Page 3 of Devils Cut

"Besides," she added, a sly grin on her face, "She was hot as fuck, and would suit this bar well."

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the sudden interest that statement piqued. The last thing I needed was another distraction. But damn it, Amanda knew how to push my buttons.

"Fine," I said through gritted teeth. "I'll take a look at it later."

"Good," she replied, smirking triumphantly before turning on her heel and leaving me alone in my office.

As the door closed behind her, I stared at the pile of papers strewn across my desk, feeling the weight of responsibility bearing down on me like a ton of bricks.

With each signature and stamp of approval, I felt my irritation grow. The endless bureaucracy was suffocating me, but it was a necessary evil. Once I'd finally finished, I shoved the papers aside with a grunt, making way for the real business.

My laptop hummed to life as I pulled up the security camera footage, rewinding back to the time when the girl had dropped off her resume. She wanted to work here? In our gritty domain of booze, bikes, and blood? A corner of my mouth quirked upward. We'll see about that.

"Tempest fucking Miller," I muttered, scanning the grainy footage.

The grainy video flickered before me, showing the dimly lit interior of the bar. I leaned back in my chair, fingers drumming rhythmically on the desk as I watched the girl enter. She was a vision of youth and determination, walking with an air of confidence that caught my attention.

"Let's see what you're made of," I whispered, eyes glued to the screen as she approached Amanda. They exchanged words, and then the girl filled out the form that Amanda gave her.

"Could be a fresh face for the place," I mused, though the shitty angle of the camera and the low-quality footage didn't give me much to work with. I couldn't help but imagine her potential, how she might fit into our world of leather jackets, roaring engines, and unspoken rules.

"Tempest Miller," I read out loud from the resume, the name rolling off my tongue like a storm brewing on the horizon.

"Alright, Tempest," I said under my breath, a smirk playing on my lips. "Let's see if you can weather the storm that is us."

As I studied the details on the resume, my thoughts wandered to the crew and the challenges we faced. It wasn't just about finding someone who could handle the gritty nature of our business – it was about finding someone who understood loyalty and the importance of keeping secrets. This was a biker-owned and run bar after all.

I picked up my mobile, the weight of it heavier than usual in my hand.

"Fuck it," I muttered, dialling the number on the resume.

"Hello?" A soft voice answered.

"Tempest Miller?" My tone was cold, unwelcoming. No room for weakness in our world.

"Y-yes, this is her."

"Corvus here," I said, pausing to gauge her reaction. "We got your resume."

"O-oh! Hi, Corvus. Thank you for calling," she stammered, trying to sound professional despite her nerves.

"Interview. Three days from now, Monday?" I didn't bother with pleasantries. "Four o'clock sharp. Don't be late."

"Y-yes, of course!" Her enthusiasm seeped through the phone, making me question what kind of storm she truly was.

"See you then." I hung up, no goodbye needed. "Sink or fuckin' swim."

Chapter 3

Tempest Miller

The harsh fluorescent light flickered above me as I stepped into the cramped, graffiti-covered public toilet at the edge of a park just outside of town. It wasn't ideal, but it was my makeshift bathroom for now. I locked the door behind me, praying that no one would bother me while I tried to wash away the grime of the day.

"Fuckin' unbelievable," I muttered to myself, staring at my reflection in the scratched, dirty mirror. My eyes were red-rimmed from exhaustion, my skin slick with sweat and dirt. This was not how I'd imagined my life turning out, but I had no choice but to keep going.

I stripped off my clothes and filled the sink with cold water, I began to scrub my body clean, shivering as goosebumps prickled over my skin. The chill of the water brought a temporary relief from the relentless heat of the desert sun outside. I brushed my teeth quickly, spitting toothpaste into the grimy sink, and tried to ignore the stench of piss that hung in the air.

"Better than nothin'," I whispered to myself, running a brush through my wet hair. I reached for my fresh clothes: plain black denim shorts and a plain black T-shirt. They weren't much, but they were clean, and that was all that mattered right now. I would have to continue living this way until my house was approved and I was given the keys.

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