Free Earning the Cut (Riding the Line Series, Prequel) by Jayna Vixen

ushered Dax into the bar and up the back stairs. Dax was surprised to find small, over-crammed single apartment sitting inconspicuously above the bar.
    “You live here? At the bar?”
    “Well, yeah, it kind of makes sense. Crow and the guys like to be able to stop in at all hours of the day or night. It’s the least I could do.”
    At that comment, Dax had to wonder how Lenny had become involved with The Phantoms .
    “Why are you all wet?” Lenny looked pointedly at Dax’s damp clothing and hair.
    Dax shrugged sheepishly, grateful to be inside. “Went surfing. Forgot a towel.”
    “And you decided to hang in the alley rescuing my poor Curly here, instead of heading home to warm up?”
    There was a probing undertone to Lenny’s query, one that beckoned Dax to open his mouth and let every detail of his pathetic life story pour out. Instead, he gazed at Lenny for a long moment and then looked away, unsure of how to communicate his current predicament. Again, Lenny seemed to know not to pressure him for a story. Instead, he retrieved a towel from the closet and tossed it to Dax.
    “Shower’s that way kid. Warm up. I’ll take care of Curly downstairs.” It was odd to see such a big man showing such care for the animal, but in a way, Lenny’s behavior was reassuring. He had a good heart, despite his gruff exterior.
    Dax only hesitated for a minute before making his way to the bathroom. It wasn’t as nasty as he had expected, but Lenny was no clean freak. Still, the warm water cascading over him was successful in smoothing the chill from his bones and the stink from his skin and hair. He toweled off, sniffing his reeking clothes with disgust. What the fuck was I thinking?! Dax had few belongings to begin with and he felt guilty taking off with the things the Bodeckers had purchased for him. He had only taken the bare minimum in terms of clothing and toiletries, plus his journal of course.
    Sighing at his half-baked plan, Dax pulled his spare jeans on and padded back into the small sitting area, thinking he was alone.
    “Hey, kid.”
    The man they called Crow sat on Lenny’s couch, rolling a fat joint on the coffee table. Dax froze, feeling somewhat exposed. He was, after, half-naked. “Hey.”
    “Lenny tells me you rescued his piece of shit cat. That thing scratched the hell outta me last time I tried to peel him out of that dumpster.”
    “Yeah. I guess I should have thought ahead. My clothes are kind of ruined.” Dax turned away, to smooth his spiky blond hair in Lenny’s mirror.
    Schooled by years of unpredictability when it came to people and situations, Dax never turned his back on someone without keeping some kind of tabs on them. He made sure he could see Crow’s reflection clearly as he tamed his unruly mane. The Phantoms’ president looked up casually from his busy work and as his eyes slid over Dax’s back, they narrowed suddenly. Then, he stood up Dax could tell he was taking a closer look, although he feigned nonchalance. Dax turned quickly to his backpack and fished a spare tee shirt from it, wanting to shield his scars from the other man. Crow had clearly seen the thin white lines and circular indentations that decorated Dax’s back, and he had recognized the marks for what they were.
    Dax stiffened, unsure what to expect when he finally met Crow’s gaze. Most people either didn’t notice the wretched symbols of his past or they simply pretended they weren’t there. It was easier that way, for both Dax and whomever happened to get a glimpse of his back. He didn’t like being reminded of his abuse, and he certainly didn’t want anyone’s pity. For some reason, he didn’t want Crow to view him or his situation as pathetic, even though it was. He wasn’t a whipping boy any longer. No, he was a fuckin’ man, now. To Dax’s surprise, the tattooed biker held a great deal of compassion in his eyes as their gazes met. A kind of mutual understanding flashed between them and suddenly Dax knew