Page 5 of Fallen Dove (Fallen Lords MC 2nd Gen #1)

Adley

My legs already hated me.

It was only my second night at the Social Club, and though the ache from yesterday still throbbed in my calves and feet, I didn’t have a second to even think about it.

The place was packed.

Tuesdays were league nights for the pool tables, which meant every table not covered in green felt was crammed with people eating, drinking, laughing, and hollering at shots being made or missed.

The jukebox was playing something twangy and loud enough to buzz in my chest.

The smell of fried food clung to my clothes, and my hair stuck to the back of my neck from running nonstop.

Penny had sworn she’d stick with me tonight, but that was before the rush hit.

Too many people, too many tables.

We split without even saying we were splitting; she went left, I went right.

I had three tables waiting for food, another for drinks, and a fifth one that was still undecided about whether they wanted wings or nachos.

Chicago might’ve made me feel invisible most of the time, but Weston was making damn sure I was seen.

I swung by the kitchen window, picked up a basket of burgers and fries, and balanced them on my tray like my life depended on it.

I got them to the right table, thank God, and dodged a guy who backed out from his stool without looking.

This was a different kind of exhaustion than working in an office.

Back there, my brain felt fried from staring at a screen.

Here, it was my body that wanted to shut down.

But I couldn’t think about that.

Not when every table wanted something.

“Hey, sweetheart!”

I turned and spotted a table of four guys near the far wall.

They looked like they’d been camping there since late afternoon.

Pool cues leaned against the wall, half-empty pitchers of beer sweating on the table.

All in their thirties, maybe forties, loud and laughing, and already red-faced from booze.

I pasted on my best waitress smile and headed over as I pulled my pen and pad from my apron.

“What can I get you guys?”

The one closest to me leaned back in his chair, with his eyes running over me in a way that made my skin prickle.

“I can think of a few things,”

he said, dragging the words out.

I ignored the comment, and scribbled down the order as the other three rattled off their requests.

“Three old fashioneds and four shots of tequila?”

I repeated back.

“That’s right, darlin’,”

one of them said.

“Bring ‘em fast, and we’ll make it worth your while.”

I didn’t flinch, didn’t bristle. Chicago had taught me to keep it light, keep it smooth.

“Drinks first, tips after,”

I said cheerfully, and slid the pad back into my apron.

“I’ll be right back.”

They laughed, and it was easy enough to step away without pissing them off.

My tray was empty, and my stomach dropped when I glanced toward the bar, Thorn wasn’t there. Just Mason.

Shit.

I slowed, and flipped through my notepad praying Thorn would pop out of the back with a stack of glasses or a bottle in hand. No such luck. Mason was wiping down the bar, big shoulders stretching the fabric of his black tee under his cut, and moved with that calm control that made everything else in the room feel too loud and frantic.

Double shit.

I went to the end of the bar, and kept my face neutral. Mason pulled two beers for a pair of girls sitting a few stools down before heading my way. He wiped his hands on a towel, then leaned in just enough for his voice to cut through the noise.

“What do you need?” he asked.

Loaded question. Way too loaded. But I kept my eyes on my pad.

“Three old fashioneds, and four shots of tequila.”

He nodded, and already reached for the brandy. His movements were smooth and efficient, like he’d done this a thousand times, which he probably had. I forced myself to look anywhere but his hands.

“How’s your second night going?”

he asked, his voice even.

I knew he meant it as the boss. That was the kind of question a manager should ask. But something in the way he said it, low, steady, like it mattered, made my heart pick up speed.

“Uh, well, it’s pretty busy,”

I said, and shifted my weight from foot to foot.

“But I think I’m doing okay.”

“League nights are always like this,”

Mason said. He dropped an orange peel into the glass, stirred, then slid the finished old fashioned to the side.

“Friday and Saturday nights are twice as busy.”

My jaw dropped. “Whoa.”

“Yeah, kid.”

He didn’t even look up as he said it, just reached for the next glass, his hands working with quiet precision.

Kid.

That word sank like a stone in my stomach. I wasn’t a kid. Far from it. Thirty-one years old, fresh out of a city that had chewed me up and spit me out. I’d lived on my own, paid my own bills, fought my own battles. And Mason still saw me like I was a teenager.

“I’m not a kid,”

I said low and firm daring him to argue.

He stilled for half a second before grabbing the tequila bottle. He lined up the shot glasses with practiced ease and filled each one to the brim.

Then he set them carefully on my tray, wiped his hands on the towel again, and finally looked at me.

“Did you hear me?” I asked.

His eyes locked on mine, steady and unreadable.

“Yeah, I heard you, Adley.”

“And?”

“And I know you’re not a kid. I’d have to be blind to think that.”

The way he said it, measured, quiet, with his gaze still locked on mine, made the air thicken around us. My pulse thundered in my ears, and for a second, the noise of the bar faded into nothing.

Then someone shouted his name from down the bar, and just like that, he broke the spell. Mason turned, towel slung over his shoulder, and moved toward the call without another word.

I stood frozen for a heartbeat, tray balanced in my hands, and wondered what the hell had just happened.

For one second, it hadn’t felt like he was my boss. Or Slayer’s brother. Or someone I was supposed to keep my distance from. For one second, it had felt like he’d stripped all of that away and just seen me.

I blinked hard, turned on my heel, and made myself focus. Drinks. Four shots, three cocktails.

I gripped the tray tighter and headed back to the table of four guys.

They cheered when I set down the old fashioneds and passed out the shots. I smiled, made small talk, kept it easy. Three of them were fine, loud but friendly. The fourth, though, the same one who’d made the pass earlier, leaned closer when I bent to set his drink down.

“Thanks, sweetheart,”

he drawled, and before I could shift away, his hand brushed against my hip and squeezed.

I stiffened and forced a polite smile as I straightened.

“Enjoy your drinks.”

I turned to go, but I didn’t make it more than a step.

Mason was suddenly there.

One second I was holding my tray, the next Mason’s shadow fell over the table. His voice was low, sharp, and carried through the music and chatter like a knife.

“Keep your hands to yourself.”

The guy blinked up at him, slow and sloppy.

“Hey, man, we’re just having a good time.”

“You touch one of my waitresses again, and you’re gone.”

Mason’s jaw flexed, and his eyes were hard as steel.

“Actually, you’re done now. Get up.”

“Mason, it’s fine,”

I rushed in, shifting between them, my voice soft but urgent.

“Really. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

Mason didn’t even look at me. His eyes stayed locked on the guy.

“Out. Now.”

The guy shoved his chair back, muttered under his breath, but he stood. His three friends scrambled to smooth things over.

“We’ll stay,”

one said quickly.

“We’re not gonna be any trouble.”

Mason gave them a long look before jerking his chin toward the door. He leaves and make sure he doesn’t come back tonight.”

The guy grumbled as his buddies steered him away.

“Mason,”

I started.

He turned his head just enough to look at me.

“I’m the boss, Adley. I decide who stays and who doesn’t.”

His tone was clipped and final.

Penny and Bay appeared at my side, wide-eyed.

“You okay?”

Penny asked and scanned me up and down.

“I’m fine,”

I insisted, and adjusted the tray against my hip.

“He barely touched me. Mason didn’t need to kick him out.”

Penny frowned.

“He did. That guy shouldn’t have put his hands on you. Period.”

I wanted to argue, but Mason was already striding back behind the bar, his broad back cutting through the crowd like nothing had happened. He went back to work as if tossing someone out mid-shift was just part of the routine.

But I felt his eyes on me the rest of the night.

Even when I avoided him and went to Thorn for drink orders, I knew Mason was watching. I could feel it, hot against my skin, and lingered longer than it should.

When the last table cleared and the lights dimmed, Penny came over, and pulled a small wad of bills from her apron. “Here.”

She pressed it into my hand.

“Your cut from last night. It’s not a ton, but it’s something.”

“Thanks.”

I tucked it away.

“Weekends are a lot better,”

she promised with a grin.

“Less league chaos, more regulars.”

“Good to know,”

I said with a laugh, and untied my apron.

Thorn was behind the bar wiping down glasses, but Mason was nowhere. Probably in the back counting something.

I helped Penny close down, stacking chairs, wiping tables, and sweeping crumbs. By the time we finished, it was past two-thirty. The Social Club looked different, empty, and quieter, with the neon lights buzzing over the silence.

I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door.

Junior was stationed there, like always. Except tonight, he fell into step beside me as I walked into the lot.

“You don’t have to walk me,”

I said, tired enough to sound cranky.

“Yes, I do,”

he replied simply.

Too tired to argue, I sighed. “Fine.”

My car gleamed under the security light. I unlocked it, slid into the seat, and looked back at Junior through the window.

“Goodnight.”

“Night, Adley.”

He gave me a nod, solid as ever.

I shut the door, started the engine, and pulled out of the lot. The roads were mostly empty. Weston was asleep. A pair of headlights glowed in my rearview as I turned toward home, but the car passed me as I slowed to take the driveway.

Inside, I shut the door behind me and nearly groaned.

Slayer was waiting in the entryway again.

“Is this gonna be a normal thing?”

I asked, and toed off my boots.

“As long as you’re working this late and I can keep my eyes open,”

he said.

“How was your night?”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t fight him.

“My night was fine, Dad. Just busy.”

I didn’t tell him about the guy grabbing me or Mason stepping in. It hadn’t been that big of a deal. Not worth stirring up his temper.

“Goodnight,”

I said, and stretched up to kiss his cheek.

“Night, Ad.”

His voice softened, just like it always did with me.

I headed down to the basement, flipping on the bathroom light long enough to shower off the grease, sweat, and smoke. Wrapped in a towel, I padded back to the couch, tugged on a black shirt, and queued up Twilight on the TV.

The familiar lines and sparkling vampires lulled me as I curled into the blankets.

But when my eyes drifted shut, it wasn’t Edward Cullen I saw.

It was Mason. His eyes caught mine across the bar, his voice steady and firm as he said, I know you’re not a kid.

Damn him.

I sighed, let sleep pull me under, and told myself tomorrow would be easier.