There wouldn’t be a Ledger left to hide behind.
Not in this lifetime.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tempi
I wasn’t gonna lie; having a Saint’s Outlaw hanging around the bar like my own personal bodyguard should have made me feel weird.But today, Method was hanging out with me, and he wasn’t chatty.Wasn’t nosy.He just… observed.Like it felt like he could catch danger before it even showed its face.
And after the shit that went down at the clubhouse?That smashed window and the message scrawled on a brick?Yeah, I didn’t mind one bit having Method or any of the guys within lunging distance.
I leaned over the bar and counted down the last of the singles in the till from last night.I had my playlist going low, Halestorm, because it was what I always listened to.I should broaden my horizons, but Halestorm just always hit.Just like Twister.
That man wrecked me in the best way.Slow, wild, messy, tender, and I didn’t care what flavor it was.I just knew I wanted more.
“Need help with anything?”Method’s voice came from across the bar.Rough.Flat.But not unfriendly.
“I think I got it,” I called back and tucked the bills into the drawer.“Unless you know how to scrub gum off the bottom of the bar without losing your soul.”
His mouth actually twitched.“Not in the job description.”
“Lucky you.”I rounded the side, and snatched up the spray bottle and rag.“Honestly, this place needs a good exorcism more than a mop some days.”
I dropped to my knees and reached under the side of the bar, while muttering a few colorful things about drunk college kids and their nasty habits.Honestly, it was just humans with some nasty habits.
After a few minutes of scrubbing, the offending wad of gum snapped off.“Got ya, sucker,” I crowed triumphantly.
Method chuckled.
“It’s the little things that can make or break your day,” I said with a wink.Getting the dried gum off the bar totally made my day.
Now I needed to clean up the rest of the mess from last night.As much as I liked having Twister here when the bar closed, I really needed to do the cleaning before letting him put his hands on me.
The man was a distraction with a capital D.
I grabbed a rag to wipe down the bar top, collected used coasters, tossed out crumpled receipts, and shook my head at the number of cocktail napkins scribbled with bad pickup lines and phone numbers.
I was just about to swipe one last soggy coaster off the polished wood when I saw it.
A plain white piece of paper.Folded in half.Not a receipt.Not a napkin.It didn’t look like it belonged.
I froze.
“Did you set something down over here?”I asked, and I didn't look away from it.
“No,” Method replied from his perch.
I picked it up slowly.My fingers felt weirdly cold.
I opened it.
They’re watching the club.
You’re safer without them.
My stomach dropped.
“Method.”My voice cracked.
