Page 4 of The Biker and His Bride

But I needed a job. A place to hide. A new life until I figured out how to get my things and go home as the girl who left Caleb Whitmore III jilted weeks before the big day. I wasn’t ready to face that… not yet.

So I walked inside like I belonged.

The music hit me first — gritty, angry rock — followed by the scent of motor oil, whiskey, and leather. Heads turned. Voices paused.

A woman behind the bar eyed me like she couldn’t decide whether to card me or punch me.

“You here to meet someone?” she asked, tone cool but curious.

“No,” I said, lifting my chin. “I’m here to work.”

She smirked. “You serve?”

“Yes.”

“Fight?”

“If I have to.”

That made her laugh. “Then grab a rag and prove it.”

I was wiping down sticky counters and dodging grabby hands within minutes, trying not to notice the man sitting at the corner of the bar — all broad shoulders, tattoos, and silent intensity.

Black shirt. Leather cut. A beer in front of him he hadn’t touched.

He was watching me.

Not like the others did.

No, he looked at me like he could smell the fire I thought I’d buried.

Like he knew I wasn’t here by accident.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like a pawn.

I felt like maybe I’d just walked into a new game.

And I was ready to play.

My mother made sure I knew how to mix drinks. Grooming a good social club bride was part of the deal she made with the Whitmores. I had taken a bartending class the summer I turned sixteen. Most of the bikers wanted bottleneck beers but the older MC men preferred scotch, whiskey, or the occasional mixed drink. It was hard work. But it kept me too busy to think about the shit-show I left behind. Too exhausted to process I blew my life up.

My French manicure was long gone. Caleb would be appalled to find his fiancée tending a biker bar.

Well, ex fiancée.

Leaving is the same as breaking if off.

I giggled, imagining his horrified expression— if he only knew.

My muscles ached. But in a good way. Not in the my ex hit me again…way my body was used to.

Truthfully, I was ashamed. Ashamed I let him hit me. That I didn’t leave sooner… I didn’t want to disappoint my parents who raised me to be the society bride I was abut to become.

I’d never gone hungry or without designer… everything. I had a golden life or a gilded cage. Being here gave me the chance to just breathe for once.

And fresh air is exactly what I needed.

2

---