Bound to the Roadboy

Laurette’s POV

The pub was busier than usual today. It was a weekend, so most of the folks of Greytown weren’t working. The small town was filled with people who would rather drink to stupor at the pub than work a day in their lives anyway. And those who did work, did so with gritted teeth and a scowl on their faces.

The folks who weren’t in the pubs were out on the streets, on the racetracks, in the backroom casinos of other small pubs gambling their entire week’s pay in a blink.

Millo’s was another dingy pub on the streets of Greytown. Owned and managed by my friend’s dad, Hank, you could say it was home to every category of the variety of folks aforementioned. On the weekends, it was a convening point. The racers were here, the gamblers, the sex workers, the dealers, you name it. They were all here.

Having worked here for almost a year, I can say I’m familiar with the happenings of this place. And it was nothing you could ever predict.

Millo’s was only a part of my weekends, I waited the tables and did my rounds for six to seven hours each on Fridays and Saturdays, so I could focus on my studies on the remaining days of the week. I figured it was a way of helping my Ma out with the bills, even though she never asked me to. And when I brought up the idea to my best friend Frankie, she was more than happy to speak to her dad about it. Hank was also such a sweetheart that he agreed and told me to start work immediately.

“Hey girl, your mama doing alright?” The deep voice of the man I recognize as the owner of the repair shop across the street calls out to me as I approach his table to grab his order and that of his friends. The pub is loud and chatty, so we need to raise our voices to hear each other.

“Yea, she’s alright.” I give him a small smile, my pen hovering over the small notebook in my hand. I take their order one after the other, scribbling it over my notebook for later.

“You say hi to her for me alright?” The familiar face I can’t put a name to says again, his gaze moving from my eyes to my chest and lingering for longer than necessary. I give him a nod, immediately walking away from the table to get their drinks.

It was quite normal here, although I always did my best to avoid it. The looks, the snarky comments and even the hands sometimes. The men who frequented Millo’s were either already drunk off their asses or hoping to be, so those occurrences were inevitable.

“Those dogs again.” Frankie says immediately I enter the backroom. She must’ve been watching my conversation with the repair shop owner.

“I don’t understand his obsession with your Mama though. At this point tell her to be careful of him on the street.”

“He won’t do anything.” I shake my head at her, grabbing the glasses. But even as the words leave my mouth, I still make a mental note to tell Mama to be careful because like I said, the men of this town were unpredictable. Only very few had good things to be said about them, if at all.

“Yea, but you still need to be careful. You know how they are.” She gives me a knowing look, one that would definitely warrant an ‘I told you so’ if anything bad were to happen. I give her a nod, returning the smile that spreads across her face after.

Frankie and I have been friends since I moved here, which was basically when I was a child. Her family had lived next door to us in the trailer house before moving here when her Mum died, and my ma’s old boyfriend got us the house we live in now.

She has been the sister I never had, constantly standing behind me and looking out for me. Frankie doesn’t even work here, her Dad’s the owner and has people looking after the pub when he’s away, and many workers, but she started helping out more when I got the job so she could be with me. I know she thinks I don’t notice, but I do. I notice everything.

I notice how sometimes there are drinks and lunch packed in my bag after work from God knows who, and how on some months Hank pays me twice as much as the last time just because. I always make sure to thank her, even though she denies knowing anything of it.

“I will be”. I say to ease her mind, grabbing the drinks and taking them to the table. I am making my way back to the backroom when a loud whistle is heard from outside the small space, letting us know that the other sets of people who frequent Millo’s pub are on their way here.

Gangs.

“Is that … what I think it is?” Frankie’s voice pulls my attention to her as she leans on the backroom door.

There are several gangs operating in this tiny town, however, they all answer to the two major rival gangs on this part of the Coast. Shadows and the Roadboys. I don’t really know the story behind these gangs and their rivalry, mostly because I try my best to stay away from their affiliates, but it was almost impossible to be in this town and not know them. They do a pretty decent job of making themselves known, an excellent one at that.

With their loud motorcycles and all black fits, as well as the aura and control they possess. The whispers flying around every time they walk in a room, parents warning their kids to stay away from them. Unfortunately you don’t stay away from these gangs, you hope and pray that they stay away from you, because when you are chosen, you are chosen and very little could be done about it.

Whispers emerge from within the small pub, people rearranging themselves to create space for who is coming, more like maintain a safe distance from them.

“Ugh, Dad’s not here to handle this.” Frankie groans. “He is usually the one taking their orders, or Big Joe”. She says at the same time the little bell at the top of the door jiggles to signify someone has entered. “Oh—”

The look on her face as she stares at the door makes me turn, and I immediately see why. The room is quiet immediately, because of what, or rather, who just entered. A shiver runs through my entire body as I stare at those bright blue eyes, my throat handling a deep gulp.

A face you can never mistake for another, one you would barely even forget. A face that hasn’t been seen in this town for many months, till now.

Hosea. Fucking. Larsen.