Page 18 of Logan
“Excuse me? I don’t—”
“Hey Cain,” Shaina interjects, moving in beside me. “Meet our new girl, Mac.”
He nods. “Yep. Just trying to get a beer and some assurances.”
“Well, the first one’s easy.” She pops the cap off a bottle and hands it over.
“And the second?”
“Just as easy. She wants nothing to do with my douchebag brother. Make sure you give him the same speech, huh?” Her voice is steady, fearless.
Cain smirks faintly, lifting the bottle. “Will do.” He tips it in my direction. “See you around.”
“What the hell was that about?” I ask once he’s gone.
“That’s the Sergeant at Arms of the club. He and Logan are close.”
“Well, thanks for bailing me out, I guess.” I look down at the polished wood of the bar, the reflection of the dim lights flickering across it. Part of me wonders if this job is a mistake, if I’m inviting trouble into my life without realizing it.
I shake the thought away. I cannot let Logan dictate my choices anymore. This job is a step forward, a way to rebuild my savings, get some stability, and eventually make my move into a future that doesn’t include a sullen biker with a bad attitude.
Chapter Nine
Logan
I bet
You think I either moved on or hate you
'Cause each time you reach out there's no reply
I bet
It never ever occurred to you
That I can't say "Hello" to you
And risk another goodbye
- ‘I Almost Do’ Taylor Swift
My phone buzzes in my pocket, the vibration sharp enough to cut through the dull noise of the clubhouse. The number flashing on the screen is unfamiliar, but I answer anyway, putting it to my ear. Before I can get a word out, a voice I don’t recognize comes through the line.
“Goddamn, I was hoping this was a real number. Let me know when your sexy ass gets off work.”
The words hit my ear like a slap. My jaw clenches. “The fuck did you just say to me, dickhead?” My voice comes out hard and cold, every bit of me shifting into that edge where irritation turns to something darker.
There’s a pause, then a lazy drawl. “Who is this? I thought this was the new hot bartender’s number.”
The heat in my blood spikes, an unwelcome, molten rush. “Wrong fucking number. Don’t call again.” I hang up, my thumb pressing harder than it needs to on the screen.
Shoving the phone into my pocket, I stalk out of the clubhouse, the scent of stale beer and engine oil clinging to my clothes. The night air is cool but it does nothing to settle the burn in my chest. My boots hit the pavement with more force than necessary, each step feeding my decision.
Kenzie is not going to fuck with me. She needs to understand that coming back here was a bad move for her. I tell myself it’s not about punishing her, that I just want to save us both from the fallout, but deep down I know part of me wants to get under her skin as much as she just got under mine.
I fire up my bike, the rumble filling the quiet street, and ride toward Ambrosia. The wind in my face should clear my head, but my grip on the handlebars only tightens. By the time I pull into the lot, my pulse hasn’t dropped a single beat.
Inside, the place is already busy. The bass from the stage vibrates faintly in my chest, the air thick with the mix of perfume, spilled liquor, and the faint tang of smoke. My eyes find her instantly, like they’re wired to. Shaina and Kenzie are behind the bar.
