked up at her. The morning sun hit her hair, lighting it up like copper fire. “Yes, and yes. But I’ve taken a leave of absence to help take care of Savage and this place,” he said quietly. “My time serving Uncle Sam is almost up, and I’m thinking’ it’s time I do something’ for myself—for once.”
Her eyes narrowed, suspicious. “And that’s working here? Slinging beers and breaking up fights is your new career now?”
He chuckled. “No,” he breathed. “I’m still a doctor, but now, I’m just helping out Savage and making sure he doesn’t keel over again. And maybe I like slinging beer and breaking up fights. Maybe I like helping out around here.” His gaze caught hers, and he couldn’t help but think about how much he wanted to kiss her pouty lips when she looked at him that way. “Maybe I just need some time to figure out what the hell to do about you.” She froze. The usual sass faded from her and was replaced by something more dangerous — vulnerability.
“Don’t,” she warned softly. “Don’t start something that you can’t finish.”
