CHAPTER THREE Mad Bell

CHAPTER THREE

Mad Bell

My eyes were glued to Maisy as she walked through the back door of Iron & Steel. I waited until the door closed behind her to move. The fuckin' Dipshit Dishwasher Prospect was coming back from dropping the boxes off in the recycle bin. He shook the shaggy hair out of his eyes before looking over at me. It was like he could feel the weight of my stare. He knew I was about to give him something else to do.

"Her car?" he asked like he just fuckin' knew what was going on in my head.

Never would have said I was a transparent man, and I didn't think I was now, but I'd be damned if the prospect didn't have some sort of divine insight most of the time. It was something that had probably saved him many times.

I also wasn't one to hold grudges, I didn't think. But the one I had for him fuckin' stuck. He fucked up, and I wasn't going to let him forget it. At least not while he was wearing that Prospect patch. I knew my brothers would damn well agree.

"Yeah," I grunted with a glare. "Tell her you know what's wrong and it's an easy fix. Get her to give you the keys then run it over to the garage."

I pulled out my phone and shot Wrench and Tinker a message letting them know what was going on. One of them was bound to be at the shop.

The prospect eyed me in a way that made me uncomfortable. Not like he was trying to be creepy, but more like he could see something I wasn't clued in on.

Fuckin' hated that shit.

I was two seconds away from telling him to get the fuck on with it when he ducked back into the bar.

I stayed leaning against my bike until he came back out, tossing her keys in the air with a look of victory on his face. That was that. I could go back inside and work the rest of my shift without worrying about it.

Why the fuck did I care about her car? Other than the fact it was loud and annoying, I didn't. There might have also been that nagging feeling that if I didn't do something about her car, there was a good chance that shit would break down on her after she left work. I might not have been able to stand it when she was around but I didn't want anything fucked up to happen to her. That was just human decency. I would have done the same for anyone. Plus, the club would have had my ass if they knew I heard that shit and did nothing. She might not have been a member or a member's partner, but they'd taken her into their little family. She was good to just about everyone here at the bar, and they were good to her. Of course, I was excluded from that. Which was fine. Maisy was like a rash, one I couldn't get rid of.

It was easy to play it off like I didn't know shit about what was up with her car as I walked into the kitchen. I headed to my corner with barely a look in her direction.

Unfortunately, it was enough to actually see her. Enough of a glimpse to notice how her cheeks were red like the heat of the day had sunk into her skin. It was hot as balls out there. Summer in the south on the coast was fuckin' miserable. But as much as I complained about it, I wouldn't move away for anything. It wasn't the beach that kept me here, though, as would be the big reason for most people. There wasn't even a small part of me that enjoyed the beach and all the terrible things that came with it, like the sun and the sand and the people. I stayed because, over the past five years, this place had started to feel like home.

It probably didn't help hanging out in the kitchen. This place was a sauna. It was hot outside, but it was at least ten degrees hotter in here. We had the air cranked up, but even that was struggling to keep up with the demand of the place.

Maisy said nothing as she got into her work groove. And of course I didn't say shit. I didn't talk unless I had to. It was easy for me to get lost in the task of weighing and prepping more burger patties. The night would bring a rush for burgers, nachos, and wings. Typical bar food. It wasn't anything exciting, though I did try to play around with the flavors. Drunk or not, people deserve to put something good in their mouths.

"What do you need restocked?" Maisy's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. It took me a long minute to process that she'd asked me a question.

"Low on potatoes," I said, keeping the brash edge out of my voice that usually gave off the vibe of don't fuck with me . "Scrub 'em good this time."

I went to the grill, feeling her laser stare go right through me. She'd never fucked up washing the potatoes and I knew it. Wasn't going to let her know that, though. She gave me shit all the time, it was only fair if I made her feel like she wasn't important enough to me to stand out in any way.

Any day Maisy graced me with her presence was one that always ended up with me beyond frustrated.

I had no doubt this one would be no different.

I shouldn't have let her get under my skin, but the woman drove me mad. Out of my mind, mad. She turned my grumpy asshole personality into a fucking blood-boiling psychopath with an urge to kill.

She did shit that would get under my skin like a bad splinter. It would burrow there and be a bitch to pull out. Like that fuckin' smirk she always wore when she hit my bell before I could. I should have been used to it by now. Should have been faster. But she always managed to sneak in and do the one thing that set my rage meter shooting off the charts. Half the time she would toss a wink at me once the chime rang out, and that shit threw me over the edge.

Every. Single. Fuckin'. Time.

Why the hell was I always the target of her attacks? And why the hell did I let it get under my skin the way I did?

I supposed it wasn't that hard to figure out. They called me Mad Bell because I got pissed over the simplest things. Like someone dinging my bell to signal an order was up. It was my kitchen. My food that I cooked. My pride that went out on the shelf to be taken to the customer with the hope that it would make them happy, at least for a few minutes. Maybe cooking bar food wasn't something most would be proud of, but this place was my home, my heart. It might not have seemed like it from the outside, but I took what I did seriously. This kitchen and the items on the menu that I made were the only joy in my life, even if it never showed on the outside.

So that was why it pissed me off when someone touched my bell.

And Maisy had made it her life's mission to ring my bell. To rob me of the chance to send off the meal I'd prepared.

Yeah, she drove me mad, and I often found relief in the days she had off.

Or so I would tell myself every shift I came in that was Maisy-free.

Tomorrow. Just one more shift then I could work in peace all day tomorrow.

I was surprised when she didn't toss some kind of snarky comment back about washing the potatoes. Something felt off about it but I told myself to just be happy I didn't have to deal with her attitude. She got to work, and that was the end of that. The next few hours went by as if neither of us existed to the other. She worked the bar, only coming back a few times to cut up some limes and oranges.

For about half a second, I wondered if there was something bugging her. Was it her car? Something else? But then I remembered that I didn't care, and did my best to pretend she wasn't even here.

"What's up with her car?" I asked the moment I saw the prospect. I figured he'd gone missing the last couple of hours to help with the lie, so I decided not to give him any crap.

"Serpentine belt," he told me, voice low. "Among other things."

Yeah, her car was older. Though it did look like it was well taken care of. I'd been curious once and peeked inside the windows when no one was around, and found it fairly clean. Wasn't sure why it surprised me since Maisy was usually clean and tidy at work. Sometimes she came off with a hot mess attitude, but I realized that was just her. She was a tornado, whipping around and emotionally upending everything in sight.

I gave him a flat look. I didn't care what was wrong, I wanted to know if he had shit handled.

"Yes," he said, a slight smile on his face that I wanted to punch. "Wrench is on it. I ran out and picked up parts. Looking at another hour until it's done."

I grunted and gave a half nod. Pulling out my phone, I sent Wrench a text asking how much it was going to cost to get her car running smoothly again. All I got back in return was a middle finger emoji, quickly followed by that stupid laughing face one.

"Oh, yeah," the prospect went on, "and Wrench said you owe him a burger, and he'll be here to collect when he drops the keys off."

I grunted again.

True enough, a little over an hour later, the prospect was tracking Maisy down. I watched through the order window as he handed her keys over, playing it off like he'd had them the whole time and it hadn't really been Wrench working on her car. Relief washed over her face, and then she was hugging the Dipshit Prospect like crazy. I rolled my eyes. Good, that was taken care of and there was no need to think about it any more.

My eyes scanned the area. Wrench and Payback were watching me, stupid grins on their faces. My brows pulled tight and I shook my head at them. Couldn't understand what the fuck that was about. Then I went back to the grill and started working on a Black Eye Burger for Wrench because I knew it was his favorite. Blacken seasoning, grilled onions, and blue cheese, topped off with a fried egg. I threw in some seasoned fries too. It only seemed right since I assumed he wasn't going to let me pay for it.

Why was I offering to pay for it? Because I wanted it done and I wanted it kept quiet. If she knew about any of it, she'd make a big deal over the whole thing. So the story was, Prospect could fix it and it was an easy enough fix that didn't cost nothin' but time. If she wanted to try and tip the prospect for it, then that was on her. I didn't want to hear about it.

I got lost in the rush as the orders started coming in. The place got louder. I loved it when it was busy. It kept me going, kept me from thinking.

The rest of the night went relatively smoothly. The prospect was in and out, taking care of the dishes, but he never said anything to me. Maisy popped back a few times to ask if I needed any prep work done while she was restocking the bar area. There weren't any issues that had come up.

The bar was club-owned, and most of the time it was filled with members and people that were close to the club in one way or another. That wasn't to say that other people didn't come in. Either they knew who hung out here and were curious to be close to bikers— or snag one, if we were being honest— or they had no clue and walked in unknowingly. Half the time, the latter turned around and left. Recently, the number of outsiders coming in had started to grow. I wasn't sure if I hated it or not. But so far, things usually remained calm. Well, calm for us rough-around-the-edges types. Which meant no fights so bad someone needed to go to the hospital.

Yeah… this place felt like home now.

At the end of the night, I shut down the grill first then worked my way around the kitchen, making sure everything else was off and cooling. Then I grabbed my cut, putting it on as I headed out back for a break before I started cleaning.

Once I stepped outside, I breathed in the humid night air. The end of July and it was hot and sticky as fuck out here. But it was nice to get a moment away from the chaos. The music from the bar was muffled, drowning out the party that was likely happening at the compound right on the other side of the trees. The stars were out, and from where I was, I could see a few of the bright ones.

My head fell back against the building and I closed my eyes.

Sometimes, I would swear I could still smell the smoke from the old bar. I didn't have attachment issues, but I could admit that I missed the old bar sometimes. It was the first kitchen I worked in. The first thing that someone gave me that was for me. All mine. A place where I was wanted and encouraged. So I didn't get down on myself for getting a little sentimental over it.

I let myself sit on that for a minute.

How did I even get here? How did the damn kitchen become so important to me?

I guessed it went back to being a kid. It might not have been a dream to cook shit, but it became a lifeline when I was young. Food didn't make itself in my house, and no one else was going to make it either. I might have been the middle kid, but I'd always been the reasonable one in the family, and that included my parents. It started out as a way to survive, and I carried that all through my life. Once I was an adult and on my own, I started to realize that food could be shaped into more. Something that tasted good. I supposed it was silly, but there was a connection I had to food and cooking that I couldn't explain. I was just really happy the club gave me the chance in the kitchen when I wasn't even sure I'd been lookin' for it at the time.

A few minutes later, the back door popped open, pulling me out of my thoughts. I didn't move, didn't open my eyes.

Maisy's boots pounded over gravel as she made her way to her car.

"Night, Maddie," she called out. I let my lids crack open, watching her through slits so small she probably couldn't tell I was watching her at all.

"Night, Daisy ," I said back, not sure if she heard me.

The car door slammed, and then the thing started up like a dream. No rumble. No horrible screeching noise.

She was gone, and I was left in peace.

I pushed off the wall and headed back inside. The sooner I got the kitchen clean, the sooner I could go home and enjoy a beer in absolute silence while I sat on my couch alone.