Easy Little Lick (Copperline #3) by Sibylla Matilde

fuck her, Cody,” he grunted as he handed me the beer, “and I mean it.”
    “Doug—” I began, but he just turned and walked away.
    He didn’t understand what was happening between Ilsa and I. I wasn’t out for a quick fuck with her, and he just didn’t get it… at all. There was something drawing her and I together that was stronger than her wary resistance, yet still hindered by it.
    It occurred to me that Doug seemed more protective of her than I’d ever seen him with any of the other waitresses. There was no way it was just him not wanting to lose her as an employee. Were his threats based on jealousy? Did he want her for his own?
    I instantly bristled at the thought. He couldn’t. He was way too old for her, too hard, and he didn’t act like he was hooked on her.
    And Ilsa… God, she’d been so close to me just now. I could still feel the faint whisper of her breath as she moved her lips closer to mine. She had wanted me. I’d seen it in her eyes.
    No, she didn’t have that kind of relationship with Doug, although something wasn’t quite right. Something was just a little off.
    But what?

    Don’t fuck her…
    Doug’s terse reminder echoed over and over in my mind while we played into the night. The crowd had grown larger, and was becoming a little rowdier than usual. Lots of people were passing through the area, mostly bikers on their way to the annual big rally in Sturgis.
    As more people, more strangers, filled the bar, I kept an eye out for Ilsa with an increased vigilance. The bigger the crowd got, the more on edge she seemed. The mood of the bar shifted. The easy, raucous revelry gave way to a darker tension. Too many strangers and too much booze.
    And Ilsa was right smack in the middle of it.
    During another quick break, I tried to talk to her. When I touched her arm, she about jumped out of her skin.
    “Jesus, Cody,” she exhaled, “you scared me to death.”
    “Are you okay?” I asked.
    A flicker of skittishness lit her eyes as she looked at me. It worried me.
    “Fine,” she lied. Clearly a lie. Whatever was freaking her out, she didn’t want to share.
    “Ils—”
    “It’s busy, and I've got work to do,” she murmured. “Thank you, though.”
    Not feeling good about it, I let her go. I moved aside, allowing her walk back into the thick crowd with her drink tray in hand.
    But as we began to play again, I kept my eye on her. In fact, I didn’t let her out of my sight. She wasn’t fine. Something had her feeling raw and fragile.
    She made her way over to a table of a bunch of guys, all decked out in black leather cuts. Tattoos down their arms, bandanas around their heads, their skin red and leathery from riding their bikes all day in the sun. They’d been getting louder and rougher as the night went on, and one of them leaned into her to give her his order.
    Ilsa leaned away, and from clear across the room, I could see her swallow hard. I could see the tension rise in her shoulders. I could see a tremor course through her body.
    I felt the hair rise on the back of my neck.
    She quickly moved away, escaping back to the bar to get their drinks. I saw Doug ask her something, and she nodded, offering a small, nervous smile. He said something else, raising his eyebrows as though he was trying to make sure his point was clear, and she nodded again.
    With the tray full of drinks, she went back over to the table and started unloading it on the side far away from the guy who had leaned into her. The fellas on that side were better behaved, moving aside to allow her to get closer to the table. However, the other guy stood, slowly circling around until he stood behind her. He started to close in, essentially trapping her in between the table and his buddies.
    Now I was pissed. I was mad-drumming. My knuckles were white with my tight grip on my sticks, wishing I was thwacking them on that fucker’s face.
    But I was also on stage. We were in the middle of a song, Denny up front singing away.