1. Quentin

1

QUENTIN

C harlie expertly weaves her way through the crowd with the drinks tray above her head. I lose her behind a man in a banana suit, and my neck strains until her shock of pink hair becomes visible at the far end of the restaurant.

She stops at a high table in the corner, and a male cheer erupts as she sets drinks down on the table. I can’t see what they’re cheering at, and it better just be the drinks and not their waitress.

A young man with scruffy hair who’s wearing a cape leans toward Charlie and says something to her. He’s leaning in close, too close.

My blood heats, and I push off from the bar. The banana suit man chooses that moment to sashay across the space between the tables and the bar. He’s got his hands in the air and wiggles his banana-clad butt in time to the music. He’s joined by a man dressed as a Smurf.

I hate bachelor parties. I don’t know why we do them, but Travis assures me they’re good for business. I put it on my mental agenda to bring up with Raiden, the club president, when he gets back.

They come here for the craft beer tasting and brewery tour, but they end up drunk and harassing my waitresses.

Charlie throws her head back and laughs at something the customer has said. I stop in my tracks.

Charlie doesn’t look harassed judging by the way she’s smiling and chatting with the men in the corner.

My fists clench. Raiden asked me to keep an eye on his daughter while he’s away. But it’s a hard job when she’s our best waitress and likes the attention, walking a fine line between talking with the customers and flirting with them.

I almost want one to put a hand on her so I have a reason to kick them all out.

But the men remain annoyingly respectful.

“We’re ready when you are, VP.”

I turn to Travis, and he chuckles at the scowl on my face.

“We gotta stop the bachelor parties.”

“Why?” He generally doesn’t see anything wrong with this situation. “The lunch crowd has gone, and there are no bookings until dinner. The tour bus will drive them back to the resort in another hour. It’s easy money.”

He’s not wrong there. But we’re a biker’s bar on the side of the mountain, not a nightclub.

“There’s a banana in my bar, man.”

He chuckles. “I hear ya. Maybe we need boundaries.”

Technically, the running of the Wild Taste Bar and Restaurant is Travis’s responsibility, and I manage the brewery out back. But both businesses are under the same umbrella of the Wild Riders MC, and we have a reputation to protect.

We’re a stop on a tourist day package that leaves from the Emerald Heart Resort. Our brewery tour and tasting is one of the stops, but Travis somehow thought adding a bachelor party special was a good idea. It’s not. I’ve got a banana and a Smurf dancing in my bar.

“No fancy dress, and the minivan leaves an hour earlier than whatever time you have arranged with the resort. Once the tour and tasting is over, they can go back and party at the White Out.”

Travis frowns. “The marketing is supposed to put off the rowdy lot.”

We position ourselves as a craft brewery, and our marketing is aimed at a sophisticated bachelor party. If there is such a thing.

“The pricing is for the upmarket crowd,” says Travis

“They’re the worst,” I mutter.

Travis chuckles, not committing to anything.

He lays a hand on my shoulder. “The men are waiting.”

Davis is behind the bar for the afternoon, and I lean against it and give him a stern look.

“Keep an eye on Charlie, and if any of these men lay so much as a finger on her, they’re all out.”

He nods, and with a final glance at the bobbing pink head in the corner, I head out of the bar. Down the corridor are our club rooms, and the men are waiting in the main meeting room.

It’s a Saturday afternoon, and I’ve called them together for an emergency meeting.

But my men don’t grumble. They’re all ex-military, and they know when duty calls you answer.

My gaze scans the room, taking in the few absences. Hazel is sick, and Marcus won’t leave her side. Lone Star has a sick kid, but he’s linked in via video call. Snip’s little girl has gone down with it too. There’s a tummy bug going around and half the kids have it, which is a problem.

“Thanks for coming in, guys.”

I take a seat at the head of the table and pick up the gavel. It’s heavy and doesn’t feel right in my hand. I put it down again and face the men.

“A few points to discuss today.”

I’m filling in for Raiden, the club Pres. He’s visiting his wife’s family in Italy and taking his sweet ass time about it. They’re all cooing over the new baby, and I guess the man deserves a vacation.

As Vice President, I’m keeping the club running in his absence. As his best friend, I’m keeping an eye on his daughter, Charlie.

I squeeze my hands together, thinking about Charlie out there with a bunch of drunk men. Davis will let me know if there’s any trouble, but she’s the type of girl who likes trouble.

“Let’s keep this short.”

I put my palms flat on the table and try not to think about Charlie.

First item on the agenda is a charity run for Women in Need that’s on in a few months. A bunch of motorcycle clubs take part from all over the country. We ride in from our various corners of the country and meet up just outside of Colorado Springs for a weekend.

We usually support charities for veterans, but this year, with the opening of the women’s refuge center, Lone Star brought this one to the table. His wife opened the center, and supporting Women in Need seems like a no-brainer to me.

But Judge has an issue.

“I support the charity of course, but it’s the other clubs participating that I can’t get behind.”

I see his point. We’re a legit motorcycle club, but not all MCs are.

“Do we really want to be associated with some of these other clubs?” Judge checks his notes. He’s always got a notepad on him, which is probably why he’s a kickass lawyer.

“The Underground Crows MC, riding in from the Sunset Coast. Their president served three years inside. Are these the type of clubs we want to be associated with?”

There are murmurs of assent from around the room.

“What did he go in for?” asks Arlo.

Next to Judge, Tech has his laptop open and is typing furiously. He frowns at the screen. “Illegal firearms.”

“Ouch, that’s bad.” Arlo scratches his beard. “But these guys, The Underground Crows, they’re doing the charity run, so they can’t be all bad.”

“It could be a cover to move drugs.” Judge folds his arms, and his mouth sets in a grim line. He’s got zero tolerance for drugs. He’s made up his mind about this club, and there’ll be no persuading him otherwise.

“We’re doing it for the charity,” says Colter, otherwise known as Vintage due to his love of all things retro. “We don’t have to associate with any other club we don’t want to. We do our thing, and they do theirs.”

“The charity is the important thing here,” argues Lone Star from the screen of a laptop. “Let’s not lose sight of that.”

The men debate the issue for a few moments, going back and forth over the pros and cons of doing a charity run with clubs whose dealings aren’t as legit as ours.

It’s a debate we’ve had before. We’re an MC, and not all MCs operate the way we do. The Wild Riders MC are ex-military men who love to ride. Some of us came here broken, some of us came here looking for somewhere to belong. I’m proud of what we’ve built up here, and our reputation matters, so I let the men debate and then I raise the gavel.

“Let’s vote on it. All in favor of doing the Women in Need charity run, say aye.”

There’s a chorus of ayes around the room, and I count five raised hands including Lone Star’s on the screen.

“Those against.”

Judge raises his hand as does Badge, not surprising considering one’s a lawyer and the other a sheriff. Tech raises his too, but I suspect it’s because he’d rather stay indoors and play video games than do a ten day charity ride. Besides, he’s got his two little ones to look after at home and no one to help.

“They ayes have it. We’re doing the charity run.” I slam the gavel down, and Judge huffs.

“No good will come of this,” he mutters.

With the charity run sorted, I move onto the next piece of business.

“We’ve had an issue with the beer festival in Phoenix this weekend.”

It’s one of the biggest craft beer festivals on the circuit, and plenty of distributors attend looking for new products. It’s a long way for us to go from North Carolina, but it could open up both the Midwest and the west coast markets for us.

Marcus and Hazel were supposed to take the pop-up peer truck to the festival. Since they hooked up, Hazel helps out at the bar sometimes, and her bubbly personality is great as a customer-facing person for the business. She’s also a lot easier to look at than any of the hairy bikers in front of me.

We booked the festival months ago and they were going to do it together, with Hazel running the stall and Marcus meeting with distributors.

But since then, Hazel’s gotten pregnant and has severe morning sickness. She’s bedridden, doctor’s orders, and Marcus won’t leave her side.

“I need two volunteers to do the festival this weekend.”

I scan the men in the room, but no one’s volunteering.

“Arlo? Can you and Maggie go?” He’s the most personable of us men. His road name is Prince, as in Prince Charming, and it’s well deserved.

He shakes his head. “Sorry VP. We’re visiting Maggie’s folks this weekend. It’s her dad’s sixtieth birthday.”

I can’t ask him to miss such a family occasion. I run a hand down my face, wondering again if I should just cancel.

But Marcus has meetings set up with distributors, and it could expand our business nationwide.

“You know you’re the best person for the job,” Specs says as if reading my mind.

He sits quietly in the back of the room, his hands folded across whatever book this meeting disturbed him from. His glasses sit halfway down his nose.

“I can keep an eye on things for a few days.”

I click my neck, thinking about it. He’s right. I’m the best person to be in those meetings. The beer festival is just the backdrop for the business opportunities.

I nod curtly, making the decision. “I’ll go. I can run the stall in between taking meetings. Specs will be in charge here.”

Arlo presses his lips together and squints at me.

“What is it?” I bark.

“No offence, VP, but you’re not exactly the right person to run the stall.”

I glare at him. “What do you mean?”

He raises his eyebrows, and a smile tugs at his lips. “I mean, Barrels, you might need some backup on the stall.”

The men suppress smiles, and I glower at them. But he has a point.

My road name is Barrels not only because I run a brewery, but because I was a staff sergeant in the military, and that makes me a no-nonsense man. I barrel through and get things done. I don’t suffer fools, and it’s why I stay out back in the brewery and not in the bar.

“Can anyone join me as the frontman for the stall?”

There are murmurs around the room about sick kids and absent wives. This place has turned into a kindergarten the last few years. You can’t move without falling over someone’s kid in the corridor. And they spend half the time in here, which means if one goes down with something they all do.

“All right, you pussies. Can anyone’s old lady help us out? Colter. What about Danni?”

He sits up in his chair and shakes his head. “Kids have got the stomach bug. She had it too last night.”

He coughs, and the men on either side of him lean away.

“What are you even doing here?” says Arlo. “We don’t want it.”

It was never this hard to get help before all the women came along.

“Is there anyone who isn’t ill in this place?”

“How about Charlie?” Arlo suggests. “She’d be great at the festival. I bet she’d love it too.”

An image of Charlie laughing with every hot-blooded male who wants a taste of beer passes through my mind.

“No way. She’s needed here.”

“I can spare her,” says Travis. “I can’t come with you, not with Kendra due so soon, but I can cover Charlie’s shifts here.”

I scowl at him. He’s married to my little sister, which still makes my blood boil when I think about it too much. But I’m the only other family Kendra’s got, and I don’t want her to be alone while she’s eight months pregnant.

That only leaves Charlie.

I promised Raiden I’d keep an eye on his daughter, and dragging her across the country to a craft beer festival where I’ll be at meetings half the day and not able to ward off any unwanted male attention she gets doesn’t feel like the protection I should give her.

But what other option is there?

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll go with Charlie. But the rest of you get yourselves better. We got a business to run.”

There were never any tummy bugs in the military. In the military, we ran things with efficiency and no complaints. There were no sick babies or pregnant wives to work around.

I miss those days.