by JA Huss
“Yes,” Michaela says. “That’s so fascinating! This is what we’re eating up right now, ladies. This… this… this diabolical sense that you two want to kill each other. And yet that anger and hatred makes you so much more interesting. So much more successful. This show is going to be fabulous!”
Yeah, this Michaela, she can suck my tit.
“It’s like Larry Bird and Magic Johnson,” Mike, apparently a basketball dude, says. “They played, not only so their teams could win, but so they could beat each other. And when one was not playing, the other faltered.”
“Is that so?” I ask. “I don’t follow basketball.” And this is certainly not like that at all, I don’t add.
Because this is… this is Charles Xavier versus Magneto. This is Superman versus Lex Luthor. This is Batman versus Joker.
And Hanna Harlow is Magneto, Lex Luthor, and Joker all wrapped up into one neat insane package. She has me imprisoned in Kryptonite-infused metal and I don’t even have a fucking Batarang to defend myself.
We’re talking nemesis to the highest order. We’re talking insane radioactive assholes with planet-sized egos. Larry Bird and Magic Johnson look like toddlers fighting over toys compared to me and Hanna.
I need to find her weakness. Because so far, nothing I do or say affects her at all. It’s just one lie on top of another. And it all comes out of her mouth sounding like… like absolute truth.
She is charismatic in the worst way. So evil, people want to believe there’s something underneath all that hate and anger—because otherwise they have to believe in the Devil himself… and that scares the shit out of them.
She is the reason we love to watch the Joker. And it doesn’t even matter that we know he’s insane, that everything that comes out of his mouth is lies, that he’s going to betray anyone and everyone who gets in his way—even those on his side.
We want to believe he’s good underneath or we have to admit that evil is real.
How do I fight that?
I need a whole team of superheroes by my side to beat her ass down. I need all my superfriends to show up and help me. I need…
Now, hey there. Wait just a second…
That’s not a bad idea…
In fact, I think I just came up with a plan.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE - LAWTON
The week passes so fast, and Sunday—the day of the festival—comes so quick, my head feels like it’s spinning with all the shit that’s happening.
I’m not gonna lie—Oaklee getting offered a TV show instead of me… well, it did sting for a few days. But then I thought about her. How she must feel, being stuck with Hanna all day long for the last three days. Unable to speak her mind. Unable to tell anyone how much she’s been wronged. Unable to find… justice, I guess.
And then I got over it.
Because I realized something important this past week. That I’m not the man I thought I was. That I was never that man. And that my problem wasn’t that I’m dissatisfied with my career, I was dissatisfied with myself.
The TV show was never going to fix me.
“OK,” Oaklee says as we walk up to the festival grounds. “I think I’m ready for this.”
“Ready to lose and take one for the team?” I ask, shooting her a lopsided grin.
“So ready,” she says, squeezing my hand. “I just want to get this over with.”
“Just so we’re clear,” I say. “No matter what happens today, you’re my hero, Miss Ryan.”
“Ah, stop it,” she says. “I’m giving in. I’m not a hero.”
“You might be giving in, but you never gave up.” I kiss her hand as we enter the crowd and make our way over to the beer-tasting stage. The whole competition is live. There’s probably thousands of people here and even though it’s a two-day thing, this competition is the main event. There’s a decent prize attached to it too. The winner gets a trophy, ten thousand dollars in cash, and their beer on tap at all the city concessions. That means Coors Field, that means the Pepsi Center, Elitch Gardens, the zoo, the museums… all of it.
Oaklee is oddly calm and quiet, considering what’s about to go down here today. Everything is on the line. Her future could not be more precarious.
We stop to the side of the stage where the tasters have all taken their seats in front of sample trays of beer.
I see all of her friends from the Opera House tavern last Saturday.
Ace, Rosco, and Beckett are huddled together looking nervous as they talk in low voices. Duke and Cormac just stand next to them saying nothing. Bear and Jack look like they want to throw up. And all the girls are here too. Tallulah, May, Piper, Beatrix, Juniper, and Magnolia. Each of them as solemn-faced, edgy, anxious.
Seeing them so wound up jumpstarts my nerves again too, so I say, “Are you sure—”
“Yes.” Oaklee cuts me off. “I’m sure.”
“But… but Bronco Brews. Your dad. Your whole life, Oaklee. It could go up in flames.”
She swallows hard, but nods her head. “I know. But it will be worth it to end this stupid game she’s playing with me. It will, Law. And if things go that way… then… then I’ll have no regrets. Because it’s the last chance I have to save myself from a life controlled by Hanna Harlow.”
I nod. Understanding her desperation.
Then look around to find familiar, friendly faces.
All our friends are here. Vivi and Chuck. Jordan and his two associates. Even Jordan’s assistant, Eileen, showed up.
“Where’s—”
But as soon as Oaklee says that, we hear them.
A thunderous roar from down the street. It grows louder and more powerful as they come into view, their motorcycles rumbling, shaking everything they pass.
The whole crowd turns to look at the precession, Spencer Shrike, the outlaw patriarch himself, taking up the vanguard, as more than thirty bikers pull up alongside of the park and stop.
They don’t turn the bikes off. They just sit there, like an army of darkness in leather and chains, twisting their throttles to announce their arrival—as if they needed the announcement.
Ready for whatever happens next.
“Showtime,” Oaklee says, wiping her hands on her skirt. She takes one step away from me, then turns, kisses me on the lips, and whispers, “See you on the other side.”
CHAPTER FORTY - OAKLEE
I have to wipe my hands on my skirt twice as I make my way through the crowd to the stage where all my fellow brewmasters are gathered, waiting for the tasting to start.
I glance quickly around, gathering my courage, as I climb the stairs and approach Hanna.
She’s smiling with overflowing joy and happiness as she talks with one of the judges. Throwing her head back to laugh at what must be a joke.
I glance over at my peers, who look back at me with nearly blank expressions that aren’t easily decipherable. It could be fear, or hatred, or maybe just anxiety.
I guess I’ll figure out which soon enough, but there’s no time for that now. The host is already introducing today’s judges. All local celebrities—which makes this contest a little different than most—and a little more interesting too, because people come out to see them just as much as they do to drink beer in the park.
Hanna sees me coming and instantly her gregarious manner she was faking for the judges switches into something she reserves for me alone.
It took me a while to figure out what that was. But all week, ever since that meeting with the Home TV people where she admitted to being my nemesis, it’s been on my mind.
Last night I put my finger on it.
Hatred. Served with a smile.
It’s as simple and complicated as that.
She just hates me.
“Oaklee,” she says, her voice laced with fake sugar. Like… little yellow and pink packets of sugar-ish words come spilling out of her mouth automatically. “Well, don’t you look pretty wearing your usual outfit.”
“Yup,” I say, looking down at my short, fl
uttery skirt, my old Frye boots, and bedazzled t-shirt that says “I give no fox” in pink and yellow rhinestones right across my tits. “This is me. What you see is what you get.”
Hanna’s grin goes sideways, her eyes half closed as she meets my gaze and says, “Yes, that was always your problem. You’re transparent, Oaklee. You should try a poker face every once in a while.”
“You mean lie? Like you?”
She lifts one shoulder up, tilts her head towards it, smiling. A shrug that says, Guilty, but no one cares.
A cheer from the crowd makes both of us look at the stage. The local celebrities are all sitting down at the tasting table and the first beer is being served.
“I’m sorry it had to be this way,” Hanna says, looking back at me.
“Me too,” I say. “I’m sorry this is the day you finally lose and have to deal with what you’ve done.”
She laughs loudly. So loud several of the closer judges look over at us. “God, you’re adorable, Oaklee. Always putting up the good fight. Never having the sense to quit while you’re ahead.”
“Well, you’re wrong about that.”
She stares are me. “How so?”
“I do know how to quit when I’m ahead. And that’s why I’m selling Bronco Brews.”
Her eyebrows knit together. Fiercely. And for once I’m the one who wants to laugh at her. Because her confusion—even if it’s only for a few seconds—is perfect.
Watching her have doubts… well, that’s priceless to me after all these years.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“What you hear is what you get, Hanna. You heard me. I’m selling.”
“Bullshit,” she snaps.
I look around and find the Home TV people all staring up at us from the front row. All four of them wave. They are in love with this stupid Brewery Smackdown show. I wave back at them as I say what Hanna refuses to. “No,” I say. “Not bullshit.” And then I point over at Spencer Shrike and his train of buddies. There are dozens of them. All dressed up in leather, all tattooed, all looking back at us like the mobster royal family they are. “I’m selling Bronco Brews to Spencer Shrike, Hanna. He’s here to sign the contract.”
“But…” Hanna stammers. “The fucking show!”
“Fuck the fucking show,” I say. “I never wanted that, you did. And I hate to break this to you now, because I know you were expecting this to be a very fun day, but I feel it’s my duty to warn you.”
“Of what?” Hanna snaps.
“That stealing my beer recipes was one thing. But stealing his”—I point at Spencer and his entourage—“is something else altogether.” I smile at her and then whisper, “So you’re gonna need to take those off the market, pronto, honey. Or”—I point at the crowd—“you see them?”
Her gaze follows my pointing finger until she sees who I’m referring to. An involuntary gasp escapes before she can corral it. Because it’s her family.
Oh, yes.
I went there.
“You have a lovely family. Did you forget I saw them at graduation, Hanna? I didn’t. So I drove out to your family farm the other day and had a really great chat with your mom and dad. They’re so proud of you, even though you cut all ties to them years ago. You know, when you decided you were my sister.” I kinda spit that last part. “I told them all about our TV deal and invited them here as a way to surprise you because you wanted to make amends and you’re not very good at admitting you’re wrong, ya know? Which they totally understood. So they came. Surprise!”
“You fuckin’—” But that’s as far as she gets, because I’m not done yet.
“And so… well, you know Spencer isn’t the killer you seem to think he is, so your family is safe. But he does have a billion-dollar bottom line, so… you aren’t. He will take you to court, Hanna. Expose all your lies. And you see them?” I point again. This time to two men in suits, dark sunglasses, and the totally cliché white earpiece dangling down their necks. I now know them as Finn Murphy and Darrel Jameson, Jordan’s ‘associates’, but I don’t tell Hanna that. “That’s the FBI, Hanna. They’re here to arrest you for industrial espionage and I invited your family to see it happen.”
She turns her head to look at me. And if eyes could shoot venom, I’m pretty sure that would be her supervillain power. “Bullshit,” she growls.
“Oh, no. This is some shit, for sure, but it’s not bullshit.”
“I will put you in prison. I have footage of you—”
“No, honey. You don’t. Because you see that guy over there? The one standing next to Vivi Vaughn? That’s Oliver Shrike. Yes, related. And he’s a notorious black-hat hacker who not only broke into your security system and found out that footage didn’t exist, but also found receipts for the men you hired to breach my computer and steal my father’s beer recipes.”
This is when things finally start to sink in for Hanna Harlow. Because she doubles down. “You have no proof. I covered my tracks. You have no proof.”
“Oh, but I do,” I say, pointing over to our peers. “You see them? You see Jack, and Ace, and Rosco, and Bear, and Beckett, and Duke, and Cormac? You know those guys you’ve been blackmailing these past several years? The ones who knew you stole my beer and you threatened to steal theirs too if they said anything? Yeah.” I laugh. “They were hard to convince. Scared shitless of you, Hanna. But the minute I mentioned Spencer Shrike was buying my brewery and would not be putting up with business as usual, they decided there were bigger monsters to worry about and told me everything.”
“What the fuck do you want?” she hisses.
I shrug. “I got what I want. I don’t want anything from you. I’m selling the brewery, getting the fuck out of this insane Home TV deal, you’re getting arrested, shamed in front of your family and peers, and then you’re either going to prison for industrial espionage or…”
I let that hang there for a few seconds. Just to enjoy the look on her face.
“Or what?” she finally growls.
I snap my fingers and Jordan Wells appears at my side, along with his assistant, Eileen, holding a folder out for Hanna to take.
“Or,” Jordan says, “you sell Buffalo Brews to Oaklee for the sum of one dollar, agree to never brew or sell beer again, and we call it even.” He points to the folder. “It’s all in there. I acted as your lawyer and covered all the bases, so all you have to do is sign.”
He reaches into his suit coat pocket, pulls out a pen, and holds it out next to the folder.
“You’re all insane,” Hanna whispers.
“No,” I say. “You’re insane. And I hope you get the help you need, but honestly, Hanna, I don’t care what you do after this. As long you sign these papers and I never see your face again, you’re free to go.”
“But… my beer…”
“My. Beer.” I spit those words out between clenched teeth. “You have no beer. It’s. My. Beer. And I swear to fucking God, Hanna, I will take you down. I will ruin your life. I will do everything I just laid out and I will smile as I do it. I don’t want to sell my brewery, but I will. If it means I take you down, I will sell everything. I will gladly give up all I’ve built—all my father built—for the chance to get even with you. So think very carefully. Think very hard how you want to spend the next ten years. In prison, shamed and sad. Or free to think about what a sick, disgusting liar you are and try to get the help you need. But either way, I’m walking off this stage free of you. You lost. I won. And you’d better come to terms with that real fast, bitch. Because I’m gonna count to ten and then this deal is over.”
She looks like she wants to kill me. Reach up, wrap her hands around my throat, and strangle the life out of me.
You know, kinda like the way I’ve felt about her these past few years.
I start counting. “One, two, three…”
Her emotions go through several incarnations. Rage, hate, fear, then finally sadness and surrender.
Because just as I get to the count of nine, the hos
t on stage announces that Buffalo Brews Assassin Sour Saison is up next for tasting… and she signs.
And that, my friends, is how you take down your super-nemesis.
Sometimes the only way to win the game… is to quit the game.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE - LAWTON
I hold Oaklee’s hand as we walk the few blocks over to Shrike Bikes in Five Points. Kinda swinging it. Smiling. Just… fuckin’ happy, I guess. And what’s not to be happy about?
Assassin Sour Saison won the competition, hands down. Even though those judges were local celebrities and don’t really know shit about beer, they knew it was different. They knew it was unique. And they knew it deserved to win.
And yeah, it was under the Buffalo Brews label, but Oaklee made Hanna admit on stage that it was Oaklee’s recipe and then tell one more lie.
That she and Oaklee brewed it together.
Then Hanna announced the sale and gave the winning trophy and check for ten thousand dollars to Oaklee in front of the whole city.
Happy. Fucking. Ending.
But hold on there. We’re not quite done yet…
“OK, what the hell are we doing?” Oaklee asks, once she figures out where we’re headed. “You said we were going up to the mountains today.”
“I gotta pick something up from Shrike. Just cool your jets, Oaks.”
Oaklee never wanted to sell the brewery. She’d rather die than sell her father’s life’s work. But she would’ve. If only to get away from Hanna Harlow. But it didn’t come to that.
And Spencer Shrike would’ve bought it, even though he didn’t want a brewery. He would’ve. If only to help his niece get out of a bind. But it didn’t come to that either.
Buffalo Brews up in Boulder had a name change and it’s in the process of being renovated. The Home TV people propositioned Oaklee and me together for another show once all this shit went down and they realized the smackdown was a non-starter. Rocky Mountain Renos.