Page 7 of Betting Blind
It’s true what they say: be careful what you wish for.
Chapter 4
Jack
Derrick and I sit in silence as we drive off, leaving the woman to her own devices. Normally, I would never leave someone stranded on the side of the road, but if she wants to dig her heels in, then I’ll damn sure let her.
Cassidy. I toss the name around in my mind. She’s a stunning woman, but all too familiar around this town. The type of women I want are hot and wild—not innocent and girly. Though I will admit, seeing her take the initiative to change her own tire was pretty damn sexy.
My best friend steadily drums his fingers against the steering wheel of his truck to the rock song that’s playing on the radio. Normally, I’d be jamming along with him, but it’s getting late, and I’m exhausted from working overtime at the bar. Tracie broke her hip after a nasty fall a few days ago, leaving us shorthanded and desperate for help. I’ve been racking my brain trying to think of a quick fix, and what do ya know, I ran into that fix tonight.
“Dude, do you mind?” I snap when Derrick starts belting out lyrics to a song I’m unfamiliar with, headbanging to the music. He ignores me for a moment, continuing to toss his long hair around, and I clench my hand tightly over the door handle to resist slamming his big head into the steering wheel.
Our big-little town blurs by from beyond the passenger window. He finally stops mid-drum-solo to stare at me and has the nerve to glare as ifI’mthe annoying one. “What’s your problem?” he grumbles and turns off the music, welcoming a deafening silence inside the truck.
I don’t offer him an explanation for my attitude—mostly because I’m not exactly sure of the source—but my silence isn’t good enough, either. It never is with D. He will pick and prod until he figures out what’s bothering me, to the point where I have no choice but to confess. He’s extremely smart, intuitive, and loyal to a fault, which has made it easy to keep our friendship strong throughout the years. If I had to bet, I’d say he knows me better than anyone in my bar—including Ben.
His stare bores a hole into my skull from my left, but I refuse to look at him. Eventually, he shifts his weight around, and taps his foot repeatedly against the floorboard before sighing deeply and fidgeting some more. I try to hide my pleasure at torturing him; he hates to be ignored.
“So,” he begins, “what’d you think of the waitress?” I slide my gaze over to see him wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “We shouldn’t have left her there, you know.”
I’m ashamed to admit the parts of her that I have memorized. I can still see her slim hips swaying as she stepped up to the bar the night she and her friend visited. She seemed nervous as she spoke to Derrick, glancing around like someone was going to jump out and snatch her, and I quickly became defensive of her behavior. The Pound is my home, and she was trespassing with her perfect body, perfect hair, perfect—well,everything.
Her tight tank top accentuated smaller than average breasts, showing off the smooth lines of her collarbones. Long blonde hair hung around her shoulders, giving her an angelic appearance, and despite my best efforts, I was inexplicably drawn to her.
She exuded an ease and confidence that some women are too shy to show off. I could sense her intelligence, and it was too easy to see her schooling me with her cool, collected attitude. She didn’t belong there, and yet, here we are with an offer on the table for her to work for me. Derrick’s got her pinned as a ditz, but now, I’m not so sure I’m convinced.
“What’s there to think about? You heard her. She can take care of herself.” I shrug off my intrusive thoughts of Cassidy.
“Yeah, like I didn’t notice you checking out those tiny shorts. Hell, I couldn’t help myself, either. Not bad for a pup.”
I smirk. “She’s not my type, man.” Though I say it more to myself than to him. “Which is exactly why I offered her a job in the first place. Besides, you’ve got to admit, the place is becoming a sausage fest with the lack of women working for us.”
Derrick swerves his big truck into The Pound’s parking lot and throws the gearshift into park quickly, jolting me forward. “Ha! You think our regulars are going to take kindly to someone like her waltzing around our bar, swinging her hair around and acting all…feminine?” he says disdainfully.
“It’smybar,” I say. “And they’re going to have to like it because I don’t have another choice. She needs the money, and we need the help.”
My feet hit the pavement toward the back door, and I hear D gather the items from our supply run out of the truck bed. “Yeah, well, we’ll see how that goes. I bet she won’t even show!” His loud voice carries from behind me as I enter the building.
I scan across the space and watch a couple of my guys clean some tables while the others chat people up at the far end of the bar. A sense of pride slowly expands under my ribcage to a near painful degree.
Cassidy’s comments about my place rankled me. She can’t possibly know how much of my blood, sweat, and tears have gone into this business. I lean against the wall that frames the exit from the main floor to the back so I’m somewhat hidden from view.
Nothing makes me happier than seeing these folks enjoying themselves. People are gathered all around, huddled in dim corners as they clink their glasses together after what’s surely been a long, hard day. Some of them are sporting a black eye or two, from fights no doubt, and others share a harshness most associated with someone who is up to no good. But the longer I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know Mackville, the more I’ve come to realize that I can’t always judge a person by their missing teeth.
“Damn her,” I mutter as I survey the place with a new set of eyes. The yellow-tinged walls could use a fresh coat of paint, and the tile on the floor is cracked and chipping in various places. I cringe when a man gets up from the table he was sitting at and the whole thing rocks and sways from its uneven footing. I sigh, reminding myself of the money I’ve been saving for a renovation.
Maybe it’s time to put those plans into motion.
A biker gang made up of some of the scariest people in this town resides in the back by the pool tables, chugging pitchers of beer as they play. Five men and two women wear fringed jean jackets that stretch tightly across broad shoulders and boast the emblem of their gang—an etching of a wolf with an eyepatch covering its right eye.
They call themselves the Wolves and are often referred to as the Wolf Pack. Unfortunately for them, they don’t intimidate me one bit—and fortunately for me, they view me and my crew as people worth protecting. It also doesn’t hurt to be the owner of their favorite hangout.
That’s the odd thing about Mackville. It’s made up of a strange hodgepodge of incredible people who would rather surrender the shirt on their back than watch someone suffer, and yet, among them are some of the most dangerous people I’ve ever met.
Micah’s boisterous laugh breaks through the loud chatter in the bar as he banters with one of our regulars. The new hire pours the man a couple of generous shots, and I make a mental note to speak with him about his charity.
It’s not that I want to be a hard-ass with these guys, but I’ve worked most of my twenties to ensure that The Pound is different than any other bar in Mackville. And handing out free drinks is the equivalent of stealing from me—something I don’t take lightly.
