What a Bachelor Needs (Bachelor Auction Book 4)(30)

She lined up the shot, put it in, and smiled when the thirteen found the pocket and the cue ball kicked back and stopped exactly where she wanted it.

“Girl’s got skills,” said blue eyes.

“I love this game. I always have. I wanted to play professionally once and then I got married and had a daughter instead. Worst and best decisions I’ve ever made.” Her next two shots went in and she called it all, but she didn’t get good cue ball position at the end of it.

She circled the table, stood beside Dog and chalked the tip of her pool cue again. “What do you think?”

“You could try a double bank on the yellow.”

“Yeah, but I’m a safety first kind of girl. I’d really like to break up that cluster now, rather than later.”

“How good’s your curve ball?”

“How good’s the table? I meant it when I said the tables were better over at Wolf’s Den. They have a full size billiard table and it’s flatter than Kansas, and it’s lit like a dream and the felt is brand new and deep red. Pure playing pleasure.”

“Why aren’t you working there?”

“Bar’s too rough for my liking. I prefer peace and quiet and serving nachos to families. Okay, I’m going for the curve ball. Combination fifteen into the corner,” she muttered and played it and prayed.

The shot went in. She glanced over at Dog who gave her a nod and didn’t seem to mind that he hadn’t taken a shot yet.

“You just set up your key shot,” he said.

“I’m having a really good day.”

Her next two shots went in, and then she played her key shot. The nine ball went in next and Mardie was done.

Table run. Life was good and calm and ordinary, even in a room full of big biker dudes. She could handle this.

And then someone came up behind her, hemming her between them and the table. “Honey, you can play me any time,” a voice said in her ear and Mardie felt her blood run cold.

Not a threat, the rational little voice inside her head said, even as her body froze. She could still talk her way out of this. Just stand up, push back, throw someone a smile and walk away.

Just because someone was standing behind her and giving her no place to go, didn’t mean a beating was imminent.

It was just… unfortunate.

She reversed her grip on the pool stick, tightening it, and a dozen pairs of eyes saw the telltale move.

Okay, so maybe her talking-her-way-out of-this skills were a little underdeveloped.

“Back off,” she said in a low ragged voice, pitched for one set of ears only. “I don’t like it when people come up behind me. Makes me twitch.”

A big hand came down on the table and pinned the stick to the table. His fingers were thick and twice the size of hers and there was dirt and grease and chaos beneath his nails, and now she really was frozen. No weapon, no reason, just fear.

She took a deep breath. Gave bigger voice to her needs. “Back off.” Louder this time, so that more ears could hear. She was no one’s victim.

Never again.

And then came the sound of a gun being cocked, and there stood Bee, all soft and pretty, with her back to the wall and her shotgun pointed directly at the biker leader.

“She did ask nicely,” Bee said.

The leader crossed his arms in front of his gut, his eyes never leaving Bee’s face. “She did.”

“Easy,” said Dog, and suddenly the looming presence behind her was gone and so was the hand that had pinned the pool cue to the table. “Nothing but a friendly game of eight ball happening here, isn’t that right, girlie?” He was talking to Mardie directly now. “We’ll have that round now. And then we’ll go and find that other table. You hearing me?”

Mardie nodded, and tried not to run, tried to concentrate on leaving without turning into prey again.

“Hey.”

Mardie froze. Again.

“You forgot your money.” She looked up and there was Dog, with the winnings in his hand. He could see her fear. He could probably smell it. He dropped the money on her tray and stepped back. “Well played.”

“Not really.”

“I had a dog like you once. Found her half dead in the gutter. Mistreated was my guess. She came good eventually. Hell, she got downright sociable.”

Could every man and his dog read Mardie’s history at a glance? “What happened to her?”

“She had six litters, thirty pups and when she died I got her face tattooed on my chest. Want to see it?”

“Ah…” This whole day, from Jett start to tattooed Dog finish, was insane. “No. I should…go.”

“All I’m saying,” he offered gravely. “Is that you did okay.”

*

Reese greeted her with a glare but Jason Grey’s face was bleaker still as he handed her a shot of whisky and waited until she swallowed it.

“I was doing fine until the end,” she said in her defense.

“You ever take on a crowd like that by yourself again and you’re fired,” Jason said. “We clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Get back to work.”

His words were exactly what she needed to hear. Any softness from him, from anyone, and she might break.

Half an hour later, the bikers were gone and only a handful of tables remained occupied. Jason had disappeared into his office, Bee and Trey had started a cutthroat game of hangman and Mardie and Carla had refilled all salt, pepper, and sauce containers and wiped down all the vacant tables. Business as usual, except that it was eleven p.m. going on 2050 as far as Mardie was concerned.