Page 17 of Not Mine to Rescue

She stared me up and down. “That ain’t your call.”

“No, it was Snake’s.”

Her eyes went a little wide. “Like hell it was.” She thought about it a little longer. Under her breath she whispered, “Dang it. That man is a diabolical genius.” Instead of bitching more, she pulled out all the extra ice trays and began filling them. “I ain’t cooking for no one.”

“No one asked you to.”

“You need an ice cube for your ear, or do you want the other one to match?”

As warnings went, it was creative. “I’m good without both.”

“Snake did that, didn’t he?”

I nodded.

“I like that man.” Sierra appreciated violence a little too much.

It was too easy to needle her for it. “I’m going to tell Kid you said that.”

Sierra casually plucked a knife off the magnetic strip installed to keep them within easy reach. “You’re going to do what now?”

If there’s one thing she handled better than guns or her husband, it was knives. I pretended amnesia and capitulated.

“Nothing.” I hefted the filled tub and took it to the bar.

Already the barn’s mood was improving. Digger stood in the middle of the barroom, directing the phone calls. The strip club, the sex-toy store, the bars, and the right dealers were on the list.

A little pinch of unease hit my gut. This wasn’t going to be a small party. “Speck, stack five cases in that corner. You can thank me later.” I went to the storeroom myself and pulled a couple of extra bottles out.

When I came back with my haul, Sierra planted her toes in my path. “We need a bartender.”

My reply was automatic. “Not it.”

“You’re as good as any.”

“Get Nickel’s girl.” She used to manage a bar before moving up to hotels.

“You know she ain’t right in the head yet. An’ if he catches wind of her in distress, someone’s gonna die, again. Best we leave them outta this.”

She had a point. It wasn’t that long ago Rachel had a concussion, and worse. While she’d gotten out of the hospital and was finally smiling, Sierra was right. She wasn’t ready for a full night of biker insanity.

We only had one idiot prospecting right now. Fly was laid up and barely able to walk.

Speedy and Mojo were on a run, and Scotty was a complete fuckup at mixing drinks.

Which meant someone, somewhere would finger me to do it anyways.

So I bargained with Sierra. “Fine. But only half of the night.” I wanted, no…needed to get good and drunk. “And I get Ashley’s old room for it.” Ashley was the club’s old bartender, and not so euphemistically a lot more. Her services warranted building a room she could call her own. It was almost a mini apartment with an attached bathroom, little sitting area, and a bed that went from one wall to the other. It currently stood empty, either waiting for someone to claim it, or maybe for her return. Best of all, it was away from the dirty cluster of rooms on the other end of the barn that everyone crashed in.

On that end, the walls were so thin you could hear every fart.

Sierra caught on quickly and countered. “Man the bar until two A.M., and the room’s yours.”

“Will it be clean?”

She frowned at me. “That ain’t my job. Get the speck on it.”

I did.