Page 4 of Bartender Mate

“Over my dead body,” I growled as I snatched up the I.O.U. and stormed out of the office.

The last muttered sentiment was not meant for me, yet I heard it anyway right before the door crashed shut behind me. “Careful what you wish for in Valhalla’s Pass.”

* * *

After closingand seeing off the last of the regulars, I made my way out onto the front porch to drown out my new reality with a bottle of whiskey and to polish Berty–our resident shotgun–in preparation for our next rendezvous. Knowing the bank wasn’t going to be an option, I was at a loose end. I didn’t have a legitimate way of keeping the Drakon Hunters at bay, but that didn’t mean I was going to lay down and take this like a little bitch.

I glared at the envelope–carrying the I.O.U. and a cheerful side note–which had hung like an albatross around my neck all night. Hauling the two pieces of paper out, I read over the I.O.U. once more then spat on the ground to ward off the bad spirits.

It was legit, all right. Dated and everything. Although the handwriting was shaky, I could immediately tell it was Uncle Frank’s signature blithely signing my hopes and dreams away. Our lawyer–the one and only in Valhalla’s Pass–had confirmed it, too.

According to the cheerful introductory note that accompanied the unwelcome I.O.U., my fucking uncle had bet his half of Last Chance Bar on a dog fight, and lost. Obviously. Now, unless I could come up with a ridiculous fucking sum in the blink of an eye, my family’s legacy would be overrun by the Drakon Hunters Motorcycle Club. And my new silent partner–Axle Grinder, recently appointed President of the MC–was stopping by this evening to discuss ‘the transition’.

Over my dead body were a bunch of bikers gonna claim my bar and historical family home.

While I’d been pondering my sorry state of affairs, the early morning bird song had started up in the woods surrounding me as the light on the horizon began to brighten from inky blues. A dark red glow of warning was spilling out across the skyline.

With a heavy sigh, I stuffed the papers back into the battered envelope and shoved it into my jacket pocket, then returned to polishing my gun. Dawn was fast approaching. Which meant Friday was well and truly here. I should really head inside and get some shut eye. The bar would be back open at 3pm and who knew when the actual visit would be made?

Regardless of the timing, I would be giving those fuckers a cool, double-barreled welcome.

Logically, I knew one woman was never going to be able to stand up to the Drakon Hunters MC, but my stubborn ass was sure determined to give it a red hot go.

I should probably text Samantha, one of my few real friends in town, to give her an update. Our take-no-crap head librarian would probably have some sound advice–or at least send through a string of expletives and emojis which would make me feel better–but I didn’t want to drag her into my family’s troubles. Again.

Lord knew, she’d heard enough about my drama over the years.

Still, I couldn’t help but wish she’d choose tonight to make good on her threat.

To my surprise, for the past few months, Samantha had been playing nice with a new motorcycle club which had rolled into town. Bikers in leather really wasn’t my silver-tongued friend’s usual scene. However, she sounded kinda smitten with the newcomers.

There had been some sort of altercation where the Drakon Hunters MC had busted in on Samantha’s library, trying to forcefully take a girl they claimed as their own back to HQ, but the Stellar Misfits MC had turned up in the nick of time and run them off. They’d protected the library–and the girl–from their rival MC ever since.

According to my learned friend, the Stellar Misfits were much better house trained than the Drakon Hunters and minded their manners. In fact, she’d been threatening to bring the lot of them over to Last Chance Bar for a drink by way of introduction. Although I had no intention of letting my bar be overrun with bikers on the regular, at least having a bit of muscle around tonight would make the Drakon Hunters think twice about smashing up my bar after discussing the ‘terms of transition’.

My heart squeezed in longing at the thought of calling in backup.

A wave of loneliness washed in straight after.

Aside from the gambling addiction, Uncle Frank had always had my back. Now there was no one to turn to when the shit hit the fan. And, for once in my life, I didn’t feel like going it alone. I could really use a burly body or two in my corner.

A movement on the horizon had me looking up as a furious comet came bursting through the stratosphere, burning a determined path straight in my direction. I stared, open mouthed, as it plowed its way toward me–traveling from some far reaching corner of the universe–to rattle my roof and crash into the mountain beyond with a roar of thrilling destruction.

Too shocked to move, I shivered at the strange tingling sensation left in its wake.

Every fiber of my being felt…alive.

My phone lit up with a message so I reached for where I’d set it down next to my drink with a shaky hand. Speak of the devil, it was Samantha. My friend had always had a crazy sense of timing.

SAM: Holy shit, Tess. You okay?! That thing looked like it was going to tear a hole through your bar.

ME: Yeah… Kinda felt the urge to duck. Pretty sure it took some trees down out back, too.

SAM: Oo, the stars are shining on you girl! I’ll tell the boys. Strap in, babe, ‘coz you got some wild shenanigans in your future.

I rolled my eyes.

ME: Oh, please. You know I don’t believe in that astrology crap.

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