“You need to watch you’re back,” he warns as he climbs to his feet. He hooks his thumbs into his jean pockets. “Because we’re going to get what we’re owed one way or another.”
I swallow hard. I’ve never been more terrified in my life.
Honestly, I thought my father might have been exaggerating when he said he was at war, but now, I know it’s the truth.
I say nothing at all, and he walks out. I go to follow him to see which bike out front is his since I assume he's a biker, but a customer from another table calls my name, and I glance their way and back out to the front, but the guy is gone.
Shit!
I plaster a fake smile on my face and help the customer and then duck to the back. No way do I want to tell the guys about this. I don’t want them to freak out. I mean, last time, they bought me a gun!
But I do try to call Kyle again. My fingers are shaking so much that it takes me three times before the call actually goes through.
“Katie, I was at the movies. What’s so important?”
“You didn’t get a chance to read my texts yet?”
“Not yet. My eyes are still adjusting from the dark theater. Is this important? I’m on a date—”
“Yes, it’s important. You’re okay? No one has broached you?”
“No. I mean, yes, I’m okay. No, no one has broached me. Who would broach me? What are you talking about?”
“We can talk later. After your date. Hopefully in the morning!”
I hang up and release a breath. Of course Kyle’s safe from our father and the war. He didn’t go to college in Texas.
Maybe I really should rethink the whole transferring thing.
My chest is tight as I return to work, and I dully do my best to smile and make my customers happy. At least they can be happy even if I can’t be right now.
The door opens, and I hear familiar laughter. I turn to look over my shoulder, and there are my guys, all four of them.
And I don’t agree with that puppy dog love shit, but I can’t help smiling broadly at them, and some of the tightness in my chest eases instantly.
I hurry over to the hostess. “Barb, if you don’t mind, I’ll handle these hooligans.”
Barb eyes me and the guys and me again. “They like to flirt,” she warns.
“Don’t I know it,” I murmur.
“Right this way, guys,” Barb says, and she places them in my section, ironically enough at the same booth that stranger had been sitting, the one who gave me that warning to watch my back.
Ace lingers a second to be the last one to walk past me, and he leans in close. “I am more than ready to corrupt you tonight if your offer still stands.”
I grin and look up at him through lowered lashes. “You know I’m game.”
He pats my upper back and then hesitates. “Guess I shouldn’t pat your ass here. I wouldn’t want just any guy to think you tolerate that.”
I laugh. “You should tell the old geezers who come in on the weekend mornings that they’re not allowed to.”
“You let them?”
“Of course not! But I do flirt some in the attempt to try to get a better tip from them.”
“Ah. Smart. That’s allowed.”
“So there are rules now about what’s allowed and what isn’t?” I murmur.