As I took a deep breath, I fought the feeling of drowning. Then I hopped the bus to go back to work.
The rest of my shift was hot, tiring, and long. My clothes were drenched in sweat by the time I clocked out. Another typical day.
“See you tomorrow,” I said as I passed Miles on my way out.
“Have a good night,” he said.
Since I didn’t live far from the shop, I walked home. On the way, I paused at the door of a small bar that I passed hundreds of times before, never daring to stop in. With a small smile, I opened the door and stepped into the cool, dim interior.
I sat at the bar, and a disinterested bartender slapped a napkin in front of me. “What’ll it be?”
For a second, I sat there blinking. What the fuck did I want? I had no clue, so I said the first thing that popped in my head.
“Beer. Bud Light.”
“Bottle or draft?”
“Bottle.”
The guy nodded, popped the top off, and set it in front of me. “You starting a tab?”
“No,” I said, unsure of the protocol. Fuck, I’d never been in a bar.
He told me the price, and I pulled out the cash. “Keep the change.”
He left to help someone at the other end of the bar. For a moment, I sat there staring at the bottle, ignoring the hazy form to my left.
“It’s not gonna drink itself,” a gravelly voice said. I froze. Then I glanced at the guy who pulled up a stool next to me. He raised his hand to signal the bartender, ordered a draft, then glanced my way.
He was wearing a leather vest that had patches on it I couldn’t read without staring.
“It’s a good day for a beer,” he said before he raised his glass to his lips. The foam stuck to his mustache, and he licked it off.
“Yeah,” I replied awkwardly. It was as if the guy knew it was my first alcoholic beverage in five years. Damn, it was my first alcoholic beverage since becoming legal. I lifted the bottle to my lips, and the first taste hit my tongue. After that long, I expected it to be akin to Nirvana. Instead, it was just… beer.
“Good?” Kip asked as he sat next to me with his chin propped on the heel of his hand. I shot him a quick glare because I couldn’t very well answer with people around or I’d look like a crazy person. Hell, maybe I was nuts.
The guy in the vest watched the TV over the bar as he drank.
When my bottle was empty, I set it on the now damp napkin and got off my stool. The guy looked in my direction, and I gave him a tight smile before I turned to leave. As I passed him, I saw the patch on the back. It said ROYAL BASTARDS with SAVANNAH, GA, on the bottom patch.
For a second, I almost paused to ask him if he knew Dennison. It had been a long time, though. In the time I’d been out, I’d never heard a word from the man who’d been my friend and said he was known in his club as Griz.
“Have a good ride,” the guy said to me as I reached the door. I cast a glance over my shoulder.
“I’m walking,” I said with a frown, wondering why I bothered replying.
He simply smirked at me and returned his attention to the TV as he took another drink.
When I stepped out into the sun, I had to blink a few times to adjust to the bright light. As always, I scanned the area. If prison had taught me anything, it was to pay attention to my surroundings.
That’s when I saw a tatted-up guy standing next to two bikes. He was talking to a guy who leaned against a truck with an empty trailer. They both looked at me and gave me a chin lift in acknowledgement. One of them had a leather vest with patches on the back that read PROSPECT. The other guy had a T-shirt on that said Support Your RBMC with a pinup girl on a motorcycle.
Again, I was tempted to ask about Griz, but thought better of it as I gave them a chin lift of my own and continued the trek home.
I frowned when I turned the corner and saw a motorcycle parked in front of the efficiency apartment I rented above an elderly lady’s garage. I’d never seen her with a visitor that rode a bike.
“Weird,” I muttered as I skirted around it, pausing long enough to appreciate the gleaming black paint. The bike looked older but well maintained.