She allowed the phone to ring twice, trying to decide whether or not to answer. But declining the call meant one of her other four brothers would call. Or all of them. She spent many a night getting lectured on how she needed help in the bar, a bouncer at the entrance and possibly a guard. Better security like cameras and double locks on all the doors.
Lately, she began to think they might be right. So far, she hadn’t been hit by the string of break-ins in Mersey, but she wouldn’t put it past the criminals in that gang to be scoping her out on the nightly.
The phone continued to ring. With a growl, she finally tapped the screen. “What do you want, Lake?”
“Is that any way to talk to your favorite brother?”
“Nobody said you’re my favorite. What do you want? I need to open in a few.”
“That’s what I’m calling about. Checking in on my baby sister.”
She closed her office door and examined herself in the mirror on the backside. Fluffing her hair, she leaned in to check her lipstick. Not smudged, even after biting her lip while writing all those checks.
She straightened and walked out of the office. She snapped on the lights at the breaker box and then revolved through the bar, checking every corner. Since losing all her help, the Painted Pig wasn’t looking the cleanest, with a layer of dust on the windowsills and light fixtures. But it would have to do for tonight.
“You know all you need to do is ask and one of us will come help you run the bar, Fiona.”
“I don’t need help. I need…” Jesus.
“We heard rumors that more bikers are headed your way to join up with Mayhem. That has all four of us ready to jump in our trucks and ride over to Mersey to make sure our little sister is safe.”
“I’m safe.” She already heard the rumble of motorcycle engines as they flooded the parking lot in time for her to open her doors. After they settled in with their drinks and quarters lined up on the edge of the pool table, she could expect practically no other customers for the rest of the night.
“You know Noah wants to come in there and bust some balls.”
“Noah needs to stay out of trouble,” she said in her sternest tone about their second to youngest brother in the Browning clan. “He’s already been in enough over the years.” Though nothing compared to what he’d get himself into if he came to Mersey and heard the gang commenting on the sway of her ass when she served them drinks.
Dragging in a deep breath, she stood in the center of her empty bar and focused on the call for a moment. “You’re only calling to check on me?”
“Yes,” said Lake. “That and to tell you we’re considering a camping trip to the mountains soon. Three day weekend. We’re talking tents, fires, firecrackers and booze.”
She sighed. “Sounds fun to be with y’all, but I can’t get away.”
“Dammit, I knew you’d say that, Fiona. You’re chained to that place.”
Yes, she was. Another reason why she didn’t have a personal life. Or a love life. Or any life that didn’t involve the bar.
“Next time, I promise, Lake. I’ll hire more help and get away.” When would that be? She added another item to her mental to-do list—advertise for waitress.
“If you don’t stick to your word, we’ll come up there and kidnap you, Fiona. Don’t think for a minute that we won’t.” His warning tone sank in—he wasn’t kidding, and she knew well enough what her brothers were capable of. All the more reason to keep them distanced from what went on her life.
“I swear I’ll be there next camping trip, okay? I’ve gotta go now. I have to—”
“Open the bar,” he chorused along with her.
She chuckled, though she experienced a pang of sadness that she wasn’t only predictable but dull as hell. Where had her wild-child youth gone?
“Bye, Lake. Love you.”
“Bye, Fee.”
They ended the call, and she stuffed her phone into her pocket as she walked to the door and unlocked it. The minute she did, two bikers entered, and then three.
“Hello, fellas,” she called out, moving into position behind the bar.
“Hey, beautiful.”
She bit down on her lip to hold in her sassy response.
What the hell am I doing? I’m not putting up with any shit. Not tonight or ever again.
“The name’s Fiona.”
The big burly biker laughed and waved his hands around. “Ooh, she doesn’t want me calling her beautiful. She’s one of those girls.”
“What can I get you to drink?” She already knew the answer. She remembered every drink she poured for every man who entered her bar. Moving toward the wall of booze, she heard his response even as she wrapped her fingers around the bottle.
“Where’s that pretty little brunette with the great legs? She workin’ tonight?”
Spinning, she held the bottle like a club, prepared to brain the guy if he stepped a single toe over her imaginary line. “No,” she said tightly, “she is no longer an employee. You and your buddies here drove her off because you couldn’t quit harassing her or touching her ass.”
“It’s a fine ass. What can I say?”
“How about I say 9-1-1? All I need to do is make a phone call and have the sheriff down here.”
He arched a brow and settled on the stool in front of her. She glared him down. “You threatening me, woman?”
A low growl emerged from her lips, but just then two more guys in leather, denim and chains walked in. Three members of Mayhem were a pain in her ass. Five were a party. And by the end of the night, her bar would be filled with all the rowdy guys that loved to create exactly what their group was called—Mayhem.
Within minutes, she had orders for drinks and snacks. She went into the kitchen to put the French fries, wings and onion rings down. When she circled back to the bar, the first shout sounded.
She whirled toward the commotion, teeth grinding off her explosion. Two regular Joes sat there, waiting for drinks, and the bikers were hassling them—trying to drive them out of what they intended to make ‘their bar.’
A few words were exchanged, but the two newcomers held their own, and the bikers moved off to the pool table.
She served them both with a smile for each. After checking on her fried food in the kitchen, she returned to see another customer seated there.
Pausing in her step, she looked him over. She hadn’t caught his name the last visit, but she recalled his dark, mussed hair, the five o’clock shadow she’d bet money never fully disappeared even after a close shave and muscles popping from underneath his grease-stained T-shirt.
The guy looked badass enough to bust up any one of the fights going down in the Painted Pig. He also was the type she veered far away from, after one too many bad relationships.
He opened his mouth to order, and she held up a finger. “Don’t tell me. Johnnie Walker.”
His crooked smile appeared, and she had to tear her gaze away from the path it cut upward into his cheek as well as the lights playing in his hazel eyes. “You got it,” he responded.
She poured his drink and set it before him. He lay some cash on the bar top. “Thanks,” she said. “Where’s your friend?”