Mute (Dragon Runners Book 1) Page 2

  Some Dragon Runners were there. It seemed the bar was a stopping and gathering place for the bikers before heading to the private compound. All of them had nicknames that later I found out were called road names. Betsey introduced me to her husband, the club president, Brick. Cutter and Taz were sitting with him, and I got the impression they were also in charge of running the club, maybe like management. Taz looked like he was similar in age to Brick, somewhere in his late fifties or early sixties. Cutter was a bit younger, maybe in his late forties. Even though they were friendly, they exuded an aura of dominant male power. I was intimidated, but for some reason, not really scared of them. It was more like a sense of protection for those included in their circle. I didn’t think they were a danger to me but I didn’t want any of them to get mad at me either. I also met Stud, one of the younger members, in his early thirties. It was hard for me to meet his blue eyes as he was model gorgeous, and that kind of man was really intimidating to me. He was friendly and outgoing, greeting me as a member of the family even though I was just the hired help. Nonetheless, there was a do-not-fuck-with-this-club vibe in the air.

  I was behind the bar, pulling another beer from the tap for Stud, when the room seemed to go still. I looked up and saw another club member in the doorway, one I’d not met yet. He wasn’t just big, he was BIG. He wore a tight black tank under his cut that showed off thick, hard arms covered in tribal tattoos, black jeans that molded to his strong, muscular thighs, and heavy black biker boots. He had a striking and strong presence, and I felt my gut tighten in startled reaction. He wore his black hair long and loose, waving back from his face, and looked like he might have some Native American blood, probably Cherokee as there was a reservation nearby. When he walked in the bar, I swear the air temperature dropped. This guy’s aura said he would fuck you up if you dared get out of line. His eyes were piercing, could freeze you to the spot in an instant. He was a wall, unsmiling, expressionless.

  I swallowed the sudden fear that clogged my throat. Invisible, I’m invisible. He doesn’t really see me.

  “What’s up, Mute?” Stud bellowed.

  Mute didn’t say anything, but jerked his head in a nod and sat at the end of the bar. He leaned on his elbows and thumped the counter twice with his thick knuckles. I hesitated, and then hurried over to take his order. This was one biker I did not want to piss off.

  “Um… what can I get you?” My voice came out soft and squeaky. I noticed his left ear was pierced with a single silver hoop, and he had a thick silver woven chain around his neck, as well as a leather choker, a couple of matching bracelets, and multiple silver rings on his fingers.

  He frowned. The thick black mustache that framed his mouth and chin contracted menacingly as his full lips tightened. His brows arced together in irritation, making hard lines on his forehead. His black eyes bored into mine with an unspoken threat. He stood up and thumped again.

  I froze, unable to break away from his penetrating gaze. I now knew firsthand what deer-in-headlights syndrome felt like. I could feel my knees starting to shake as fight or flight set in. I sputtered.

  “Um… I… um….”

  His face went even darker, and he seemed to swell bigger in rage, reminding me of the Hulk. My eyes widened and I held my breath. Definitely flight. As soon as possible!

  “I got you, Mute,” Betsey trilled behind me. She placed a large white mug filled with black coffee in front of him. He nodded to her and lifted it to his lips. He shrank back down to his regular human size, which was only a little less threatening.

  “Come here for a minute, Kat.”

  Betsey moved over to the other side of the long bar, wiping its gleaming surface as she went. The woman was constantly moving, full of energy, talking and laughing with a smile on her face as she moved around. Right now, she was not smiling.

  “Mute don’t talk. At all. Underneath that choker is a scar from a knife fight years ago, before he joined the club. I ain’t gonna tell you the whole story, as there’s parts of it I don’t know. We ain’t exactly strict on it, but most club business ain’t something the women get involved in. Not even old ladies.”

  She dropped the cleaning rag on the lower counter and turned to face me. Despite saying she wouldn’t tell me the whole story, she proceeded to do just that.

  “What I do know is he was jumped by three men who beat him up badly, cut his throat, and left him to die. I don’t know why it happened, just that he should have died from it. He held his throat together and by pure grit and guts managed to get hisself to the hospital. By some miracle, the doctors were able to stitch him back up and he survived, but his voice didn’t. His vocal chords were cut or got tore up too much to ever heal right. When he got outta the hospital, my old man patched him in the club first thing, saying anyone who survived that ordeal deserved it. Now he’s the sergeant at arms for the club and works here with me as the bouncer. He don’t rile much, and fights don’t happen often, but when they do, he takes care of it.”

  I shuddered a bit. I’d been through several rotations in the local hospital emergency room, and had seen some serious trauma done to the human body. Just the idea of what Mute had been through was terrifying, and I know would be enough to give anyone a sour outlook on life. I still stayed away from him as much as possible, and only went near him to refill his coffee cup. Knowing a bit of his story helped, but he was still one big, scary biker. Whenever I chanced a glance at him, his frown deepened.

  The rest of the night was loud. Some baseball game was playing silently on the big screen, and the jukebox was blasting out country songs. Laughter and loud conversation competed with the machine’s volume. Everyone was there to have a good time, to enjoy life and be a part of a bigger fellowship. I found myself relaxing even though I was running around like crazy, pouring beer into giant glasses and shots into small ones, popping bottle tops and collecting empties. I knew I would be tired later, but I still felt good, despite the minor run-in with Mute. I also met more of the club’s old ladies. Molly was a loud, vivacious curly-haired blonde who literally strutted in her Silver brand jeans and Property of Cutter cut. Her ass twitched with every step of her stilettos. Tambre was older like Betsey, dark-haired and heavyset, with a generous bottom and top. She belonged to Taz, who was the club VP. These women were loud and fun, right at home in the bar. Their laughter rang out as they sat at the far left end of the bar, an area that was all but reserved for them. They were almost like celebrities, from the way most of the club patrons either knew them, or knew of them and admired them from afar.

  The other women hanging around were cheap imitations of the real thing. They seemed to be in competition with each other to catch the attention of the male patrons by showing as much skin as possible. Supershort skirts, spiky heels or boots, tight tanks cut low—it was hard to tell one from the other. Big hair and heavy makeup rounded out what I was calling the “biker skank” look. The old ladies didn’t need to work that hard at getting attention. They had a confidence about them; they knew who they were and where they belonged, and were secure in it. That made them and belonging to the club very attractive. This was the kind of family I’d always wanted to be a part of, and even if I wasn’t part of it, at least I could watch and admire it from afar.

  At the end of the night, Betsey cleared the tip jar and I had fifty-six dollars cash in my pocket. I could make fifty-six dollars last a long time at the grocery store or in the gas tank. As she handed me my portion, I couldn’t help but smile in delight. This was the difference I needed in my life, especially today. I was sure tips were better on weekends, but if I could make just this little bit more every week, I would be able to survive and maybe even get Fred fixed soon.

  “You ain’t gonna quit, are you? You did real good, and I really need you here. Them club bitches just wanna hook up most nights, and I need someone reliable who’s gonna show up and do the job,” Betsey asked, her green eyes pleading.

  “Mute didn’t seem too happy with me here. Is he going to f
ire me?” I was a little surprised at Betsey approaching me that quickly, but I’d learned already she was a no-nonsense person. What was on her mind came out of her mouth.

  “Oh, honey, you don’t gotta worry ‘bout Mute. He don’t do no hiring an’ firing here. His bark really is worse than his bite. Well, not for them folks who come in here to start trouble. He stops fights before they begin, so this place is safer than walking through town at night, and you know how empty them streets is.”

  I smiled with genuine affection for the older woman. I’d thought a few times about finishing out the night and not coming back, but being handed a much-needed wad of cash was a great incentive to continue working there. I could get used to Mute, even if he was scary.

  “I need the job, so no, I’m not quitting. This works out perfectly with my schedule, at least for now.”

  I enjoyed the work. It was hard and kept me running in my sneakers all night, but aside from a little flirting from Stud, no one said much to me. I could work here and still be invisible, but also be around the bright light of the club women’s circle. Just a little of that reflection felt wonderful, and I appreciated just being on the edge of that circle.

  “Welcome to the family, darlin’!” she said with some relief.

  Mute observed the bar as he always did, drinking coffee, and looking for problems. He already could feel the new help was going to be one. All night he had watched her, slipping through the crowd, deftly avoiding eye contact, staying out of people’s way. She seemed to want to melt into the background, and in some ways that made her the perfect employee. One who would do her job and get things done with no muss or fuss. She didn’t dress to impress, wearing jeans and plain T-shirt, simple sneakers, hair up in one of those stretchy things. It was hard to tell if she wore makeup or not.

  When he had first walked into the bar, he’d been angry. Brick had called for a church meeting at the Lair earlier, and all the ranking members and officers had to be present. The older man had shown his frustration, banging the gavel repeatedly to maintain order at the formal meeting. There was bad business going on around town, rumors of drug running, even though the club had gotten out of that shit years ago. Brick and Betsey had worked hard to get the club out of the one-percenter limelight and into legit businesses without feeling the loss of income, but people had long memories when it came to the bad stuff. He’d spent the afternoon searching corners with a club prospect, hanging around, looking for leads. Nothing. It was hard enough to make himself understood, let alone get anyone to communicate with him, and the prospect was either too scared or too stupid to try.

  When he’d arrived at the bar tonight, he’d slumped heavily into his spot at the bar and tapped at the new girl for his coffee. She looked at him like she was ready to run out the door. Real pretty eyes, but fuck this shit! His patience was at an end. He stood up and thumped the bar again, knowing his frustration was showing and he was taking it out on an innocent girl. Betsey was there in an instant, talking fast and light, pouring his coffee. The girl settled and went back to work, steadily if uneasily.

  Too soft, thought Mute. Pretty girl but too soft for the life. Probably not stick it out. Leave in a week.

  Chapter 3

  “Just another few months, Fred, and then you can die peacefully. I promise.”

  I pulled into the familiar parking lot and got out of the shuddering vehicle. I’d been working at the River’s Edge for several weeks, and my life had settled into a comfortable routine. I was getting better and better at tending the bar and memorizing more of the few drink recipes that were occasionally requested. The tips were great, and enough for me to save up some money.

  “That thing’s a death trap, darlin’. Shoulda been put outta its misery a year ago.”

  I jumped at the loud, gravelly voice and saw Mackie shuffling across the narrow parking area.

  Mackie was one of the bar’s regulars, although he was not a part of the MC. I had met him the second night I’d worked at the bar. He always came in for a few hours in the evening, and sat in the same seat at the bar. He was an older man, somewhere in his midseventies, always wearing old jeans and flannel work shirts. A baseball cap typically covered what was left of his grizzled gray hair, and he kept a bristly gray beard to match. He also had only one arm, the right sleeve of his shirt tucked neatly into the jeans pocket. The first night I met Mackie, he asked for a beer on tap.

  “Which one?” I asked.

  Mix’em up!” he declared, grinning at me. “Name’s Mackie. You’re new, ain’tcha?”

  “Yes, sir. Started last night.”

  “Darlin’, I ain’t been a sir in a coon’s age. Jus’ call me Mackie. You like workin’ here?”

  “So far. I haven’t had any trouble, and everyone is really nice.”

  “Yep. Good place. Good people. Gets a little rowdy every now and then, but Betsey runs a tight ship, and Mute takes care of trouble.”

  I’d only seen Mute sit at the end of the bar, drink coffee, and glower at people, but I wasn’t going to argue. I went to set up a tab, as it seemed that Mackie was there to stay awhile. Mute thumped the counter next to me, and I automatically went to refill his cup. I was confused when I found it already full. I’d tried to avoid looking directly at him, so as to not make him mad, but he thumped the counter again. I raised my eyes to his hesitantly. He wasn’t mad or fierce this time, but there was a firmness to his face. He pointed to the tab area near the register and shook his head.

  “N-n-no tab?” I stammered. “P-p-pay as he goes?”

  He shook his head again.

  “Um… I’m confused. Does he pay at all?”

  He shook his head yet again.

  “Um… okay.”

  Betsey appeared at my side, coming from the back storage rooms with several bottles in her arms. “Hey, darlin’. No need to fret. We don’t charge him here. Mackie’s a Vietnam War vet. Lost his arm over there saving a whole platoon of soldiers when he got blown out of a tank. His tab was paid a long time ago.”

  My eyes watered slightly. I may have been working for a rough MC bar, but Mackie was right. Good place, good people.

  “I’m surprised that heap passes inspection,” the old man grumbled.

  I laughed and waited for him to catch up to me.

  “It probably wouldn’t, so I haven’t had it inspected in a while,” I quipped back. “Fred’s been with me a long time, but hopefully I can let him retire gracefully in a few months.”

  He grunted as he reached me, rolling his eyes. I hugged him, and we walked in side by side.

  Mackie sat at his favorite spot, and I went behind the bar. He reached out his hand as if holding a mug and gazed at it with a sad, confused look on his face. I laughed, filled a mug from a random tap, and placed it carefully in his cupped palm. His expression immediately changed to one of happy satisfaction, and he slurped at the frothy head.

  I laughed again and happened to glance over at Mute, who was sitting at his usual spot. His gaze was intense, and for a moment I felt fear buzz through me. Then he nodded both in greeting and approval.

  I was getting more and more relaxed around Mute. I could interpret most of his signals and the few expressions he used. I’d still never seen him laugh or even crack a smile, but it seemed he had subtle ways of making himself understood—or at least, he did to me. Almost like a private dialogue I could hear in my head. I even assigned a voice to him, deep, masculine, one that would growl out words but underneath had the power to roar.

  Mute thumped the bar twice, and I heard it as two syllables.

  “Co-ffee.”

  I refreshed his cup and he nodded at me once, his dark eyes on mine and his mouth in its normal frown.

  “Thanks,” I heard in my head.

  “Don’t mention it,” I replied, as if we were having a conversation. He looked a bit surprised at my response, but I decided to let it go. I had to get along with him and stop being scared of him.

  “I’m going to make a round of the fl
oor, clear some empties, and do a drink check. Okay with you, Betsey?”

  “Sounds good darlin’.” Betsey was at the bar running one of the blenders, probably for the margarita concoction she was known for making. Bruiser was the other bartender/biker on duty. I didn’t know how he got his club name, but it had nothing to do with the cute little Chihuahua that Reece Witherspoon toted around in that Legally Blonde movie. He was not much taller than me, but very round. He wore a blue work shirt under his cut that strained at the buttons to hold him in. His thinning hair was pulled back in a short ponytail that wasn’t much more than a single curl. He was pulling beers as fast as he could, trying to keep up with the crowd. He grunted a “Hey, Kat” greeting with a quick tobacco-stained grin, and then went back to work.

  It was a Friday night, early enough that the football game was still on, but late enough that most of the bar patrons were tanked. Stud’s band was on the stage playing loud country rock. He was the bassist and lead singer. A row of club skanks were in front of them, screaming and dancing hard, trying their best to entice the band members. I knew two of them, Nikki and Donna, and they were the biggest of the skanks, ready to go to the back rooms of the bar or do whatever they had to do to get invited to the Lair. I glanced at Stud as I skirted the dance floor to get to the tables on the back wall. Nikki was singing off-key at the top of her lungs, jumping up and down so hard on her heels I was expecting her to either fall over or her unrestrained breasts to pop out of her low-cut top. I rolled my eyes at him and he grinned through the lyrics and winked at me.