Alpha Ever After

by Casey Morgan

  He briefly took his eyes off me and filled a glass with two fingers of the closest whiskey bottle. Then he pushed it towards me, sliding it over the clean finish of the bar.

  I assumed he would leave me alone then, but he didn’t. I had poorly chosen a seat next to the wash sink and the man busied himself, cleaning glasses just a foot from me.

  “If you’re staying more than two days then you need to check in with Terrell,” he informed me over the hiss of the water. “He runs things around here. Everyone who comes has to check in with him.”

  I laughed, and it ended in a choking sound. For some reason, he had assumed I was part of a rival gang.

  “Even bums?” I asked, the snark apparent in my voice.

  I went so far as to wave a hand up and down my body to indicate my disheveled appearance.

  He looked up from the sink but didn’t change positions. His eyes, which were a yellow-brown color, bore into me. He looked me up and down again and then shrugged.

  “No, I suppose not,” he muttered. “All the same, it’s probably best if you sit in the back. A big guy like you is bound to cause trouble in here.”

  Jutting his chin out slightly, he indicated a booth in the back left corner.

  His warning was kind. In rough bars like this one, men liked to try to take down the biggest guy in the place or at least challenge them. I was in no mood for that.

  I took a sip of my whiskey and felt it burn a tiny bit going down my throat. Drinking didn’t do much to wolves, but the alcohol tasted good and would give me an excuse to be in here.

  Pulling a ten from my jean’s pocket, I slid it over to the bartender and grabbed my glass to move.

  I gave him a quick nod of thanks.

  “Just don’t stay too long,” he warned me.

  “Thanks for the words, friend.”

  I wove my way through the pool tables towards the back of the bar, doing my best to not draw any notice. There was a booth in the far corner that didn’t have a good light; it was at the perfect angle to sit and watch but not sit and be watched.

  I slid my drink onto the rough wooden table. It needed a new sanding and another coat of polish, but I was guessing that that was treatment that it would never receive. The pleather seats were also worse for wear. Their vibrant red was dimmed beneath scuffs and dirt. Several slits curled up through the material. Some had been duct-taped.

  Taking a seat, I moved till I was in the exact middle of the booth. Here I could relax, spread out and watch the room. Which I did. I took another sip of cheap whiskey and raised my arms along the back of the booth. I let out a small sigh and dropped my shoulders.

  A tall, red haired man slid into the booth next to me. When I turned to look at him, he raised his whiskey glass in a friendly salute.

  “You’re new in town,” he said.

  It wasn’t a question.

  “Aye. Don’t think I’ll be in town for long. Just drifting through.”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  He took another sip.

  While I waited for the stranger to get to the point of his intrusion of my space, I looked him over. He was only six-foot but looked taller, due to his thin build. His red hair topped a ruddy face with round cheeks and a square jawline.

  This fellow was in no way a handsome man, but he did seem friendly which was odd in a place like this. Under my gaze, he adjusted his leather vest, making sure that his membership patch for this club was visible—the patch had the same gear shape as the sign outside the door.

  He wanted me to know that he belonged here. I wasn’t sure why.

  “Nights are cold here and it’s not safe to sleep alone in the abandoned buildings. There’s a rival gang here, the Southlanders, well, they will knock a sleeping man senseless and take his belongings.” He looked down at my patched-up backpack. “Such as they are.”

  I went to interrupt him and assure him that I held nothing of value, but he surprised me by pulling a card out of his pocket and handing it to me. It was green and it had a little cabin on it.

  “The Woodside Motel,” he said, as I read the same text on the card. “My cousin owns it. He’ll negotiate the rate for a…man like you. And he keeps secrets.”

  The card felt odd in my hand. After so many years as a lone wolf, kindness was not something I was used to. I gave the fellow a sideways smile.

  “I don’t think I have any secrets for any man to keep,” I told him.

  The odd guy must have thought I was on the run from something.

  I slipped the card into the pocket of my hoodie and held out my hand. He shook it gently and gave me an inquiring look, his eyes just a bit wider.

  “I guess I have somewhere to go tonight.” I chugged the last bit of my whiskey and stood. “Thanks, friend.”

  He gave me a slight nod and slid out of the booth. Once I was alone again, I relaxed and allowed myself to sip my drink.

  Maybe Gray Acres wasn’t that bad of a place. It might do for my new home.

  Chapter Five

  Celeste

  There was a loud crash at about three in the morning. I jumped out of bed and ran out of the room. My father stopped me at the head of the stairs by putting a hand on my shoulder.

  “It’s just graffiti, Celeste,” he cautioned; his thin form being illuminated by the moonlight coming in the downstairs windows. “They paint. Nothing more.”

  My hands balled into fists at my sides. Graffiti took forever to deal with.

  “Shouldn’t our protection be dealing with this?” I hissed.

  Dad gave me an annoyed look.

  “It is what it is, child. Don’t let the hate from outside bring hate within this family.”

  His words hit me like a punch to the gut. My shoulders dropped and I relaxed my hands.

  He was right; I was blaming him for a bad situation. Sure, he didn’t deal with it the way I wanted, but I shouldn’t hate him for it. He was doing what he thought was right.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered and stepped forward to put my arms around his waist.

  He held me and kissed me on the top of the head.

  “We are together as a family, little one. Always remember that.”

  He released me and pointed my shoulders towards my bedroom door.

  “Let the painters do their work. We will fix it in the morning.”

  I nodded and went back to bed.

  The next morning, Father, Mother, and I stood outside and looked over the damages. Luckily is was a decent day, weather wise. The sun was out and there was no chance of snow, but it was still bone chilling cold.

  I huddled in my warmest winter coat, my hands in mittens tucked into my sleeves. They were in fists again.

  Despite my father’s wise words earlier in the morning, I was angry. There was a lot of damage. My family’s bakery was one of five shops that ran in a row, with the living quarters upstairs.

  The graffiti from last night covered all five of our shop windows and two others of each of the shops that stood empty next to us. I knew my father would insist on fixing the windows from the other shops, even though we didn’t have the money.

  Normally I would argue with him, but the words that been scrawled in paint read: Get the fuck out!

  I wanted all of it gone, just as much as he did. To make matters worse, the sprayed letters were huge and largely embellished with their corners and loops spilling on to the brick façade. Getting paint off brick required a lot of scrubbing. It was going to be a long morning.

  I took a deep breath and relaxed into the idea of getting to work.

  “Oh no!” my mother hissed.

  Father and I turned sharply to face her.

  She pointed up, higher than the graffiti, to the curved wooden trim that visually separated the first floor from the second. “The sign’s gone.”

  “Aha, no!” My father dropped his head and rubbed his temples. “Let us hope they just knocked it down and it’s around here somewhere, in the snow. Celeste, look.”

  I started search
ing the area immediately, while my mother and father filled buckets with water and began washing the windows. The missing sign was one of my father’s most prized possessions. It was delicately carved wood with the name of the bakery and a picture of a crescent moon at the end.

  Dad had brought it with him when he immigrated to America. His families’ bakeries had been called The Crescent Moon Bakery for hundreds of years. That sign had been made by his great grandfather. It had hung over three stores.

  I searched snow pile after snow pile, my hands in thin mittens digging in the snow. They were all empty. I checked around the block and in dumpsters. I even walked all the way down to the nearby high school and checked the grounds there.

  There was a shed—that was never locked—that Mary and I used to hide in and read excerpts from our journals to each other when we went to that school. It wasn’t there, either. The sign wasn’t anywhere. Whoever desecrated the walls last night must have taken it.

  My search had taken me hours and when I got back, Mary was already at work. She was handing Dad a cup of coffee and a muffin when I stomped around the corner. At my approach, she raised her head and gave me a small smile. She knew what was going on and was hopeful.

  I shook my head. Her whole body dropped into itself. Mary isn’t a big person and her anxiety tends to make her act even smaller. Her eyes flickered nervously to my father. I knew she didn’t want to be out here when I told him. His reactions made her nervous.

  “Let me take those, Mary,” I told her, coming up to her side.

  I was only three inches taller than her, but it always seemed like more.

  “Could you get me a cup of coffee as well?”

  “Sure!” she gave me a grateful glance and hurried inside.

  After another few minutes of Dad rubbing at the paint and me standing there holding his breakfast, he stopped, dropped the rag in the bucket, and turned to me. Taking the coffee, he looked at me with hope in his green eyes.

  “It’s gone, Dad. I looked everywhere I could.”

  His eyes dropped, and he let out a breath, but he didn’t yell. I stood by him, unsure if I should hug him or get my mother or what.

  Dad was largely calm and stoic, but when he did get upset, it was bad. That sign had meant a lot to him. I knew that it was a way that he connected his new life to the one he grew up with.

  He handed me the coffee cup.

  “Go take a shower, Celeste. Your skirt is soaked through. You need to warm your bones.”

  “But Dad, the sign…”

  “It’s gone, Celeste. You are here. Go warm up before you get sick.”

  He turned back to his work and didn’t look at me again.

  So, I went inside and did as I was told.

  The second loud crash came after I had rinsed the conditioner out of my hair. This one was followed by screams. I could hear both my mother and Mary yelling at someone, but I couldn’t quite figure out what was going on.

  I toweled off as quickly as I could and dressed in the same clothes I had just taken off. I didn’t have time to find new, dry ones. I tumbled down the stairs, pulling on my winter boots and taking the steps two at a time.

  When I reached the ground floor, the bakery was empty. Everyone was out front.

  I glanced out the widows—the parts that had been cleaned—and saw five men outside. They were ringed around my father. I recognized Big Dog, who was standing closest to the front doors. He was grinning like this was all a great joke.

  He also didn’t see me approaching the doors. So, I flung them both open with all my might. The left one caught the short man in the side of the face, slamming into his cheek. I had calculated the distance well. He raised his hand to his face and cussed up a storm.

  The door frame had caused a bruise with a small cut and little drops of blood were dripping down his round chin. The sight was pleasing.

  “What the fuck, bitch!”

  My father, cornered as he was, hissed.

  “Mr. Dog, you will not address my daughter in such a way!”

  There was a sharp laugh from the man who was at the head of the circle. I turned to look at him. He was taller than the rest, but still not as tall as my father. He was broad, like Big Dog, and had his black hair in a ponytail. His full lips were pulled back into a sneer.

  “Old man,” he laughed again. “We will call your bitch daughter whatever the fuck we want.”

  The new man reached behind his back and pulled out a gun. My mother, pushed to the side of the street, shrieked a bit, but quickly put her hands to her mouth. Mary was huddled beside her. They were both being held by two of the other gang members.

  “Mr. Dominic.” My father held up his frail arms, his hands empty. “I have your money. I can assure you that such a show of force is not necessary. Please, put the gun away.”

  The gangster sneered.

  “Your money is late, old man, and you tell my boy here—” he used the gun in his hand to briefly point to Big Dog— “You tell him that instead of paying what I ask, you’ll offer pastries instead. Pastries! Do I look like some fat fuck? Do my men?”

  My father dropped his head. I knew he was trying to come up with a good way to get out of this, but there wasn’t one. I found my feet moving. I pushed through the two closest gang members and stood in front of my father.

  “Leave us alone,” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “You have no rights over us. This is our shop. You are no one!”

  Dominic blinked his big brown eyes at me. He looked around at his men and when his eyes found mine again, he laughed.

  “I’m no one? Look, bitch, I’m the man with the fucking gun!”

  I balled my hands into fists and imagined punching him in the face. My eyes darted down to a nearby pile of trash and eyed a broken bottle. If I could just slip to the side, I could throw it at him. Its jagged edges could do some damage.

  “Carlos. Ace. Move this chick.”

  Dominic motioned with his gun again. Then he gave me another glance.

  “Men are talking, sweetheart. I will pay attention to you later.”

  Two men, clad in black denim and leather, came from the opposite side of the street. Both had their heads shaved close like Big Dog. It seemed that only Dominic was allowed to wear a pony tail.

  The taller of the two men reached for my shoulder. I slapped him in the face. Hard.

  He blinked at me in surprise and all his cohorts laughed. The shocked look on his face melted into a lopsided smile.

  “The bitch has claws,” he said.

  He grabbed me by both shoulders and pulled me close. I had to put my hands up to keep from slamming into his chest. His chapped lips were inches from my face.

  “Do it again, girl.”

  His eyes dropped down to my breasts. He eyed them with lust.

  “I like it rough.”

  My father had inched our way, his concern making his face white. The second man pushed him back into the middle of the circle. My captor dragged me to the edge. I fought him every step, but his arms just got tighter.

  “Keep fighting,” he whispered in my ear. “It just rubs your body up against mine.”

  I froze then and tried to move as little as possible.

  “Mr. Dominic, we can work this out,” my father pleaded.

  He held his hands up like he was praying.

  “I will pay whatever you want. Just don’t hurt my daughter.”

  Dominic huffed and stepped forward. His left arm swung out. His hand arched and slammed my father full in the face. The hit was so hard that it caused my dad to step back.

  “It’s not enough, old man,” the gang leader hissed. “You continue to try to argue with me and I’m done with that. Your offer of pastries— that is going to get you hurt. You need to learn a lesson.”

  I started struggling again. This asshole could not kill my father. I wouldn’t allow it. Even if it caused me to lose my own life, then I would get that gun out of Dominic’s hands.

  The gang leader slapp
ed my father again. The next hit was a punch. It slammed right into my father’s nose. Dad fell to his knees, gripping his face. His hands came away bloody.

  My mother screamed. I turned towards her and saw the man who was holding her clamp his hand over her mouth. The gang members who held Mary and me followed his example. I bit the fingers that tried to cover my mouth.

  “Fuck!” my captor swore.

  As my father trembled on the ground, Dominic kicked him. His boot slammed into my father’s thin frame, hitting him in the side. Dad fell; his body crashed into the ground. He cringed and covered his ribs on the cold concrete mixed with dirty snow.

  Big Dog joined in. He kicked Dad in the stomach. Dad’s leg shot out behind him as he twisted to put his stomach to the ground. Dominic brought his boot down on his calf. It crunched and my father screamed.

  The head gangster looked over the damage and spat on my father.

  “Lesson over, old man. I want my money tomorrow and make it double.” His eyes roamed the circle and looked at each of us. “Any of you women put a hand to one of mine and I will shoot you. Clear?”

  I felt myself nod. The man who held me kissed my cheek and slapped me on the ass when he let me go. I hardly noticed.

  I didn’t see the gangsters leave. All I could see was my dad, injured and bleeding into the snow.

  Chapter Six

  Celeste

  Mom fell to her knees next to my father. He was breathing in gasps and pants. It wasn’t good, but I was happy he was still breathing.

  He rolled over to his back and looked up at Mom and me. Blood coated his nose and mouth. He tried to smile and put a reassuring hand on my mother’s shoulder. She just sobbed next to him.

  “Hush, Martha. Just help me up and let’s get inside,” he whispered.

  I knelt and put my shoulder under his armpit.

  “Dad, you need to go to the hospital,” I told him. “You might have internal bleeding and a broken leg.”

  He hissed. I lifted him with my mother’s help, and we stumbled towards the bakery. Mary pulled the front door open for us.