Page 3 of Claimed By the Bikers (Black Wolves MC #4)

GARRETT

“You must be Ember.” I push back from my corner booth, whiskey glass forgotten as I take in the woman walking toward me.

Atlas mentioned hiring someone new, but he failed to mention she’d look like every fantasy I’ve had since my wife died. “I’m Garrett. I’ll be showing you the ropes tonight.”

Her smile hits me square in the chest. “Nice to meet you. I’m ready to learn.”

Christ, that voice. Soft but confident, with just enough warmth to make a man wonder what it would sound like first thing in the morning.

I clear my throat and gesture toward the dining room, trying to keep my eyes on her face instead of the way that black T-shirt hugs every curve.

“Right then. Let’s start with the basics.” I move closer than necessary and catch a whiff of her perfume. “Lizzy showed you the POS system yesterday, aye?”

“She did. Seems straightforward enough.”

“Good. The kitchen’s simple too. Finn back there runs a tight ship, but he’s fair.

Orders go in through the window, food comes out hot, and as long as you don’t mess with his system, you’ll get along fine.

” I walk her toward the bar area. “Most of our customers are regulars. They’ll test you the first few nights, see if you’re going to stick around or disappear like the last three girls. ”

“What happened to them?”

“Two quit after their first weekend. Said the crowd was too rough.” I lean against the bar, watching her process this information. “The third one lasted a month before she decided she wanted something with better hours and less attitude from drunk bikers.”

Ember nods thoughtfully. “And you think I’ll last longer?”

“Hard to say. You seem steadier than the others, but this place isn’t for everyone.

” I gesture toward the dining area. “Let me show you where we keep the supplies. Order pads are behind the register, and extra menus are in this drawer here. The ice machine is in the back corner, and the coffee station stays stocked throughout the shift.”

She follows me around the bar area, paying attention as I point out the essentials. “Kitchen window is where you pick up food. Don’t let plates sit under the heat lamps too long or he’ll have your head.”

“Got it. What about drink orders?”

“Beer taps are labeled, liquor bottles are organized by type. If someone orders something you don’t recognize, just ask. Better to look new than serve the wrong thing.”

A customer pushes through the front door. Carl from the auto shop, right on schedule.

“Over there, booth seven, that’s Carl from the auto shop. Decent tipper, orders the same thing every time. Burger, medium rare, extra pickles, and a Budweiser. He’ll try to talk your ear off about whatever car he’s working on, but he’s harmless.”

“Got it.” She turns to face me, and those green eyes of hers are close enough that I can see gold flecks around the pupils. “What about the bikers?”

“Depends on which ones. Most of them are regulars, members of the Black Wolves. They look rough, but they’re good men.

Respect the badge, respect the territory, and they’ll respect you.

” I run my hand through my hair, trying to think of something other than how her lips would taste.

“It’s the outsiders you watch for. Truckers passing through, riders from other clubs. They don’t know the rules here.”

She absorbs every word like she’s studying for a test, and something about her focus makes my accent thicken. Happens when I’m trying to control myself, and right now I’m fighting the urge to back her against the nearest wall.

“Any other warnings I should know about?”

“Aye. Kitchen closes at eleven sharp, but Finn will keep making bar food until we close at two. Last call is one thirty, and we don’t serve anyone who’s already had too much. Atlas runs a tight ship, and he expects us to keep things civilized.”

“Understood.”

“Time for you to practice with Carl.”

She nods and approaches his table with a smile. “Hi there, I’m Ember. I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

“Well now, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Carl grins up at her, but it’s friendly rather than leering. “You new here?”

“First night. What can I get started for you?”

“Burger, medium rare, extra pickles, and a beer.”

I catch her glance toward me, just a quick look, and I nod slightly. She’s paying attention, which is good. Too many servers try to wing it instead of learning the patterns.

“Coming right up,” she tells Carl, then heads to the register to input his order.

“Not bad,” I say when she returns to the bar area. “Most new servers would have asked how he wanted the burger cooked, what kind of beer he preferred. You listened when I told you what he orders.”

“Seemed like useful information.”

“It is. Regulars like feeling remembered. Makes them tip better and complain less.”

More customers filter in as the evening progresses. Ember handles each table with confidence, and never appears flustered.

“Garrett.” She appears at my elbow again, this time looking slightly uncertain. “Table four is asking about wine pairings with the rib eye. I’m not really sure what to recommend.”

“Smart to ask instead of guessing. Tell them the Cabernet Sauvignon, 2019 vintage. It’s got enough body to stand up to the meat without overpowering it.”

“Thank you.”

She turns to go, and I catch myself watching her walk away again. This is getting dangerous. Haven’t felt this kind of raw attraction since…well, since before everything went to hell with Sarah.

“Table nine needs more napkins,” Ember says when she returns, and this time I’m ready for the impact of those green eyes.

“Storage closet’s behind the kitchen. I’ll show you.”

I lead her through the controlled chaos of the dinner service, weaving between servers and bussers, past the kitchen where Finn’s calling out orders in his usual rapid-fire style.

The storage closet is tucked away in a narrow hallway, barely big enough for two people, and when I open the door, she brushes against me as she reaches for the napkins.

“Christ,” I mutter under my breath.

“Sorry, what?”

“Nothing. Just…the napkins are on the top shelf.”

She stretches up, and I step behind her, ostensibly to help, but really because I can’t resist being close to her. My chest presses against her back, and I feel her go still.

“Got them,” she says softly, but she doesn’t move away.

Neither do I. We stand there for a moment, her back against my chest, and I can feel her breathing. Feel the way her body fits against mine like it was designed for this. My hands settle on her hips, just lightly, and she leans back into me.

Her hair smells like heaven, and she’s warm and soft in all the right places, and I’m about two seconds from saying to hell with appropriate when voices in the kitchen remind me where we are.

“Right then.” I step back, giving her space to turn around. “Back to work.”

She nods, clutching the napkins, and slips past me out of the closet. I follow, trying to ignore the way my hands are shaking slightly.

It’s been two hours since her shift started, and so far, I’ve been thoroughly impressed by both her skills and the sway of her hips. The little moment we had in the storage room is still fresh in my mind as though it happened seconds ago.

“How’s she doing?” Atlas appears beside me, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Better than expected. Handles herself well, remembers orders, doesn’t get rattled by difficult customers.”

“Any concerns?”

I consider this. “She’s almost too good at it. Like she’s been doing it her whole life. We might be underpaying her,” I joke.

Atlas rolls his eyes. “Keep an eye on her. Let me know if anything seems off.”

He disappears back toward his office, leaving me with the uncomfortable feeling that I’m not taking the situation seriously enough.

By closing time, I’m highly impressed despite myself.

“Good first night,” I tell Ember as she hangs up her apron. “You’re a natural at this.”

“Thank you. Good teacher.”

Most of the staff have cleared out, leaving just us and a few customers finishing their drinks. Ember’s gathering her things when the front door slams open with enough force to rattle the windows.

Big guy in a trucker cap staggers in, already drunk and looking for trouble. I recognize the type. A long-haul driver who’s been on the road too long, had too much to drink at his last stop, and thinks he can walk into any establishment and demand whatever he wants.

“Kitchen still open?” he slurs, weaving toward the bar.

“Sorry, kitchen closes at eleven,” I tell him, keeping my voice level. “I can get you a drink, but no food.”

“Bullshit. I’ve been driving for twelve hours. I want a fucking burger.”

“Can’t help you there.”

His bloodshot eyes shift to Ember, who’s standing near the register, counting her tips. “What about you, sweetheart? You look like you’d be real accommodating.”

“Sir, like he said, the kitchen’s closed,” Ember replies. Her voice is professional but firm.

Trucker takes a step toward her, and I move to intercept, but he’s faster than his drunken state suggests. His hand shoots out and grabs a handful of her ass, squeezing hard enough that she gasps.

Everything goes red around the edges.

I cross the distance between us in three steps, grab the bastard by his collar, and slam him face-first onto the nearest table. His arm goes behind his back in a move I learned in the Army, twisted just to the edge of breaking.

“Touch her again and I’ll snap your arm like a twig,” I growl in his ear, my Scottish accent thick with rage. “You understand me?”

“Jesus, okay, okay!”

“You’re going to apologize to the lady, and then you’re going to walk out that door and never come back.”

“Sorry,” he gasps. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything.”

I let him up, but stay ready to put him down again if he tries anything else. He scrambles toward the door, muttering under his breath, and disappears into the night.

When I turn back to Ember, she’s standing exactly where she was, but her face has gone pale and her hands are shaking slightly.

“You all right?” I ask, moving toward her slowly.

She nods, but I can see tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“No, you’re not fine. Come here.”

I lead her toward the back, toward the storage room where we were earlier, because she needs somewhere private to collect herself, and I need somewhere private to deal with the adrenaline still coursing through my veins.

In the dim light of the storage room, she leans against the shelving unit and takes a shaky breath.

“I’ve dealt with worse,” she says, but her voice wavers slightly.

“Shouldn’t have to deal with it at all.” I stand in front of her, close enough to offer comfort but not so close as to crowd her. “Nobody puts their hands on you without permission. Not in my bar.”

She looks up at me. “Thank you,” she whispers.

She’s standing there in the dim storage room light, ponytail coming loose from her shift, cheeks still flushed pink from what happened. Lips slightly parted as she tries to catch her breath.

Christ, she’s beautiful.

“Ah, bollocks,” I mutter under my breath. “This is a terrible idea.”

I cup her face in my hands and kiss her, hard and desperate.

Her lips are warm and taste faintly of mint gum.

When she kisses me back, her mouth opening under mine, her hands grip the front of my shirt and pull me closer.

I back her against the metal shelving, my body pressing into hers, and she makes this soft sound in her throat that goes straight through me.

My hands slide down to her waist, then lower to cup her ass, pulling her hips against mine. She moans into my mouth, the sound muffled but desperate, and her fingers tangle in my hair.

And the only thing I can think is how Atlas is going to kill me if he finds out.