by Fox, Piper
Presley
Hector’s Bar and Grill provided customers the best of two worlds. The Grill was a family establishment which offered delicious daily specials from noon until eight in the evening inside the building’s second floor.
When five o’clock rolled around, The Bar portion opened its doors on the ground floor where those seeking drink specials could partake in “happy hour.”
By nine, Hector’s Bar filled with customers. From Thursday through Saturday, whichever band was set to perform gathered backstage. The stage and dance floor lights turned on. And the private rooms in back opened for business.
Those seeking a good time were always welcomed.
The establishment sat just below the town line. Technically, taxes were paid to the bucolic town of Hollow Ridge and attracted many from the nearby private school, Landon College. Because of its proximity to Starling City, students from their public college, Barron Community College, also regarded the place as their home base. All the students considered Hector’s Bar to be ‘theirs’ from late August through mid-May.
Presley Duran groaned when she saw the calendar above the time clock. Today, the second Saturday of December, had been circled with red marker. For the first two weeks of the twelfth month, Hector’s became “the place” for fall semester students to let loose, celebrate their final exams, papers, projects or internships. Some viewed it an excuse to finally give into that temptation perhaps always denied—that last fling—before going home. Then came the award ceremonies, the banquets, and finally, a small commencement, before the campuses resembled ghost towns for the rest of year and the first half of January.
The same thing would repeat in May after the spring semester came to an end.
The school months made her boss, Mr. Hector Cordova, an incredibly happy man. These fourteen days made her anxious. Bigger crowds meant more obnoxious customers. Tonight, the hecticness ended. But first she had to take care of a little matter.
She looked at her pay stub for the third time. Why was the amount lower than usual? She’d tended bar well over forty hours, more like sixty, but lately no one worried about following laws here. Last Sunday, Presley even helped serve drinks at a private party for Mr. Cordova. Well, the party was thrown by Sammy, Hector’s cousin who had been filling in while Hector took some personal time.
Everyone loved Hector. Sammy was a douchebag. Her hand fisted around the paper as she trekked down the hall to the door marked “Manager’s Office.” She knocked three times, code for an employee seeking a discussion.
“Yeah,” Sammy drawled. She pushed open the door and walked into the overwhelming stench of cigar smoke. Glued to his cell phone screen, he sat behind Hector’s antique wood desk, with his long legs propped against the corner, his shined shoes resting on a stack of papers. Those were probably the week’s important things like menu changes, applications for the various job openings, and bills which needed attention.
Everything was still run the old-fashioned way instead of being digital.
Presley went over to the window and shoved it open, realizing too late his roving eyes took in every stretch and pull of her uniform, from the white business shirt down to her black mini skirt. When she turned, his eyes were still trained on her body.
“What can I do for you, sweet cheeks?” Sammy remained in place, sucking on his stogie and exhaling. The smoke curled around his face as he simply lounged back in the leather chair and deliberately shifted his crotch.
Presley tried not to retch while she held up her paystub. “Can you tell me why I’m a hundred dollars short?”
He cocked his head, his shifty eyes landed on the computer monitor in the middle of the desk. “Let’s check it out.”
She cautiously moved around the desk to see what he did. Hector never minded.
Sammy clicked his tongue. “Says here there was a busted pipe in the kitchen. Had to be replaced. The cabinet had damage too.”
“I’m being penalized for old pipes? I didn’t break it. It rusted out. The plumber told me.”
“Plumber’s report said the pipe had been broken,” he read. “Blame associated with tenant.”
Presley fumed, knowing full well that pipe and subsequent mess were not her responsibility. “If Mr. Cordova were here—”
Sammy jumped up, sending the wheeled chair into the opposite corner, and rested the cigar in the ash tray. Stalking up to her, he knew his height and muscles frightened many. Not Presley. “But he’s not. He’s dealing with something and I’m here.” His tight, black trousers and blue silk shirt strained against his frame as he cornered her. He rested both palms flat against the wall, his arms stretched across her sides acting like a rope cordoning off her space. Steely brown eyes peered down at her. Their proximity to one another turned her stomach. “You have a problem with me, Ms. Duran?”
She did, but where would she begin? Complain about his lewd jokes, free hands, or the way he liked to dock employee for bullshit reasons? None of it would be of any use. No one was above him.
The only alternative? Contact her boss.
Mr. Cordova had helped her out by employing her as a waitress upstairs when she first came to town four years ago. He also secured an apartment for her in one of the many buildings he owned. The only person who cared, he knew she’d run from something, or someone. With his connections, he set her up with whatever papers and accounts she needed.
Mr. C became like a stepfather to her. He inquired about her health, her life, and even asked about her dreams. Her answers were nothing more than a simple “I don’t know” and “Not sure.” Private stuff remained locked away inside.
Besides, Presley knew the dangers of ‘owing’ someone anything and had enacted a strict belief of not owing or collecting favors—from or to anyone. Even her nice boss.
Over the summer, he’d changed. A good man turned forgetful and easily distracted. He lost weight. Seemed distant. Before Thanksgiving he took time off and hadn’t come. Still, she couldn’t burden him with her suspicions of what Sammy was doing behind his back. No one would take a stranger’s word over a family member.
Sammy’s tobacco breath turned more potent every second he remained pinning her in. She could count the amount of crow’s feet beside his lids, spot the areas of dry skin on his face, and smell whatever he ate for dinner had contained a ton of garlic. “My problem’s with the super. He must’ve misheard the plumber. I don’t think it’s fair that I get stuck paying. I needed that money.” Keeping focus on him, she would not let him intimidate her. Her wolf rustled.
He chuckled, moving into whisper, “I’m only going by what the building manager put into the computer, doll. If you want to earn that hundred bucks back, you know what you can do. You have…options.” While he spoke, one hand traveled up the side of her thigh-high stockings until it reached the top of the material. His fingertips toyed with the lace edging, occasionally touching her exposed skin.
Images flashed across her mind. Heavy breathing. Roving hands. Pain. A knife. Blood.
No, she would never live like Leigh Miller again. She was Presley Duran and she was a shifter.
Like Derek, Sammy happened to be a bastard. “Stop it!” Presley shoved his hand away, only to have the other grip her waist, shoving her back against the cement block wall.
“Don’t annoy me, doll,” he purred, venom increasing. “I can do what I want to you when I want. Otherwise, your ass gets kicked to the curb. You have no rights here. Don’t worry about Hector either. He can’t help. I just might send you to work inside the private rooms.”
The pressure began to build in her upper arms, spreading down until her fingers tingled. Not now. No losing control of her power, not while she still didn’t know how to handle it.
Wait, what had this lowlife said? “Where is Hector? Is he sick?” Presley had savings. One thing she wouldn’t do was lower her standards and sleep with that man or work as a lap dancer in back. No, she’d quit before doing that.
Her wolf spoke. “Ex
hale. Switch the roles.”
That she could do.
Batting her fake eyelashes at Sammy a few times, she let her hand leisurely rest on top of his. Now she leaned in. And it worked.
Sammy cocked his head, devouring her every move.
Swirling lazy eights across his skin, she murmured, “Let me think about it. I’ll tell you later.”
Immediately releasing her, his regard softened. His lips spread into a grin. “Doll, I’ll make you happy. You’ll enjoy every minute…” A sexy cadence replaced the previous gruff tone and he veered closer to lick her ear lobe.
Presley held back the rush of bile up her throat. Wolf twisted. Too late, her wolf released a blip of power. Whatever she emitted had the effect of a siren’s call. She could smell the release of pheromones, taste lust in the air.
Sammy was in his mid-to-late thirties, his body quickly responded.
Presley waved a hand in front of his now dazed face. The motion released a calming wave to let him down slowly. He stared at her with lovestruck eyes. “Sleep and forget,” she said.
He dropped to the floor, out of it.
After chastising her wolf, she grabbed his wallet, removed five twenty-dollar bills, slipped it back, and left. Closing the door behind her, she tucked the money and pay stub into her skirt pocket and headed towards the bar.
Noble stood behind the long wood bar, doing prep work for the start of Happy Hour. As she approached, he looked up, sniffed, and grinned his customary greeting. A certified bartender, he had been employed at the bar for five years as head bartender when she arrived. A few months after she started downstairs, he started to talk to her whenever she came upstairs with drink orders. Soon he suggested she train under him and Mr. C. let her switch.
He became her mentor, boss, and friend.
With a grin, Presley headed to the north side, pushed up the entrance and entered her workspace. Grabbing an apron off a shelve under the bar, she tied it around her waist, noting a sore spot on her shoulder blade. Sidling up next to her co-worker, she grabbed a knife all set for prep work. He’d already filled the lemon and orange sections of the trays.
Since it was still early, no one sat at the bar. Most customers were in The Grill finishing up late lunches or ordering early bird dinner specials. “You smell like Sammy. Did he dock you again?” Noble asked. He filled an order, placing the glass on a tray for the waitress who stood there ogling him.
Of course, he was oblivious.
Cutting limes into wedges, she nodded. “He took a Franklin, sticking me for a busted pipe.”
He muttered a curse. “You need to move out of there. I have—”
The waitress coughed. Noble put down the last beer and slid the tray her way. “Here.”
“Thanks,” she said, breathlessly, and almost dropped her drinks.
After she left, Presley giggled. “Your fan club grows.”
Noble shot her a quizzical look. “Is there another rumor going around about me?”
“New?” she asked, placing the limes besides the lemons. “Nope. Just the usual. How the girls love your silver hair and blue eyes. They love to watch you walk. Talk. Work. Breathe.”
At first, he listened intently until her words registered. He moved beside her. “You do like to tease me. New perfume? You smell like…” He visually appraised her. “Sex. Did that d-bag touch you? Do something?”
She swallowed, shaking her head. “Nothing I can’t handle.” She would deal with Sammy, in her own way.
Thinking straight could be difficult when he stared at her that way as though trying to read her thoughts. Noble was incredibly gorgeous. Tall, classy, and a gentleman. He always wore a solid color dress shirt and trousers. Though he primarily kept to himself, he spoke the most with her. Despite the other female staff jealous of her position, Presley still didn’t know much about him.
But then he could say the exact same thing about her.
“If you ever need me or my help, don’t hesitate.” He offered her a slight smile before he grabbed celery and some other items from the small fridge. Presley watched him, admiring the way he carried himself with such confidence.
“Here you go.” Noble placed strawberries and cored pineapple onto her wooden board.
“Thanks.” They had fifteen minutes before Happy Hour commenced. What kind of night would it be?
Javier
Javier stared at the engaging twilight and smiled. Minutes before he’d been eager to shift and kill the first animal which crossed his path. Someone had moved his car. His father’s SUV sat where his Tesla once did.
Fate has a sense of humor.
He rubbed the back of his head. “Well, I made a comment about my father not knowing his kids. I guess he knows a little bit about me.” He leaned against the vehicle, aware of the nearby guard’s sudden attention in his direction. In his absence, some might not remember his face. With a wave, he identified himself. The other man nodded and continued his patrol.
This happened to be his favorite time of day. The sky spread out in a blaze of swirling colors. Hues of pink and purple and dissipating orange. Day relinquished her shift to evening as he dropped his cloak upon the earth. The switch between them struck him as being a type of love story, one where the lovers were forced apart except for the minutes like what he witnessed now.
Soon their show above ended, and he turned his attention back to his surroundings.
The temperature had begun to drop. He didn’t mind the cold. Ribbons of various natural scents curled up to tease him. A breeze rustled the branches of the pine trees which lined the property. Their comforting smell wafted towards him. Javier drew it all in, hungry for something pure, not manufactured and shoved into a bottle. Sadly, he could point out Artemis’ car from the scent of her perfume leaking from its interior.
Loosening his tie, he decided not to return to the party. First, he peered out, past the manicured grounds and slumbering landscape, to the huge expansion of forest that existed beyond their backyard. Pack lands—fourteen thousand acres of nature, wild and unchanged.
His spine bristled, his inner wolf seeking release. When he went to the house, he could run free. Home. Just the thought of his paws racing across the earth, his muscles flexing, heart pumping, the urge to shift grew strong. Not yet. Soon.
Would he find someone to explore with? To chase and play with? Someone who understood him. Wanted him. Javier didn’t have to worry about becoming Alpha. That fell to Oliver and he had close friends to easily chose one to become his Beta. That left Javier and his younger brother with open futures. What did Javier want? He shut his eyes to find the answer.
To run his own business, like a sports bar or restaurant, a place where people went to have fun, eat, and share with others. There could be music, sports, games to play. He wanted to also live by water like his parents and raise his own family.
Lost in his dreams, he didn’t pick up on her scent until she began to gently rub his forehead. “You’re thinking so much it’s affecting your aura.”
He chuckled, regarding her. “Hi, Mom. How do you do that? Mask your scent?”
“Our family has some magic, but none of you kids ever believe me.” Her warm cadence always brimmed with compassion. She offered him his jacket which he placed upon her shoulders.
“You are radiant, mother. Only you could wear a black and cream flapper’s dress and look unique. I hope Dad complemented you.” There was nothing fake about her.
She shrugged. “Not in so many words, but his eyes glistened when he first saw me. You’re hating every minute of this, aren’t you?”
Javier nodded. Out of everyone who knew him, his mother was the only one who got him. Totally. Dad? Pack politics and leadership demands always kept him away. He never had much time with his family.
She pulled the front sides of his jacket around her and sighed. “Your sisters tried to talk me out of throwing you a party. Vivi argued that your father would find a way to somehow highjack it. He did.”
&nb
sp; She stood beside him and they peered out at the quiet lake before them.
“I really liked those ice statues, Mom. Maybe next time you could get the artist to create some that resemble Artemis.”
Her hand flew to her mouth and she contained her merriment. “Don’t make me laugh. I don’t want to disturb the silence of the night.” But she playfully whacked his arm. “I missed your sense of humor.”
Javier gave her a sideways hug. “I missed your kindness. Your empathy. And your brownies.”
Mom remained next to him; her head rested against his forearm.
Solar lights provided a warm glow along the various pathways. A half-moon sat high above, providing a glow to the lake’s surface. Again, his skin bristled with the need to let his beast take over, before his mother’s voice drew him. “I have something to say to you.”
He watched as she stood up and faced him. “My son, I know you don’t like the Barron’s. You never have. Neither did I. Now your father is being pressured for a union between you and her. Keeping our pack strong, unified and powerful, has always been paramount to him and the way he runs things.”
The fact that she remained close signaled a serious conversation meant only for their ears.
She cleared her throat. “The Barron Pack is experiencing some issues with the vampires from New York City. Their Alpha seeks an alliance with us. His children have relocated two towns over from us, into the city. This is not to be shared, but their mother is missing. They fear a vampire is involved. If Alpha Barron makes a wrong move, he could start a war.”
Javier’s throat went dry. He wanted a drink. Vampires. Vile, nasty, disgusting creatures. He wished for a bottle of his favorite Belgian beer.
“Is there a particular reason you don’t like Artemis?” She asked quietly, watching him.
“She’s spoiled, selfish, and everything about her seems fake.”
She nodded. “I thought that too. Vivi has become friends with her. At my request. She’s actually a nice person. Takes a while to chip away her layers. Still, I spoke with your father.”