Word Count: 95k Novella
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Sub Genre: MC, Biker Fiction

Content Warnings: 

Graphic & Physical violence

Graphic threats

Verbal Abuse 

Bullying

Murder

Explicit language

Kidnapping 

Sexual abuse (not on page) 

Violence against women 

Loss of a loved one from murder

Loss of a child 

Minor Bondage (on page)

Inappropriate humor

Sexual Content

“Oh, my” is said A LOT

Status: Re-released January 29, 2023

VERA

“Life is what you make of it, even if what you made is a mess.”

21 years old

It’s been a little over a year since I lost my family. I don’t know how I do it. How do I get up every day? How do I keep going when the voice inside my head reminds me I’m alone, and it’s my fault? The monotony of my daily life is a reminder that I’ll never be more or have more than this. I’ll never be happy or deserve to be. Each day is the same. Get up, go to work, and then go back home. No friends, no family, not even a dog. And I can’t be upset about that because I’m the reason my family was torn apart. The reason the Tomasis–are no more.

Jolted out of my thoughts when I heard the voice that made me want to take a fork and shove it in my ear. I never understand why she has to screech everything. Life would be much easier and tolerable if she would just whisper. I sigh. “Vera, you have customers at table sixteen, but I can take um if ya want?” Her winey voice is one I cannot stand in this entire building, and it makes me cringe in annoyance every time I hear it–deep breaths. Claire stares at the side of my head expectantly, swirling her damn gum around her finger. 

Gross. 

Claire is another one of the evening waitresses here at Patty’s Diner. She claims she’s the lead waitress and reminds us of this daily. In her pea brain, she thinks she has authority over all the waitresses because she sleeps with leaning Steven. The nickname is my creation because he is always creeping around, leaning around corners, and watching us work as if he has nothing else to do. The man is creepy. I’ve never been sure about what his job title is. Manager? Owner? I don’t know because his name isn’t the one that is on my check at the end of the week. Honestly, I don’t care enough to clarify. I do my job and go home. No use in making waves, no use in caring. 

Claire… well, she’s my work nemesis, the bane of my existence. From the day they hired me, she’s hated me. Taking it upon herself every night to make working here even more tiring than it already is. And I hate it. I loathe that stuck-up lazy bitch. 

Pretend like I don’t hear her. My eyes roll as she acts as if I didn’t hear the bell above the door ring. Or see that my table is now filled. She scoots closer to me with her arms crossed, a scowl on her face, and popping that god-awful bubblicous cherry cola gum. Ugh, because of her, I now despise that dang gum. Even the smell of it makes my stomach churn.

 I hate playing these stupid games with her. I turn to stare at her blankly. I honestly wish I could leave this job and do something else. Anything else. Unfortunately, I have bills to pay, and I’m the only one that can. Because I’m alone. All a-fucking-lone.

My eyes trail from Claire to my customers at table sixteen, which is no longer just a single table. The group pulled a few other tables together. The large group of men is imposing and intimidating, to put it mildly. Our other customers scramble to finish their meals. Before they even finish chewing, they signal their servers for their checks and quickly exit. It’s odd because this isn’t the first time a group like this has been here. Looking at what they are wearing, I believe these are the same men that come here all the time. Granted, not so many at once. Maybe that’s why everyone seems so skittish. 

Receive nervous glances from other waitresses, Beebe and Mona. I don’t understand why they look so nervous and distraught. Between stealing glances at me and clearing the tables, they are acting like the men in my section are here for something other than eating. Beebe looks at me, and her eyes slide over to Claires, who is still staring daggers at the side of my head. And then it clicks.

I get it. 

I’ve had no one in my section tonight, thanks to Claire. Claire has a tendency to shuffle customers around, seating them where she wants them. Even after they’ve seated themselves, more often than not, she seats the customers she knows will tip well in her section, and if she can, which she usually does, she will prevent people from sitting in mine. Again, according to her, it’s her job as the lead waitress to seat customers. 

 The group bypassed her to sit in my section, and it obviously pissed her off. The way Claire acts when they have been here in the past means they are likely very good tippers or… lovers. Who knows? I smirk to myself, realizing that’s probably why she’s staring daggers at me and offering to take my tables.

No dice, Kemosabe.

Stand and watch the men as they settle in. They are all so damn big, like huge, and from what I can tell, good-looking. I peruse the men and ignore Claire’s irritated, huffing, puffing, and glare. I feel the annoyance rolling off her. I roll my eyes and go back to what I was doing. Giving them time to settle in before I go over to take their drink orders.

Claire shifts her overly large breasts in her extremely tight top, unbuttoning a few more buttons as if the two she had undone weren’t enough. Then she flips her head down and begins fluffing her overly processed hair. I roll my eyes so hard that I fear they may stay that way. 

It’s ridiculous how she’s acting. I see her do this routine at least once daily, and it screams desperate. She is such a slut. And that’s not me being judgmental. I’ve caught her in the parking lot, bathroom, and backroom screwing customers or Steven. Honestly, the bathroom, seriously? My body shivers in disgust at the thought of getting down and dirty in the bathroom. The woman has no shame. 

I think you should be in a relationship when you’re intimate with someone. I know I sound like a prude. But that’s just how I feel and how I was raised. 

Ok, yes, maybe I’m judging. 

She is almost 30, or at least that’s how old she looks. She should look to get her life together. Not prancing around, attaching herself to men who only see her as a good-time girl. I don’t know; maybe I am wrong. And this is the life she dreamed of having. I just know that I don’t want to be that kind of girl. I want to one day find that one, my one, and become a mother and wife. I know I don’t deserve it, but a girl can dream.

I am brought out of my thoughts when Beebe and Mona walk up to the counter after clearing their tables. I don’t get why they are acting the way they are. The men are just customers like any other, coming here to eat. So I’ll do my job, and they will eat and leave. 

“Do you know who those men are?” Mona asks.

She looks at me with concern while leaning against the counter, her slight frame squeezing between Claire and way too close to me. Which caused me to drop the silverware I was rolling. I swear, when they hit the ground, the noise must have ricocheted off of every surface because it was so loud. A few of the men at the table stopped talking and looked at us with curiosity. I duck my head, and my cheeks heat when my eyes catch his. I quickly look away as he and the others continue to watch us. Merda.

After reigning in my embarrassment, I pick up the silverware. Exasperated and I shake my head in annoyance, answering her question. I don’t know who they are, never felt the need to. 

My brow furrows as I realize she’s whispering. Why is she whispering? I turn to her to ask, “Why are we whispering?” Her big brown eyes widen. Mona is the quiet one in the group. She keeps to herself, so I find it interesting that she is questioning me about customers. “I mean, they aren’t new to the diner.” I shrug at her as she stares wide-eyed at me. She looks at me as if I have two heads. We stare at each other a little longer, and I wait for her to expand on whatever has her so… whatever this is.

I never pay much attention. I mean, ok, maybe there is one guy that caught my eye a time or two. But never once has he spoken to me or me to him. I sigh, finish my task, and set the last rolled silverware in the container. I look at Mona and answer her initial question because a headshake is apparently not good enough for her. 

I sigh and rub my temple, feeling a headache coming on. “No, should I? I don’t know who those men are, not really. Other than them coming here to eat. I’ve seen them around town riding their motorcycles, looking intimidating. But I don’t really pay attention to them.” I say. Mona continues to stare at me nervously. 

Beebe is the one to speak up, “Those men are a part of Lucifers Saints Motorcycle gang. They moved into the outskirts of town a couple of years ago. I hear they took over that hotel or resort that wasn’t finished. I also hear them boys are bad news.” Beebe whispers the same as Mona. “When I say I have heard stories about them. I mean terrible ones, Vera. Those men are dangerous. I heard they off’d all the farmers who wouldn’t sell their land. I also heard they sell drugs. They have these crazy parties where they rape women, and… maybe you should just let Claire take care of them. They know her…” And that’s when I stop her. 

“Ok…” I step back from them and look at all three of them. “Have any of you seen any of this happening? Or is it just rumors you’ve heard?” I stare at them with a raised brow. I know what life is like for those that make their living on the wrong side of the law, and most often than not, men in that lifestyle aren’t all bad. It’s the rumors that make them seem worse than they are. Yes, there may be a few rotten apples that spoil the bunch, but to say they’re all bad is ridiculous. Even with my past, I know that much. Hell, everyone treats me like I’m made of glass, and I’m the girl that murdered a Don in the Italian mafia. So, who am I to judge? 

They all look at me with shock, not expecting that question from me or the bit of bite in my tone. They should know better; I never listen to or take part in their gossip, so I don’t get why they are so shocked that I’m not falling for the “he said, she said” nonsense.

Of course, this gives Claire a chance to pipe up. “I have been to their clubhouse for a few parties, and it was wild. They drink, fuck, and, oh my gosh, those men are sexy. I have been seeing their President Brick and that man...” She pauses and looks over to the table they’re sitting at. “Like Beebe said. I should take the table. You aren’t woman enough to deal with men like them.” I roll my eyes at her and shake my head slightly at how unbelievable she is. “I’m used to them, and they know me and know me well.” Claire isn’t looking at me. She’s making googly eyes at the men who continue to watch us. 

Roll my eyes and fain shock at the obvious dig being thrown my way. Little do they know. I grew up with men like them. Stepping away from the ridiculous conversation. I count the number of men in the group. I grab a stack of menus and silverware needed, and without a word, I walk away, shaking my head at how mental everyone is. They are just men, big and burly from what I can tell, good-looking men, and harmless. 

A few of their eyes track me as I make my way to their table. I could see lust and curiosity in a few of them. It’s an odd sensation to have their focus on me. In the past, I received passing glances but nothing more. I’m no slouch–I know that. So having them staring at me now sends a shiver up my spine–not in a bad way. 

Thank goodness I have the stack of menus up to my chest. I chuckle to myself; I am blessed with plenty of T&A. I don’t have a typical California girl body or look at my five-foot-four-inch height. I’m far from a stick figure with my large “D” breasts and wide hips, my full tuchus. My mother… I shake my head at the pang of sadness that hits me whenever I think about her or my father. My steps falter, but I don’t stop. My mother used to say I was built like one of those glass Coke bottles, large chest, smaller waist, and big hips. And I hated it. As I got older, I embraced my body and loving it. Because it was me, it was also my mother. My throat clogs with emotion, and my eyes burn, but I shake it off as best I can. I can’t, not here, and not now.

My green eyes have always stood out in contrast to my hair, which used to be much darker than it is now. My hair used to be black, but now because of everything, I had to change it, dying it lighter. My hair used to be much curlier, but because I my dyed it, it’s not so curly as it is wavy. I had to wear it pulled up into a high ponytail when I worked. I hate having it on my neck or face when I’m working. When I first started, there wasn’t a day I didn’t go home with some gift in my hair because I would wear it half up, but now, I know better.

I make it to the table, and all chatter stops; all the men turn their heads toward me, giving me their undivided attention. But my eyes don’t see them. My eyes were caught by the most beautiful, penetrating grey eyes I’d ever seen. 

I mean, I’ve seen him before, but not this close. Not so close that I get a glimpse of his mesmerizing eyes and the danger they promise. My breath hitches, and my body’s response to him is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I try to ignore what looking into his eyes makes me feel. As much as I want to look away, I can’t. 

I study him a little longer as I pass out the menus, still not taking my eyes completely off him. His dark hair is short on the sides and longer at the top, and it has that air-swept look. It gives off that I don’t give a damn, but I do kind of feel to it. His hair reminds me of Rob Lowe. His nose fit his face perfectly. It’s straight and has a small divot in the center that you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t being a stalker like I am now. My skin heats in embarrassment, and I look away. I can’t help but look back just as quickly. His bottom lip is slightly fuller than his top but looks perfectly kissable. His jaw is firm and is covered with stubble, definitely more than a five o’clock shadow. Oh my. My eyes leave his lips and return to his eyes, and I see a slight smirk cross his lips as I stare at him unabashedly. I can’t very well help it. I may never get this chance again. 

I can feel the heat rushing to my face when he catches me staring at him. I can’t help it. He’s beautiful. Can men be beautiful because he is? Ruggedly handsome. He is big like the rest of the men, but not fluffy big, but I can rip a phone book in half big. Oh my.

Thank goodness for my naturally tan skin because I would be so embarrassed if he saw the full extent of my blush. His lip twitches in a smirk, and I quickly look away before embarrassing myself any more than I already have.

Before I say anything, one man speaks. “Well, hello there, beautiful. Why don’t you come over here and take a seat while you take me and my brothers’ orders?” He scoots his chair back and pats his lap as if I would do just that. Not likely. I hear a growl, and my brow furrows as I look around. 

Did someone literally just growl?

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