Page 6 of Vendetta
“Got it,” Dylan said, scanning the room as Peggy handed her an apron and a notepad.“Is there a panic button or something?I’ve worked in other places that had them.”
Peggy snorted.“This ain’t Applebee’s, sweetheart.You see something coming, you move.Fast.”
It wasn’t the serious lack of formal safety protocols that raised Dylan’s eyebrows.It was the way Peggy said it, like fights weren’t just a possibility, they were expected.Like there was a rhythm to them and they were allowed.She nodded and kept listening, but something about that rubbed her wrong.
“Most of our business is on the weekends, of course, but the VIPs come in all during the week,” Peggy went on, already moving back to the bar to stock napkins in old-fashioned metal boxes.“You’ll know them when you see them.They don’t tip, but don’t piss them off.Eli likes to keep them happy.”
Dylan paused, notebook in hand.“VIPs?”
“Locals.Out-of-towners.Some are from his MC.Doesn’t matter,” Peggy said, without looking up.“You serve what they order and stay out of their conversations.That’s not me being rude.That’s me keeping you employed.”
The words hit her like a warning.Something about all of it, the emphasis, the look in Peggy’s eyes, the way she didn’t offer names made Dylan’s stomach tighten as she kept listening, wondering what else she was going to hear.Nodding, she filed it all away and forced a smile.
“Thanks for showing me the ropes,” Dylan said.“I appreciate it.”
Peggy finally looked at her, a long, assessing stare.Then she shrugged.“You’ve got the eyes for this place.You watch everything.That’s good.Just make sure you don’t watch too closely, yeah?”
Dylan didn’t answer.But she was definitely paying attention.
“One last thing.”Peggy spoke quietly.“You’re one of the owner’s family members which probably means you’d have toreallyfuck up to get fired.But just keep in mind, you’re still expendable.”
“I’ll do my best to remember that.”
The evening crowd was light, just as Peggy explained it would be.It was Thursday night, andNed’s Sundown Loungealways did look better at night.The dim lighting and the fact that the sun had already set, covered the bar’s many imperfections better than paint ever could.The jukebox was working tonight, playing songs that were moody and lazy, and they filled the space without drawing attention.
The regulars were easy to spot, planted on barstools like fixtures, beers in front of them.Some of them talked to each other in low voices, some were there on their own.Dylan had just finished clearing one of her tables when the cool night air blew a newcomer through the front doors.
Dylan glanced up and paused.
The newest patron was tall and built.She didn’t think she’d seen him before.That didn’t necessarily mean anything.She was just back in town after having been gone several years.
The man who just walked in didn’t look like a local.Six-four, easy, with broad shoulders under a worn jean jacket and a dark hoodie that had definitely seen better days.His long dark hair was pulled back low at the neck, and a beat-up baseball cap shadowed most of his face.Not that it helped much.He wasfineand pretty hard to miss.
Dark eyes scanned the room once, slow and deliberate.He didn’t come across as cocky, just aware.Like he was used to being in places where trouble could find him in a hurry.When his gaze finally landed on her, it lingered for half a second longer than it needed to.Not creepy or flirty.Maybe interested.
Dylan straightened and stepped behind the bar, already reaching for a clean glass.But the new guy didn’t sit at the bar like most of them.No, he picked out a booth near the back, one that gave him the best line of sight on both the bar’s exits.
Shit, they really must have fights often here.
Dylan clocked that and noticed how relaxed his movements were.Like someone trained not to draw attention but fully capable of handling it if he had to.
She walked over with a notepad in hand, smiling when his gaze met hers.“You look like a bourbon guy,” she said by way of greeting.
“It depends on who’s pouring,” he said, voice deep and gravel smooth.
She raised an eyebrow.“So, you’re one of those.”
He smirked.“One of what?”
“One of those mysterious types with a tragic backstory and specific taste in whiskey.”
That smirk turned into a smile and when he turned it on her, well, it froze her to the spot.“Would I be less exciting if I say beer?”
“Beer’s not as exciting,” she replied, scribbling his order.“But you seem like anything but a boring guy.”
That earned her a look.Something warmer flickered behind those dark eyes before it faded.
“Do you have a beer preference?”
