Driven to Redemption (Mannhof 6)

Driven to Redemption (Mannhof 6)
Alice Gaines
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Alice Gaines

The newcomer didn’t fit in. He wore leathers, all right, just like most of the patrons at Smokey’s. Even the women, when women slummed enough to come into a place like Smokey’s. But this guy’s outfit looked as if it was new, not scuffed up like the rest of them.

Allison Hall wiped down the bar from the last idiot who’d sloshed his beer, all the while ignoring the demands of five or six guys yelling out their orders. She’d get to them when she was damned good and ready. They might be the customers, but she owned the place and didn’t take shit from anyone. Once she’d cleaned up the mess, she threw the dishrag in the sink, tossed her braid over her shoulder, and turned to the asshole who’d been hollering the longest and the loudest. “What’ll it be?”

“Fuckin’ A, Allison, what do you have to do to get a drink around here?” Smitty asked.

“I’m here now. What do you want?”

“What do I always want?” Smitty asked back.

“Scotch neat. A double.” She grabbed a glass and turned to the bottle of well Scotch. Smitty would be under a table again, and she’d have to call his wife to come get him. All of them knew to park their bikes in the lot behind the bar, and Allison would lock the yard so they’d be safe for the night. Did they ever thank her? Could a bear grow feathers?

She caught a glimpse of the new dude as she poured the drink. He stood there as calm as if he was on a walk through the forest, listening to the birds. He was damned nice to look at. She’d give him that. With close-cropped dark hair and a strong jaw line. No one that prime came into her bar. All her regulars looked as if they’d been rode hard and put away wet.

She went to the guy. “Can I get you something?”

Shouts came from the other end of the bar. Her regulars she’d been ignoring for… tops… five fucking minutes.

“Beer, bitte… um… please,” the new guy said.

Even her high school German could translate that. She put a glass under the tap, filled it, and put it in front of him.

He pulled out some money and paid for the drink. “Thank you.”

More shouts, and they were getting rowdier. She turned to the crowd. “Shut up.”

A few turned sullen and walked away. She could have sworn she heard the words “on the rag.” As if these morons understood anything about menstruation. Dutch stood there, glowering at her. The quiet ones were the deadliest, so she went to him and took his order.

The new one watched her the entire time, as if she were the most fascinating creature on the planet. She wasn’t bad to look at, but most men found hardness in a woman a real turn-off. That worked just fine. She didn’t need any of them. She’d had a man once, and a whole shitload of good that had done her. She’d rather take celibacy than that mess.

Not that she didn’t have urges. Those exact drives were probably what made the new one so compelling. He shaved, for one thing, even if only to show off his strong jaw.

And he looked gentle. That didn’t make any sense. Something like that didn’t show on the surface, but the feeling stuck, anyway. Who knew how long he would have stood there, waiting for her? And he could order a drink without using the F word.

“You got the hots for that one?” Dutch jerked his head in the direction of the new man.

“Just curious,” she said as she put Dutch’s bourbon in front of him.

“‘Cause if you got the hots, I can take care of that.”

“Dream on, pal.”

Dutch leaned on the bar and crooked a finger toward her. “I’ve got a secret for you.”

She rolled her eyes but leaned toward him.

“I might have a hard-on right now,” he said softly. “Wanna go in the back and knock off a piece?”

She straightened. “I can’t recall when I’ve had such a lovely invitation.”

Dutch picked up his drink and turned to go. “Bitch.”

“Why do you put up with that?” the new man said as quietly as Dutch’s remark. She heard him anyway.

“I’ll be with you in a minute.” She went back to her regulars, or at least, the ones who hadn’t given up yet. For the next few minutes, she poured beers and stronger stuff. The man watched her the whole time. Not predatory, as Dutch might have been. Not even really curious. Just patient. He ought to creep her out, but his interest felt good. Maybe it was her hormones acting up.

He was still there when she got the rest of them satisfied, so she went back to him and stuck her hand out over the bar. “Allison Hall.”

“Kurt,” he replied as they shook.

“No last name?”

“Just Kurt.” He smiled and kind of lit up the space around him.

“Well, Just Kurt, what brings you to my fine establishment?”

“I have a problem I think you might help me with.”

He probably wasn’t going to ask for money, having met her only minutes ago. And if he’d asked why she put up with Dutch’s bullshit, he most likely wouldn’t try something like that, either. “What?”

“I’d rather show you than tell,” he answered.

“I can’t leave here until my relief shows up,” she said. “Another twenty minutes.”

“I’ll wait.”