Read Logan: New Crusaders MC Online
Authors: Brook Wilder
Logan: New Crusaders MC
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.
Logan copyright @ 2016 by Brook Wilder. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.
Nicole Hamilton had a list of three things she would wish for if a genie ever materialized out of one of the diner’s saltshakers.
First, she would wish her father had never learned the rules of poker.
Second, she would wish to never again hear the sound of a motorcycle engine.
And finally, she would wish for a mallet large enough to whack Clay into outer space.
Clay had been working at her father’s diner – Hamilton’s – for just over four years, now. He had been hitting on Nicole for just about three years and 364 days. She had thought, at first, that humoring him was the polite thing to do. Her father trusted Clay, and that meant a lot in their world, where your best buddy of two decades might one day be convinced to shoot you in the back. She’d seen it happen.
So she put up with Clay.
Then, about a year into it, she realized he wasn’t going to back down.
So she stopped putting up with Clay. She poured ice into every word she offered him, every glance she cast his way.
It had gotten to the point where she didn’t listen to him speak anymore, but that didn’t stop him. He would carry a conversation with her all by himself.
She couldn’t help paying attention when her father’s name came up, though.
“I miss Chuck, too,” Clay said, sidling up beside her while she was wiping down a table.
There was a lull going on. The diner always had some customers, but weekday afternoons were often slower than any other time of day.
“What are you talking about?” Nicole asked.
She immediately kicked herself. Clay took any response from her as a sign of encouragement. His smile was supposed to be sympathetic, she supposed, but it looked greasy as ever to her. She couldn’t see what her father found trustworthy in this guy. Whenever she asked about it, Chuck would mumble something about how they’d both served two tours in Afghanistan (though not at the same time), and that had to count for something.
That was about the only thing Chuck and Clay had in common, Nicole figured. Where her father was sturdy, tattooed, and rambunctious, Clay was tall and lean, with dark hair that he kept cropped short. His every word sounded calculated to Nicole, like he planned every single thing he said well before he said it. That made Nicole very uneasy.
“He’s been missing for over a week now,” Clay explained, sounding anything but worried. “You must be upset.”
“Dad taught me how to take care of myself and this diner,” Nicole replied. “I’m upset, but I’m doing fine on my own.”
“You’re tough. I respect that.” Nicole didn’t even try to hide her eye roll. This man couldn’t respect women any better than he could woo them. “But everybody needs to lean on someone from time to time,” Clay continued. “If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, you have my number.”
Nicole shuddered at the thought. She hoped it was visible to Clay, but it was a futile wish. If Clay hadn’t gotten the message yet, he never would. She hated her father in that moment. If it weren’t for her loyalty to Chuck, she would have put her repulsed shudder into words for Clay long ago. But her dad didn’t want her to cause trouble. As it was, she couldn’t resist responding to his unwelcome invitation.
“If I needed a shoulder to cry on, which I
don’t
, I’d go snuggle up to Rip before I called you.”
She nodded at an old biker sitting in a corner booth. His back was to them, and the badges on his leather kutte were clearly visible – he was a member of the Devil King MC. Practically a lifer, who could take down an armed assailant with one of his gnarled pinky fingers.
When he heard his name, Rip glanced over his shoulder and nodded at Nicole.
“You need ta cuddle, sweetheart?”
“Maybe later, hon,” Nicole said with a wink. “Top off your coffee?”
“You know it.”
An excuse to leave. Nicole darted away from Clay, grabbed the coffee pot, and went over to Rip’s table. He was a regular, and was capable of being downright polite when he wanted to be, despite his grizzled appearance and numerous scars. Other members of his club often got rowdy, sometimes causing trouble. Rip never took part in that, and Nicole appreciated that more than she could say.
“That ass-wipe givin’ you trouble?” Rip asked in his rumbling basso.
Nicole smiled and touched his arm. “Always.”
She never felt nervous around the bikers. She’d grown up around them. Hamilton’s was neutral ground. Members of all three motorcycle clubs in the area passed in and out on a daily basis. Occasionally someone would start a little trouble, but they never got far. Everyone knew how precious it was to have reliable neutral territory, so the other guys would step in to put a stop to things before Chuck could even draw a weapon.
“You want me to help him see the error of his ways?” Rip offered. “As soon as he steps off the property, of course.”
“Thanks, hon, but I can fight my own battles.”
“You sure can,
chica
,” he replied affectionately, giving her a nod of approval.
Nicole left him to sip his coffee in peace. A few other customers flagged her down for service, keeping her pleasantly busy. Barely any time to brood.
From the way everyone was acting, it was clear they hadn’t heard the truth about her father. Sure, they knew he was missing. But they didn’t know
why
. As long as it stayed that way, she would be safe. The diner would still be in her family’s control.
In her heart of hearts, Nicole knew it was only a matter of time before the secret spilled. Chuck would be ripped apart, if he hadn’t been already. The diner’s neutral status would evaporate. She wouldn’t have a safe place to hide in a hundred miles.
Her hand shook as she took down a new table’s order.
The moment she was free, she went in the back and sat at her father’s desk. His shabby office smelled of him, which made her heart hurt even more.
Why had Chuck gone to the Devil Kings when his gambling debts had threatened his ownership of the diner? Of all the people to borrow money from, he sought out Alex Ruiz, president of the Kings. Rip notwithstanding, the Kings had been the ones causing most of the trouble in the diner lately. They were an unpredictable bunch. Not to mention dangerous, though the Iconoclasts and New Crusaders were no better.
It was the Iconoclasts who had him, after all. Nicole had been so frightened of loan sharks coming in to break her dad’s bones on behalf of the Devil Kings, she’d never thought to keep an eye out for Iconoclast retaliation.
Dad, why did you sell them out?
she thought, putting her head in her hands.
Did you think they wouldn’t notice their private information getting into Ruiz’s hands?
“Hey, everything alright?”
Nicole sat up straight, her hand flying to her heart.
Clay was leaning into the office, trying and failing to look concerned.
“I thought you’d gone home!” she gasped.
“Kelli called to ask if I could take her shift tonight. Gunner caught the flu.”
“Oh. Wonderful. Well, I’m fine. Are we getting busy out there?”
“Not yet, but the dinner rush is right around the corner.”
“I’ll be right out,” Nicole said, rubbing her forehead.
Was this the third double she’d worked in a row, or the fourth? The days were starting to blend together.
With a deep breath, Nicole pushed herself to her feet. Another breath, and she’d shoved all her problems – her fears, her worries, her doubts – down deep inside her where they couldn’t get to her.
For now.
It was a tough shift. Thursday nights weren’t particularly special, so there must have been a fight or some other event that would explain the overflowing tables in the diner. Nicole felt guilty for feeling glad Chuck was around for it. If he’d been there, he would have been right there, screaming encouragements and betting his life savings on the outcome. She shook her head and threw herself into her work, running around until she couldn’t feel her feet anymore. One of the major benefits to being so busy was that Clay didn’t have time to look at her, let alone talk to her. For all that he was a creep, he was a good employee.
The crowd didn’t die down until after eleven. By then, Nicole was ready to close up early, but she kept the Open sign illuminated. Bikers kept odd hours, so the diner was open until two on weeknights.
“Good tips?” Clay asked.
“Yeah, you?” Nicole said.
“Pretty decent. The guys do alright by me, even if I don’t have a rack for them to stare at.”
Nicole could only nod. He was being creepy as usual, but he was also right. Nicole had long since stopped trying to get the customers to pay attention to her winning personality.
“I’m going to take my break now,” Clay said. “You good out here?”
Nicole nodded and waved him off.
What she needed was to close the diner for a few days, take a long shower, and go find her father. Instead, she stood up straight and went back to tending the few remaining tables. After the rush she’d just suffered through, she wasn’t in any way prepared for what came next.
The bell over the door jingled.
She turned to greet the newcomer.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Logan Kirkwood, VP of the New Crusaders, was standing in the entryway. And he was staring right at her.