Claimed by the Knight

All my life I had spent time in bars. As a child, in the corner while my parents got hammered, as an adult, behind the bar, cleaning tables and the irony wasn’t lost on me. Now I had left Chicago, hoping never to look back, I was in a bar, once again behind it. Mindie had done me a massive favour and I was thankful, hoping to prove to her I wasn’t just some loser, even though she knew my parents were.

“Freya, can you bring up another case of whisky?!” She shouted down to me and I groaned as I managed to pull it up the stairs, dragging it behind the bar.

“Thanks sweetness,” she smiled, her dyed blonde hair was to her chin, her dress way too revealing for a woman her age, but I wasn’t going to judge her. The Hammers bar had been in Mindie’s family before she was born, it was small, in the back street of Peoria, Illinois. It was a classic small-town bar, wooden floors and bar, small seating dotted around. There were a few customers, and one put his hand up and I approached him with a new beer, taking his old bottle away. “Can you open up tomorrow? I hate to ask but-” Mindie started.

“Of course, got nothing else going on,” I chuckled, wiping down the bar. Mindie had opened her business to me, for work because of two reasons. She was desperate for staff, and I was desperate to get out of Chicago. Also, she knew my mother, or what she used to be, before she turned into a raging alcoholic.

“You’ll get some friends soon, give it time sweetness,” Mindie reassured me, and she was honestly a lovely woman.

“Meh, I don’t mind,” I shrugged, pushing my hair back. I needed to re do it, the red slowly being washed out, boring brown staying. Usually, I did the morning shift at the bar, but Mindie was due to leave soon and anything I could to help her out I would. She found me a tiny little apartment, above a butchers a minute’s walk, which was helpful because I arrived homeless. Kneeling down behind the bar I wiped down the beer cabinet, hearing the bell of the door ring.

“Boys, you know the deal,” Mindie said firmly, and I stood, my eyes going wide for a second. Coming in were a group of men, all with motorcycle helmets on, slick and black, their jackets matching. “Off!” Mindie shouted then and they came to the bar, pulling their helmets off.

“Where have you boys been?” Mindie asked, the other following suit. There were about four of them but the one in the middle was who my eyes were fixed on. His hair was dark, cut short on the sides but longer on top, with a parting, one side longer and slightly flipping over. His jaw was strong, along with his nose and although he had his leather jacket on, I could see his tattoos along his neck and his hands as he put them on the bar.

“Rockford,” he replied roughly, looking over at me. His eyes were gray in colour, and I swallowed hard, the diamond earring in his right ear shining. “Who the fuck is that?” He pointed at me, looking back at Mindie.

“That’s Freya, my new girl. Beers?” Mindie asked and he nodded, licking his bottom lip. “Bottom shelf,” Mindie said to me, and I came back to reality, putting four bottles onto the bar. “Trip, can you connect this fucking keg?” Mindie asked and another dark-haired guy, shorter than the other, with a beard came around and I moved, making space for him. “Thanks sweetness,” Mindie sighed.

“Where are you from?” The man asked me, and I swallowed again, a lump in my throat.

“Chicago,” I squeaked out.

“Really Mindie?” He scoffed and she slammed her hand on the bar.

“Leave her alone Raze, I fucking mean it,” she barked and the guy doing the keg, Trip I think it was stood, giving me a smile.

“Don’t worry about him, he ain’t fond of new people,” he laughed, coming back around the bar.

“Go and sit and drink your fucking beer, go on!” Mindie shouted, pointing away and they sat at a round table, in the corner of the bar.

“Ignore them, but if they give you shit you give it right back,” she said, her voice sassy.

“Who are they?” I wondered, my back still against the drink’s cabinet.

“Around here, motorcycles are the thing,” she shrugged, opening the till, taking money off a customer, him walking back to his seat. “They are The Knights, and Raze?” She asked and I nodded, catching that it was the drop dead gorgeous one. “He is pretty high up, the others are just members, but they protect my shit and if they are here, the older boys will come soon,” she laughed, her voice croaky.

“Older boys?” I asked, curious. Living in Chicago, I saw bikers all the time, but they were usually fat dudes on a Harley Davidson, nothing like what I just saw.

“The president and vice, Banks and Jett, believe it or not they are nicer,” she laughed, cackled even, her eyes in the till, counting some notes. My eyes went over to the table, one of their hands up and I made an assumption, bringing over four more bottles of beer, taking the empty ones. They were in conversation, Raze sitting back, his hands on the top of his head and I couldn’t help but stare at him, just for a few more seconds before I went back to the bar, throwing the empties into the recycling bin.

“Let me cash this up,” Mindie went into the back, the stack of notes in her hand and I tidied up the bar a little, it getting slightly busier as the night went on and Mindie came back out, drying some glasses as I served the normal beers, Raze and the others coming back to the bar.

“Mindie, here,” Trip handed her a few notes.

“Thanks boys,” she nodded, opening the till. I looked up as they were halfway out the door, Raze putting his helmet on, flipping up the visor, so his face was visible.

“Chicago, you got an ass even the pope would stare at,” he said cheekily, and I rolled my eyes.

“Fuck off Raze!” Mindie shouted, turning to me as they walked out.

“Bit of advice sweetness, avoid fucking Raze like the plague,” she tutted.