Chapter Seven

Nell laughed. “So are you back up this way sourcing bike parts from Roberta?”

“Yep. Custom-restore on a 1920 Indian Scout.”

“Holy shit. No way.”

“Way. When the kid rolled it into The Garage, nobody could believe their eyes. I legitimately thought that Jinx was going to lose his mind. He had an Indian Scout as a teenager, and he still talks about that motorcycle like it was family.”

“Where’d the kid get it?”

“Inherited it from his grandfather. I doubt he’s serious about ever riding it, but he got some cash in the will too, and he’s decided to use it to restore the bike as close to original as possible. But finding parts for the gearbox is a bitch. Been up in Minnesota for two days, then spent hours this morning in Iowa looking at Ernie’s shop, but no luck. This job’s going to be a challenge.”

“I can imagine.”

“I’m dropping by Roberta’s tomorrow afternoon, so fingers crossed.”

“If anyone can help you out, it’s her.” Nell looked around briefly, saw that her two bartenders were being run off their feet as she stood there and gabbed. “I’d better help the guys serve up a few drinks, it looks like.”

Silver grinned. “And here I thought that being owner got you out of doing any actual work.”

Nell rolled her eyes. “I wish, believe me. But hey, it just occurred to me – you need a cabin?”

“You got one free?”

“Sure do.” She checked the room keys behind the counter. “Number two. Good?”

“That’s the one with the massive, claw-footed bathtub?”

“Nope, that’s number seven, and it’s already taken.”

“Damn.”

“You bring your scented bubble bath all this way for nothing, handsome?”

Silver laughed aloud, accepted the key for number two and stuck it in his jeans pocket. “Scoot now. Get to serving, gorgeous.”

She did and he looked around the massive room again, more leisurely this time. The Roaring Red was a great bar and apparently, it always had been, but the word was that ever since Nell had taken it over about ten years ago, it was an awesome bar. Naturally, Silver loved Satan’s (his own club’s bar), fiercely and first, but he always looked forward to getting back to The Red.

He sipped his drink, idly noted that the clientele was getting younger and better-dressed. That was good for Nell, he knew, because if she could get the kids in, the ones with jobs and some cash and keep them happy, they’d be steady and regular. A bar owner’s dream.

For Silver, though, it wasn’t so great. He was forty-two years old, and God knows that some days he felt every minute of it, and even looking at some of these hot young things letting it all hang out made him feel like a dirty old man. Besides, he’d never gone for women much younger than him, not ever, always sticking with women within a few years off his own age, one way or the other.

Glancing around at the twenty-something cuties, it suddenly occurred to him that, actually, the clientele wasn’t getting that much younger: Silver was getting older.

“Damn,” he muttered to himself. “Hard truth, boy.”

He briefly contemplated the relentless passing of time, then decided what the fuck. He figured that he’d survived the most violent years of being in The Road Devils, the years under Kirby Riggs and Wheels Jordan, Wolf’s predecessors. Both Presidents had been brutally murdered when the club was literally cock-deep in blood and bodies, back when the club was still one-percenter affiliated. Back then, Silver had been in a bad fucking head space and he’d pretty much gone looking for death, just opened up his arms and invited bloodshed into his life, but he’d kept breathing. If Silver had made it through those hellish years – with all the shoot-outs, and circling enemies, and constant danger – then he was quite possibly bulletproof. Hell, maybe even immortal.

And he looked pretty damn fine for forty-two. Even if he did say so himself.

Greatly cheered up now, he tossed back his drink, caught Davie’s eye. The bartender raised his chin in confirmation, poured a second double, brought it over to Silver.

“Doing alright?” Davie asked, sliding the drink across the well-worn wood. “Life down in Denver OK?”

“It’s OK.”

Davie nodded, then turned to take another order. God, the place was crazy tonight and the throng of people standing around the bar waiting to get served swelled again. Silver got accidentally elbowed four times before he decided that that was enough, and looked around for a table. Not that he expected to find an empty one, but maybe he’d find one with a free seat and without a couple practically having sex on the spot. He’d quickly and quietly finish his drink, then walk across the highway to the cabins that Nell had inherited with The Red. Jump into the boring, normal shower in cabin two, watch a bit of bad TV, have an early night.

That was when he spotted her.

In a whole room heaving with scantily-clad and sexy women, a significant number young enough to be his daughter, all Silver saw was her.

Then again, she was impossible for him to miss, in that amazing red number that showed off every damn asset that the woman had. Curvy legs in high-heeled boots, waist pulled in waspish and tight with a belt, generous breasts spilling out of the dress, golden skin that glowed even in the dim light. But that astonishing lush body was just the start. Silver clocked the thick dark hair that curled around a heart-shaped face, the black eyes with the longest lashes he’d ever seen in real life, the glossy bee-stung lips.

Everything about the woman was rounded, soft, curved. Not one hard edge on her, not one sharp angle, not one harsh feature. She had a bit of a 50’s vibe about her, actually: all va-va-voom curves in that dress that bared her shoulders, all big smoky eyes, all quiet elegance and class. She looked warm and welcoming and all woman… and Silver was a man who’d had a long, hard day of driving across two states, another full day of work and then driving starting early the next morning. A bit of sweet company and teasing flirtation wouldn’t be a bad thing.

Silver paused, though, looked around again. Surely a woman like this couldn’t be alone in a bar? Maybe her man was in the bathroom, or at the bar getting another round?

But he knew – he just knew – that she was there by herself. She had a quiet dignity and stillness to her, an air of expectancy, of listening to something in her own head and heart. She was alone, but she didn’t look lonely. She looked at peace and calm and…

Happy.