Page 1 of Shaken Knot Stirred

Chapter 1

Moxie Scheele

The sound of thealuminum bat was icy and hollow. I leaned over the bar, making sure my cleavage spilled adequately, and rolled the bat with a coy fingertip.

I’ve always found that tits and the threat of violence were enough to short out most male brains, unless they were an alpha, of course. Alphas needed a whole different strategy.

“Say that again,” I pitched my voice low into that sweet spot that would tangle his brain even further.

A bit of drool collected in the corner of his mouth. He watched my lips like a hawk, either imagining what they could do or working real hard on his lip reading skills.

“Come on, puppy. You were so brave just a second ago. You can do it. Say it again.”

He looked around the room. Maybe he was checking for an exit. More likely, he was looking for backup. He was unlikely to find that in the Delta Lounge.

“It’s not a big deal, Moxie,” Becky said. She was one of my newer regulars, recently having found enough courage to sit at the bar with the big kids. Her creamy beta aura blushed peach around the edges—obvious embarrassment.

The beta asshat in front of me ground his teeth and went all red in the face. Helena, my server, edged away from us, knowing she didn’t want to be in the middle of this nonsense.

“Who gave you permission to sit at the bar?” I changed tactics, knowing he was just about to wind himself up good.

“I don’t need your fucking permission,” he managed to get out.

I cocked my head and gave him a slow up-and-down, taking in his limp blonde hair and faded Dynamix T-shirt. It wasn’t retro or vintage. It was just simply old. I just knew that T-shirt had been sitting in the bottom of his closet for at least half my life.

“Oh, pet, I’m happy to serve you drinks, but if you’re going to get all sassy, you need to beg ‘please’ first.”

The alpha in the corner barked a laugh. He held up one of his long, elegant fingers, licked the tip, and marked the point on an imaginary scorecard in the air, before returning to his book. I refused to look at him. He had been twisting up my brain and wetting my panties from afar for weeks now. His scent of croissants and coffee was distracting enough.

The beta dude-bro did turn, however. White shimmered through his aura. Technically, betas couldn’t sense auras. They couldn’t tell if you were alpha, omega, or beta on sight. But you’dhave to be dead not to clock my little book nerd in the corner as an alpha. He was tall, lean, and I his haircuts probably cost more than I made in tips this week. Could a beta have that level of confidence? Sure. But guessingalphawas always the safest course.

He took a breath and turned back to me. I tsk’ed at him and shook my head. “If the next words out of your mouth are not an apology…” The sharp taps of my nail on the aluminum bat finished the sentence for me.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

My lip curled into a fake sugar smile. I’d let that be enough for now. It had already been a really long night.

“Good puppy,” I chided. “Now come on, you’re going to pay your tab and hers, and get the fuck out of my bar.”

“Wha… what?”

“You got to pay your stupid tax, my friend. You don’t walk up into the Delta Lounge and call one of my closest friends a fat bitch for politely saying no thank you to your disgusting invitation.”

Becky squirmed on the barstool. I didn’t enjoy putting her on the spot like this. But when you were a single omega hiding out in a dive bar, you knew all about vulnerability and unwanted come-ons. You couldn’t let shit like this go. Not even for some greasy little beta who was looking to get lucky for the price of a lite beer.

He fumbled his wallet open, the grimy chain connecting it to his belt loop clanking dully. He pulled a $20 out, and I snatched another from the open mouth of the duct tape wallet.

“Yo, I only had one drink.” The beta moved to take the bill back. I held it high above my head. He’d have to invade my space to get it back.

“Stupid. Tax.” I flicked the bill back and forth like a hypnotist’s watch. While he stared, mesmerized, I seized another bill andslapped it down in front of Becky. “That’s compensation for being a dick.”

Becky chewed her lip, nervous about the blowback. I knew nothing would happen. I could tell from his aura. He’d slink on out of here and not come back. Ever. He had a typical beta aura, dense and close to his skin, and smooth like notebook paper. No jagged edges, no breaks or leaks. It tasted desperate and lonely. That’s why I’d served him a Jaggerbomb on his first visit.

The guy made a big production of snapping his denim jacket open and pulling it on, and picking up his cares and woes, all the while muttering under his breath. He got within feet of the door when the alpha in the corner stood and stretched. His cashmere sweater rode up to show off a sliver of abs. I knew the beta couldn’t feel the alpha’s aura, but I could. Years of practice kept my knees from shaking and had me resist the urge to back the fuck up.

The alpha looked casual in his tailored dress pants and the feather-light sweater I ached to touch. He held his book in his long fingers, the middle one probing its depths so he wouldn’t lose his place. In contrast, his aura was anything but casual. It crackled with menace and pushed out into the room. Betas couldn’t manipulate theirs, couldn’t feel them in the same way. But it didn’t matter when an alpha like this had an aura that strong.

The beta paused, white flashing through him again. He darted his eyes between me and the alpha before ducking out with his tail between his legs. The door wailed. It was appropriate. That little hydraulic mechanism that helped the door close on its own had decided some time ago it was going to scream bloody murder every time it moved. The alpha saluted me with his book, sat down, crossed his long legs, and carefully unfurled his book again.

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