Page 11 of Bossy Mountain Daddies (Reverse Harem Mountain Daddies #3)

By six, the bar is half-full, mostly with locals stopping in for a Sunday dinner or a beer after a weekend of hiking or fishing.

Buck emerges from the kitchen periodically to chat with regulars, his massive frame making the doorway look small.

Ford is mainly upstairs in the office probably working on the books.

He occasionally comes down to chat with some customers or mix a complicated cocktail that's not on the menu.

And Griff... Griff is all over the place—pouring drinks, cleaning up tables, running food.

I'm delivering a tray of beers to a table near the window when the door swings open and four men walk in—or rather, swagger in.

They're dressed in leather vests over t-shirts, arms covered in tattoos, hair wild and unkempt.

Bikers—the real deal. They scan the room with the predatory gaze of men who are used to intimidating others, then make their way to a table and sit down.

I take a deep breath and approach them, pen and pad ready. "What can I get you guys?"

The largest of the four, a bear of a man with a graying beard and arms the size of my thighs, looks me up and down. "Well, ain't you a pretty little thing," he drawls. "What's a city girl like you doing in a place like this?"

I force a smile. "Can I start you with some drinks?"

"Four drafts," another one says, not bothering to specify what kind. "And you for dessert, sweetheart."

I grit my teeth while I try to ignore him. "I'll get those beers for you."

As I turn to walk away, I feel a hand brush against my ass. I spin around, ready to tell them off, but suddenly Griff is there, his eyes narrowed and a grimace on his face.

"Problem here?" he asks, his voice deceptively casual.

The bikers exchange glances, clearly sizing him up. But Griff isn’t intimidated—instead he looks dangerous, like a wolf calmly assessing its prey.

The bearded one speaks eventually. "Just ordering some beers."

Griff nods slowly. "Good. Because we run a friendly establishment here. Everyone's welcome as long as they respect the staff and other customers." The warning in his voice is clear.

He walks with me back to the bar, his hand at the small of my back. "You okay?" he asks quietly.

"I'm fine," I assure him, rolling my eyes. "Nothing I haven't dealt with before."

He frowns but doesn't say anything more, just pours four draft beers. When I deliver them to the table, the bikers are subdued, muttering thanks without making eye contact.

For the next hour, I keep my distance as much as possible, serving them when necessary but otherwise avoiding their table. I catch Griff’s gaze following me whenever I'm in their vicinity.

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.