Page 21 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
Then Griff heads out back to take some trash to the dumpster, and the dynamic changes immediately. I feel their eyes on me as I move through the room. The weight of their attention making my skin crawl.
As I pass their table on my way to the kitchen, the bearded one reaches out and grabs my wrist. "Why don't you sit down with us for a minute, darlin'? Let us buy you a drink."
I try to pull away, but his grip tightens. "I'm working," I say firmly. "Please let go of my wrist."
"C'mon, don't be like that," another one chimes in, his voice slurring slightly. "We’re just tryin’ to be friendly."
"I'm not interested," I say, my heart rate picking up. I scan the room, looking for help. Ford and Buck are nowhere to be seen.
He tugs me closer. "Playing hard to get, huh? You’re in luck cuz I like a challenge."
Fear closes my throat, panic rising in my chest. Then suddenly, the pressure on my wrist is gone, and Griff is standing there, his hand gripping the biker's forearm.
"She said she's not interested," Griff says, his voice low and dangerous. "And you're done here."
The biker stands, towering over Griff. "Says who?"
"Says me." Griff doesn't back down an inch. "This is my bar, and you're harassing my staff."
Right at that moment, I see Buck walk out of the kitchen. He quickly walks over to the table and stands behind Griff, sneering at the group of assholes.
For a moment, I think the biker is going to throw a punch. But with Griff and Buck standing there, he thinks better of it. Instead, he spits on the floor at Griff's feet. "Place is a shithole anyway."
Griff's expression doesn't change. "Out. All of you. Now."
There's a tense moment where it feels like things could get violent. Then the bearded one grunts, jerking his head toward the door. His friends stand, knocking over a chair in the process.
The bikers leave, cursing under their breath. As the door swings shut behind them, the normal sounds of the bar resume.
Griff turns to me, his expression softening. "Are you okay?"
I nod, surprised to find that I'm trembling slightly. "Thanks for coming to help me," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
He touches my cheek gently. "No one's gonna hurt you on my watch, Skye.”
The fierce protectiveness in his eyes surprises me. Daniel never made me feel like this—safe, protected, valued. When I was with him, I always felt like I had to earn his attention and approval. With Griff, it's different. He sees me—really sees me.
"Back to work?" I ask, looking up at him.
He nods, patting me gently on the back. "You got it."
As I move through the bar, I feel his eyes following me, not in the predatory way the bikers watched, but with a care that wraps around me like a shield. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel truly safe.
Chapter 7
Ford
While I wipe down the bar counter, my eyes drift toward the end of the bar where Reynolds is leaning too far into Skye's personal space. It's my night to close and Griff headed out a few minutes ago.
I cut up some more limes and lemons for tomorrow while keeping an ear tuned to their conversation. Reynolds has had one too many, as usual, but Skye doesn't seem concerned. She's handling him with a grace that suggests this isn't her first encounter with an overeager drunk.
"So why Flounder Ridge? Nobody just ends up here," Reynolds slurs, his elbow slipping on the bar as he tries to prop his chin on his hand. His bloodshot eyes never leave Skye's face.
"Car trouble," she answers, wiping down a nearby table. Her voice carries across the nearly empty bar. "I was heading to Wyoming."
"Wyoming?" Reynolds scoffs. "Nothing in Wyoming but wind and antelope."
She laughs—a genuine sound, not the forced politeness most people offer Reynolds. "And my friend Charlotte," she adds. "She's been trying to get me to visit for months."
