SLAM HER(12)

He was just beaten up.

He sat there, looking dazed. His nose and mouth were bloody. His shirt ripped halfway down his body. He reached for me with shaky hands.

My mind played out the scene. If I called the police - or my father - then what? Slam would be taken away in cuffs. That would get another one of these guys off the street.

“Who did this?” I asked the guy.

“Someone passing by,” he said and coughed. He turned and spit blood on the ground and groaned. “Guy in a black hoodie. Took my wallet and keys. Slammed me off the wall…”

Slam.

“A black hoodie? You’re sure?”

“I f*cking saw what I saw!” the guy squealed at me.

Then he broke down in tears.

I ran back to the restaurant and went into the kitchen. I whispered to Hector that someone had gotten beaten up outside. He nodded and said he’d call for someone to help. I then left the kitchen and went to the table where the other * sat.

I told him that his friend had been mugged outside.

The guy exploded on me, asking me what kind of shit hole restaurant we were running. I tried to apologize but he spat fire at me, getting way too close for comfort. For a split second I caught myself wanting to say that his friend deserved it.

Then I heard a booming sound and me and the * looked back to see Slam rising up from the booth again.

“Is there a problem?” he asked the *.

“Who the…”

“Careful,” Slam said. He flexed his fists and sent a clear signal he wasn’t done fighting for the night.

Suddenly, the * shut up.

And he ran away.

I stared at Slam again, this time with a little distance between us.

“Do you have a black hoodie?” I asked him.

He slowly shook his head with a shit eating grin.

I shivered.

Still turned on… still terrified…

“How about those beers, babe?” Slam asked me.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’ll be right back. With beer this time.”

I forced myself right then to get back to normal. To finish out my night. The gossip in the kitchen was all about the police coming to get the guy that Slam beat up. I waited for the cops to come looking for Slam but they never did. The * stuck to his story that someone in a black hoodie jumped him and ran down the alley with his wallet, keys, and his cell phone.

Each time I went to the table, I felt Slam’s eyes devour me.

He didn’t say a word to me though, which made the tension ever greater.

It made no sense there was tension between us though.

He was a filthy criminal biker.

I was the daughter of a cop.

Even still… somewhere inside me… I wanted to know…

Did Slam beat that guy up to defend me?





I thought they were finally going to leave, but then things got worse. I could tell everyone in the restaurant was uncomfortable with the Reaper’s Bastards members there. They brewed trouble and spit it like fire.

As Slam reached into his leather cut thing, I feared he was going to bring out a gun. Instead, it was a pack of cigarettes. I watched in awe as he lit one up, clearly going against the law of no smoking. It wasn’t the restaurant that made that up, it was the state.

Behind me, I heard someone clear their throat.

It was Marco.

He looked sweaty and afraid.

Were they here because of Marco?

“Get them the f*ck out,” he said to me. “I don’t care how. Call the police. Call your f*cking father, Belle. Get them out of my restaurant.”

“I thought they helped you,” I blurted out.

Marco’s eyes went wide. He stepped toward me, his pointer finger high in the air. He came close to touching my nose. “Listen here, my business is my business. Right now, those two guys are not good for my business. Get. Them. The. Fuck. Out.”

Marco sped away and I was left to clean up another mess. I was used to it, but not quite of this caliber. Just walk up to a couple bad boy bikers and kick them out? Slam could lift me with one finger and toss me across the restaurant.

Why did that turn me on to think?

I shook my head and walked to the table, trying to come up with a little fire.

When I got to the table, Slam looked up at me. He knew what he was doing. Like a child breaking something on purpose just to get attention.

“You can’t smoke in here,” I said.

“Says who?”

I sighed. “It’s the law.”

“I don’t see any signs.”

“I don’t see any signs against killing people, but that seems to happen, too,” I said.

I started to sweat.

Challenging a guy like this was dangerous.

Slam laughed. “When I’m finished, I’ll put it out.”

“No. Put it out and leave. Right now.”

“You’re kicking me out, babe?” he asked.

“I’m not your babe, okay? Just leave. Because if you don’t, it’s going to cost me my job.”

“I feel terrible,” Slam said. He defiantly put the cigarette back between his lips and sucked on it. He blew the smoke at me and curled his lip. “So terrible.”

I felt my hands ball up tight. This guy was not the focus of my rage. All the bad that happened to me. The way my father treated me. The fact that the world cared so much that I was a virgin. And now I had this * being a prick to me. For a moment I thought I was going to thank him for knocking that guy around that slapped my ass.