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CHAPTER TEN
___________________________
AFTER
OPHELIA
THIS PLACE IS AWESOME.
Walking into Rye, I realized how badly my friends and I had messed up by judging a book by its cover. Or, in that case, a club by its exterior. We must’ve passed it a thousand times and, despite the lines that often stretched down the block, we’d never checked it out. I’d assumed it was a dive, but I’d been way wrong.
Nothing was worn down or faded. Definitely not dirty. Dive was its aesthetic, the vibe raw and gritty, but the place itself was clean and cool as hell.
Framed pictures lined the walls, most of them signed. Even the walls themselves were marked with autographs. There was a small stage, but I was disappointed to see no instruments were set up.
I need to come back here to see a band.
Judge and I moved through the crowd to where Jury, Hollywood, Glitch, and Scythe already sat at a table near the bar. From what I’d gathered, he was friends with all his Mayhem brothers, but he was tightest with these four.
There was another man sitting with them who looked like a brother—with his overgrown brown hair, beard, and motorcycle boots—but I’d never seen him at the clubhouse.
When we reached them, the man I didn’t know stood and shook Judge’s hand, clapping his shoulder. “Good to see you.”
“Been too long.” Judge pulled me closer so I could hear. “This is Rhys. Rhys, this is Ophelia.”
I extended my hand to meet the man’s outstretched one, but nearly missed it when he smiled and I got distracted by his deep dimples and stormy ocean blue eyes. “Nice to meet ya, darlin’.”
Huuhhhnnngghhh.
Shaking the stupid from my brain, I returned his smile. “You, too.”
Judge curled my body so my front was pressed to his side, dislodging my hand from Rhys’.
The movement didn’t go unnoticed, and Rhys chuckled. “You’re just as bad as Jake. And Kase. And now Lars.”
“Lars, too?” Glitch said, rubbing his tattooed head. “How the mighty have fuckin’ fallen.”
“Somethin’ in the beer here?” Hollywood joined in, eyeing his bottle with mistrust before shrugging and gulping it down.
Like most conversations, I was lost but still amused.
Rhys gestured to the stool he’d been sitting on, telling me, “Have a seat.”
“Thanks, I’m okay,” I said, content to stay in Judge’s hold.
He jerked his head toward the bar. “I gotta get back to work anyway, darlin’.”
Judge gave me a nudge toward the stool. “Rhys owns the place and if he takes more than five minutes off to catch up with friends, the whole fuckin’ building will explode around him.”
“Says the man who lives in his club,” Rhys shot back. “And, talk shit all you want, it’s true. Turnover is crazy, so I’m short-staffed. A-fucking-gain. Which means I’m your server. Tip me well.”
“Only if you put out,” Hollywood said.
Giving him the finger, Rhys smiled at me. “You like flavored vodka? My bartender keeps ordering cases of the shit, concocting all sorts of weird combinations. Tried telling her she was wasting my money, that no one here would drink ‘em, but I’m selling almost as many of those as I am beer, so what the fuck do I know?”
Since I loved flavored vodka—not to mention I was so thirsty, I’d have chugged a stale beer—I nodded.
I glanced at the bartender before doing a double take. The pretty redhead looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint where I’d seen her.
