A pair of boots, attached to two legs, fell out of the car and hung over the seat. Dutch reached inside, grabbed the front of the leather vest, and pulled the man up. Only then could Romeo make out the Killere patch.
He leaned over, squinting. The man's hair and beard, stiff and dirty, hid his face. He lowered his gaze and found the name patch. "God damnit," he muttered, stepping forward.
"What the hell happened to Dice?" Big Buck moved beside him, grabbing their MC brother's other side.
"Found him outside the clubhouse, propped against the door with his head busted in. I stitched him up as best I could and called Falcon in to see what he wanted me to do with him. We figured you'd want him back." Dutch hooked his hands in his back jean pockets. "Nothing's wrong with him beside the head wound. Right now, he's drunker than shit. We had a tough time stitching him up. It seems the man doesn't like needles."
Romeo set Dice down on the ground and propped him against the wheel of his bike. As long as he knew Dice, the man had never dirtied his skin with a tattoo like everyone else in Killere. He even stayed away from prison tattoos and letting another biker mark him up.
"Thanks for bringing him." Onyx held out his hand.
Dutch took the time to shake with Romeo and Big Buck, then got back in the car. Once he was gone, Romeo looked down at Dice. "What do you want us to do with him?"
Onyx took out his cell phone. "I'll call Creamer and have him bring a car around to load him up. Dice is in no condition to ride."
"Hell, we got the brother, but we didn't get our brother's bike." Big Buck sat on his motorcycle and leaned his forearms against the handlebar. "I wonder what the fuck happened to him. He's going to be pissed when he sobers up and finds out his wheels are gone."
"His daughter is at my place," said Romeo.
At least there was someone around to take care of Dice. It appeared as if someone needed to watch over him.
"We'll take him to the clubhouse and clean him up. Timber can come there and see him when he's sober." Onyx pocketed his phone. "Creamer will be here in an hour."
Romeo leaned back and sat on his seat, crossing his arms. Last he heard, Dice always wandered from place to place. He came and went on his own. If he had a house somewhere, Romeo had never heard. Hell, he could shack up with Timber's mom somewhere and live a private life. It wasn't unheard of within Killere. But most members preferred staying close to Spokane.
He raised his head. "Where's Timber's mom?"
Onyx shook his head. "Dice never talks about her. I don't even know if he's involved with her anymore."
He grunted. That wouldn't help him find somewhere for Timber to stay instead of at his house.
She'd come to the clubhouse looking for a job and sought out Onyx. Maybe she knew Dice would show up.
Though, she probably never expected him to arrive in shit condition.
Chapter Five
Timber clipped the paper on the order wheel in the kitchen window. "Two more chili dogs, Burt."
She moved back into the diner, knowing Burt would have the order out soon. The cook never made mistakes or got behind. She'd never seen anyone like him.
At the Waffle House, where she used to work, if they fell behind, the cook blamed the overworked waitresses. The hostile environment had her watching her back around the other employees. Often her tips were stolen by other waitresses.
So far, she hadn't seen any sign that the women at the diner were out to cause her trouble.
"Timber, there's a spill under Table Two." Jess tossed her a white towel.
"Thanks." She moved the chair out of the way and kneeled on the floor, mopping the spilled Coke.
"Are you giving me ideas, baby?" A trucker scooted the table away from him and peered underneath at her from the other side. "You sure do look pretty on your knees."
She ducked her head and quickly made sure the floor was dry. Then, she stood wanting nothing more than to shove the table into his fat belly, but because she needed the job, she turned and went to get rid of the dirty towel.
Men everywhere pushed the limits if they thought they could get away with it. Bars, truck stops, and gyms might as well wave a flag announcing it was a breeding ground for sexual harassment.
There was no use complaining. She could handle men on her own.
Besides, she highly suspected a side business was happening in the motel. Too many truckers had hinted that they'd pay her well if she slipped into their motel room. At the beginning of her shift, one man even went as far as saying they wouldn't mind. And, it happened all the time.
She understood they were the bikers who ran things at Killere Truck Stop, and it was prostitution.
Turning off the faucet after washing her hands, she shivered. It figured her dad was hooked up in something illegal.
She cleaned the top of the tables in her section. Her stay in Spokane and at the truck stop was temporary. As soon as she found a place to live, she could support herself. Killere Motorcycle Club had nothing to do with her life.
Staying in Spokane and working at the diner was a stepping stone to her future. If using her dad's name to get further in life for a few months helped her, so be it. As long as her dad wasn't around, working for Killere shouldn't be a problem.
A drunk trucker stumbled into her, knocking her against the table. She squeezed out from underneath him and walked away. Working here required her to be quicker on her feet than at the Waffle House. The truck stop was more like a sit-down bar, serving alcohol from lunchtime to two o'clock in the morning.
Willow hadn't asked her how old she was when she got hired, but she also realized that one of the other waitresses always filled the drink orders and delivered them to the customers that came through her.
For that, she was thankful. She wanted to stay out of trouble, not get arrested for illegally serving alcohol while being underage.
"Grab your drink and take it to your truck. You're leaving the diner." Slim escorted the clumsy trucker toward the front door.
Vega approached her. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah." She picked up an overturned chair. "I got out of his way before he could land on me."
"That's good." Vega tightened her apron. "I hate when the big guys get drunk. They step on my toes, and my feet already hurt at the end of the day."
She smiled in understanding. Serving others hour after hour without a thank you wore a body down. She was in good shape and used to working since she was fourteen years old, but being a waitress was harder than doing landscaping—she'd done them both.
"I hope I can get out of here on time." Vega checked her phone before sliding it into the pocket of her half apron. "My daughter has a well-baby checkup at four o'clock, and Starla isn't here yet."
"I can cover for you." She shrugged. "As long as Jess can handle the drinks."
"Are you sure?"
"Sure, no problem." She leaned forward. "Go ahead and let Jess know you're leaving, and then go."
"Thanks." Vega walked backward. "I owe you."
She waved Vega off, not needing anything in return. It was easier not to expect anything from anyone. People often disappointed her.