1
Danni
It’s the usual raucous crowd in the bar on a Thursday night. Most just want to get pissed and forget that they have to go to work tomorrow until their alarm goes off bright and early Friday morning. Those that don’t have to work don’t give a shit about closing time, and I’ll end up dragging their bodies out the door if they’re too drunk to walk.
But there’s a tension I can almost see. Angry words, fisted hands, it’s only a matter of time until someone swings and then it will be on. Usually my father is involved.
Tonight he’s not here to start it or break it up, which means it falls to me.
I shove a beer at the guy waiting, tapping his fingers of time to the music. He’s had a few already, hopefully he’ll leave after this one. Cutting people off only goes one of two ways in this place, they either arc up and start arguing with the staff, or they beg like their life depends on another drink.
Well, they try begging. The regulars know I won’t budge an inch.
He takes a swig of beer and wanders back to his friends. I search the crowd for the usual troublemakers, or the guys who seem extra wired.
I hate nights like this, where I’m watching and waiting for something to happen.
Everyone is a little twitchy and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the full moon, or the alignment of the planets. Mom would blame the fae—she blames them for everything from bad weather to traffic accidents. Sometimes she’s right.
It’s exhausting watching everyone and everything, trying to spot the fires before they flare up and take over. I sigh and wipe spilled beer off the bar. I really need a better job. I can sling beer anywhere. I could learn to make fancy cocktails and smile more.
There’d still be guys hitting on me. I’ve lost count of the number of men who’ve asked me to be their old lady. Honestly, I can’t think of anything worse. Just because I’ve grown up around bikers, doesn’t mean I want to be an old lady.
What I need is a different job all together, but I have no idea what. I’m treading water and avoiding making decisions because I don’t want to make the wrong one. But sometimes I wonder if doing nothing is also the wrong choice.
A glass breaks and I scan the room. No one seems to be bleeding. The other bartender has already grabbed the broom to sweep it up. I take the next order, pour the beer and hand over the change.
The main door swings open and a tall, bearded guy strides in as if he owns the place. He’s wearing leathers, and like Dad there’s no three-piece patch naming his club; however people step aside to let him through to the bar like they understand he’s dangerous.
I know his kind.
When his eyes catch the light and gleam golden, it confirms my suspicion. He’s a fae rider, and they only bring trouble. I’m supposed to stay away from the riders. Mum has warned me enough times, but she worries too much. She hates this place, hates Dad.
No one comes in behind the rider, he’s alone. And I’m not sure if that’s better or worse. This is the first time I’ve seen a rider, besides my father, in here, and I don’t like it. This isn’t where they go to drink—I don’t know where they go for that, but they use Mom’s café as a meeting point and a place to leave messages.
He strolls over and stands in front of me. “Bourbon, top shelf. No ice.”
I glare up at him. I’m not short, but like every fae rider I’ve seen he’s tall. Easily the tallest man in here, and my heart does a stupid patter like he’s here for me. “I don’t want any trouble from your kind.”
He grins. “My kind? Looks like this place is full of bikers.”
I lower my voice. “I know what you are.” And if I had some silver handy, I’d press it to his skin to watch it sizzle and darken.
He puts a bill on the damp surface of the bar. “I just want my drink.”
And I just want a million dollars and a way out of minimum wage work, but it isn’t going to happen. I grew up hearing tales of faery from the riders before my mother stopped letting me hang around the café when I turned twelve.
Why she keeps her doors open to them, I don’t know. Well, I do, the money. The fae pay well. If she let me work there, I wouldn’t need to work here. This is my way of staying in contact with the fae and my father. That doesn’t mean I want the fae to turn up in the middle of my shift.
I take his money, drop the change on the bar and hand him the drink.
“Keep the change.” He smiles as he drops the coins in my tip jar like he’s doing me a favor. I don’t want to be grateful, but I am.
He turns around to survey the room, elbows resting on the bar. I grit my teeth at the casual way he blocks that portion of the bar. I’d tell him to fuck off and find a table, but I’m sure he’d laugh.
He glances over his shoulder at me. “Do you get many in here?”
The light catches his cheekbones and his eyes glint golden, reminding me he’s not human, no matter how good he looks in jeans and leather.
