Page 3 of Crow

You’d have to be deaf to live in Hart and not know that the club has their fingers in most of the regular pots. Tattoo shops, clubs, lounges—legit businesses to funnel the money that’s notso legit. The club might not be some folks’ first choice of town guardians, but that’s what they are. Legend has it, the club cleared out all the riff raff years ago and they haven’t allowed anyone else to move in.

Within a few minutes, she has more drinks ready than I can heap onto my tray. I pile them on by section, grabbing the first orders to take over to the booths.

“I’ll be back, Patti.”

She nods. “You doing okay out there?” She asks that every single night, multiple times. It’s just me and Chastity working tonight.

She’s another poor soul with a very ironic name. I won’t get into the details, but I’m not sure if there’s an available man in the whole of Hart that she hasn’t spent a night with. I’m not judging. Especially when most of the spare thoughts in my head trend towards fantasizing about just how I’d live my life if I’d been born to different parents, or had the courage to take control of my own life and steer my own destiny. Blah, blah, all that stuff that good, powerful poetry and timeless stories are made of.

I’m not one of those books.

My story is discipline and compliance. I’m not a rule breaker. I’m the one that breaks and bends. Always.

“I’m fine, Patti.” I smile to reassure her.

“With Sarah calling in because her son was sick, I’m worried about you two getting overworked and overwhelmed.”

“I’m not overwhelmed at all.” I glance over at the jukebox, where Chastity is chatting up a group of men who I believe are all prospects.

Patti is up on the lingo. If I don’t know someone when they come in, she does. She makes it her business to know everybody in Hart, or at least it feels that way. She explained to me that the club trains fresh blood every now and then. Usually younger guys, but they don’t have to be. They can be old as a worn in boot with plenty of dirt on the bottom. Her words, not mine.

She throws back her head, streaked blonde hair catching the light. She’s voluptuous to my stick thin. I have decent boobs, but not when compared to Chastity’s. She fills out her little ribbed blank tank with the Patterson’s logo splashed across the front. That’s the only thing we’re required to wear. The rest is up to us. She has a tiny bubblegum pink skirt on that pretty much shows her ass cheeks when she leans in any direction, her high heeled over the knee white boots making her look taller than she is.

“Chastity doesn’t look stressed.” I can’t say that she’s not working. Being flirty is part of the job when you work the night shift.

If anyone’s not doing their job properly, it’s me. I don’t try to be quiet and shy on purpose. I just naturally am.

Patti’s face suddenly blanks. An odd tension radiates from her. Patti is a kind woman, but she’s tough too. She’s got two boys who are a handful for their poor sitter. They live above the diner and their shouts and footsteps can often be heard crashing overhead. There’s nothing and no one she can’t handle.

A lone man walks through the front door, and I swear that I can feel the hairs stand up, one by one, at the back of my neck. He’s dressed entirely in black. He could be anyone in those worn and ripped black jeans, the tight black t-shirt that encases hislong, muscular torso, but it’s the black leather vest, that sets him apart. He’s tall and jacked, in that streamlined athletic way that’s deceptively strong. He’s the kind of guy who you’d bet could run a race in record time, but you wouldn’t bet on being able to snap a man clean in half, yet his inked hands could probably crunch a spine good and proper.

His long black hair flows over his shoulders and down his back. He has a cold, granite face with cheekbones slashed high. A jagged scar runs down his left temple and extends over his jaw, down his neck, wrapping around his throat. It ends at the juncture of his neck, and honestly, I don’t know how on earth he’s alive with that kind of scarring right over the carotid artery. His obsidian eyes, like his attire, are so dark that they’re almost black, and are as intense as walking out into a starless night.

Crow.

It’s a very fitting name for a man who wears only black. You’d think that he’d give off goth vibes, but he doesn’t have that aura at all. Grim reaper is more like it.

My insides twist, but it’s not the same for Patti. Her stomach might be turning over, but her strained expression says that she’s clearly not feeling that same sinful flutter of butterfly wings beating against her ribs.

Crow’s vest, is decorated with various patches on the front, the most prominent being the one that says,enforcer, in blocky capital letters.

I manage to get my hormones in check for long enough to whip my tray off the bar’s ledge and hurry to deliver these drinks to the booths. Like a moth sucked straight into the twin beams of a car’s headlights, I keep an eye on Crow without being obvious.

I know that most people, even the guys from the club, give him a wide berth. When he comes here, he only ever stands against the wall, surveying things with those midnight eyes that seem to see everything.

I don’t think it’s dislike that keeps his little bubble in place. He’s just quiet and that’s unnerving. I search back through my memory of the past few weeks, but I can’t recall a single time I’ve ever heard him speak. If he’s going for lord of deathvibes, he’s certainly achieved it. Maybe that’s what an enforcer is meant to be. Scary, so people don’t get out of line to begin with.

I notice that Chastity has broken away from her group. She’s strayed to the other side of the bar. It’s not her side. It’s mine. She’s chatting up the men at the pool tables, batting her eyelashes obnoxiously. The women over there are all club girls. I refuse to use the word whores, but they’re women who aren’t girlfriends or wives, but don’t mind doing things with the bikers. They go to their clubhouse too. I’ve heard filthy things from Chastity and Sarah about it. They’re younger than I am and find all of that quite thrilling.

To assume that I don’t, would be wrong.

Every single time I hear those stories, I come alive, lighting up inside in filthy, immoral ways.

I can never tell my parents that I don’t buy what my dad is selling. On the outside, I’m a good girl. An obedient daughter. On the inside, I’m pretty sure hell doesn’t exist, so I’m not worried about going there.

Chastity stays well away from the back of the bar, over by the windows and the door, although that’s her area and there are a few younger women hanging on two of the club’s menacingbrothers. They’re twins, Grave and Decay. Their badass biker vibe attracts a whole lot of attention, but Crow, standing just behind them, is different.

His arms are crossed over his chest, muscles bulging beneath his heavy ink. He’s changed the dynamic in the bar just by stepping inside. It’s as though the volume of the crowd has been turned down, the music lowered, the temperature dropped. His aura screams,fuck off, I’m not friendly.He’s utterly menacing.

---