LOWLANDER SILVERBACK
By T. S. JOYCE
For More of These Characters
Lowlander Silverback was written as a standalone book, but if you would like more of these characters, they can be found in the Gray Back Bears series.
Gray Back Bad Bear (Book 1)
Gray Back Alpha Bear (Book 2)
Gray Back Ghost Bear (Book 3)
Gray Back Broken Bear (Book 4)
Lowlander Silverback
Copyright © 2015 by T. S. Joyce
Copyright © 2015, T. S. Joyce
First electronic publication: September 2015
T. S. Joyce
www.tsjoycewrites.wordpress.com
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
Published in the United States of America
Chapter One
Layla Taylor put on an extra layer of pink lip gloss using the fold-down mirror in her old Civic. She fidgeted with her black tank top with the red and orange lettering of Sammy’s Bar and let off a long sigh.
She could do this. She saw him every weekend at the bar, and this was no different.
Scrunching up her nose, she flipped the mirror up and sank into the cushion of her seat. Aw, who was she kidding? Sure, Kong’s eyes followed her around the bar when he was there, but he hadn’t ever given her the time of day. Hell, sometimes he was downright rude to her, so why was she all fluttery over a man like him? Mac had taught her more self-respect than to chase a man who didn’t want to be chased.
Of course, Kong probably didn’t know he was being chased because…well…she sucked at chasing. Her game with men wasn’t awesome, which was ridiculous since she was a bartender. She talked to people for a living and could be charming when she wanted to, but when it came to Kong, she turned into a complete mouse.
Her cheeks heated just thinking about the last time she’d tried to talk to him. It hadn’t gone well. She’d only found her bravery that night because while she’d worked her shifts, Kong had watched her constantly with something akin to hunger in his eyes, but when she’d approached, he’d shut her down immediately.
But there was something about the way he watched her that she found so attractive. Alluring even. Unless she was reading him completely wrong, the intensity of his gaze said he wanted her on some base level, but he hadn’t acted on it for three years. His silent attention was such a turn-on and now the strength of the build-up had turned monumental. For her at least, because again, Kong was completely indifferent when she tried to start up conversations with him. The man was an enigma.
The little green numbers turned to 8:00 on the dash clock, so she pushed open her creaky door with the toe of her black boot and unfolded from her car. After straightening her ripped-up dark-wash jeans, she pulled the hem of her tank top until her girls peeked out just enough. Those were her real “tip getters.” And she needed lots of those tonight. Bills were piling up, and Mac was depending on her.
She strode across the gravel parking lot and pushed open the back door.
“Hey, there she is,” Jake said. At five-foot-four with an easy smile and one helluva beard, he gestured her toward his office.
Jake was the new owner of Sammy’s, and he’d only been running the place for the past six months, but Layla liked him fine. He’d changed a few things in the transition, but the big stuff was still the same. Like the Beck Brothers playing every weekend and Beer Pong Tuesdays. He was even sponsoring a booth at the Lumberjack Wars in a few weeks.
She ducked into his dim office and tried not to stare at the signed pictures of registered shifters on the wall as she tucked her purse into the bottom drawer of his desk. He was also a shameless shifter groupie, which was why he’d moved to Saratoga and bought Sammy’s in the first place.
“Okay, I’m toying around with a new idea,” he said excitedly. “Tell me what you think.”
Jake pushed a stack of multi-colored flyers toward her, and she picked up the neon orange one off the top. Front and center was a big, burly man in plaid chugging a beer, shirt sleeves rolled up to show muscular forearms. On either side of him were two fearsome grizzlies. Shifter Night, when single bears drink free, the flyer read in arching bubble letters across the top.
Layla’s eyes went wide. “Uh, Jake, you know how much one of those boys can drink, right? Copious amounts of beer. Gallons.” She could almost hear money flying out of the register.
“Yes, but the Boarlanders are the only singles left, and I think it would be worth it to attract more shifter groupies to the bar. They make up the bulk of our income now, Layla. Think about it. It’ll be the opposite of Ladies Night. If we do it every week, say on Thursday or Friday, shifter groupies will be lining up out the door if they know the single bears will be coming in. It won’t be the hit or miss that it usually is with disappointed tourists not getting a glimpse of the tail-chasin’ shifters when they show up on the wrong night.”
“Okay.” Layla nodded, seeing the merit in his idea. “The Boarlanders aren’t the only single crew left, though. What about Kong and his two guys?” Because they were definitely single. She’d checked for rings, and they didn’t entertain human ladies much.
“Oh, I don’t think Kong is a bear.”
“Wait, what?” she asked, her eyes drifting to the picture of Kong and his crew that was nailed to the wall behind Jake’s desk. “Of course he is. I’ve seen his eyes glow bright green, and he’s the size of a small shrimping vessel.”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t a shifter, just that I don’t think he’s a bear like the others. Why wouldn’t he have registered with the rest of them?”
Layla shrugged. “I don’t know. Lots of reasons. For example, the government is full of shit for making them register in the first place, and maybe it’s his way of saying ‘Damn the man.’”
“You ever heard him growl like the others?”
That drew her up short. She sank onto the cracked leather office chair and shook her head. Nope. Never. Huh. She’d thought she was crushing hard on a grizzly shifter all this time, but perhaps Jake was right. The mysteries surrounding Kong grew by another layer as she lifted her gaze to his picture again. In it, he was sitting between his two crew members, eyes dead-looking. Jake’s relentless autograph-seeking did that to some of the dominant ones. Pissed them off. Not that Jake noticed or cared. Kong’s angry photo with his crew was one of Jake’s favorites, as highlighted by the prime spot on his wall. Right under a single spotlight, front and center.
“All right, so will you include Kong’s crew on Shifter Night?”
“Not until he registers. Or no! Not until he pulls his weight and fucks a couple of groupies.”
“Jake!”
“What? They are the honey attracting the bees, Layla. And from what I’ve seen, Kong hasn’t taken a single girl home. When he dips his toe into helping me bring in customers, he can have all the free booze he wants. Oh! Could you tell him that? Here.” Jake ripped bright pink and neon green flyers
off the top of the stack and shoved them into her hands with the one she already held. “Tell his crew our plans and explain why they need to get their dicks wet.”
“Oh my gosh, Jake, no.” Layla shook her head and headed for the door, clutching the flyers. “If they aren’t chasing women, it’s because they don’t want wives or mates or whatever they call it when they pair up.” And she wasn’t encouraging Kong to screw groupies, nope, nope, nope.
“I’ll give you twenty bucks on top of your tips tonight.”
Layla halted her retreat, her back to him. Double damn, she’d almost made it to the door.
“I know you need the money for Mac. Just talk to them subtly, explain there’s free weekly booze in it for them, and let them make the decision to participate on their own. You don’t even have to do a hard sell. I mean, shit, it’s free booze and pussy. What are they going to say? No?” Jake let off a single, loud laugh.
“Why can’t you talk to them about it?” she asked, turning slowly.
“Because I don’t have those.” He looked pointedly at her boobs and arched his eyebrows. “They’ll listen to you over me any day. Thirty bucks.”
Layla let off a growl and muttered, “Fine. Thirty bucks.”
The nerves hit in the hallway. She was going to talk to Kong, on purpose. And not just to get his drink order. She pressed her back against the wood paneling in the hallway and closed her eyes tightly. Gah, she was an easy mark. All Jake had to do was wave a few ten dollar bills in her face and she was asking how high he wanted her to jump. Her self-respect was swirling the toilet right now.
Pursing her lips, Layla pushed off the wall and strode into the main room of Sammy’s, her boots making sticky sounds across the floor. She mopped the damned thing every night, but the townies couldn’t seem to go ten minutes without party-fouling and sloshing their drinks everywhere.
As she made her way behind the bar, she smiled politely at Jackson, who untied his apron and shoved a wad of tips in his pocket as he passed. It looked like mostly one dollar bills, which meant the mid-day shift must’ve been slow. One look behind the bar, and she puffed air out her cheeks and tried to figure out where to begin. Jackson was nice and was good with the customers, but holy moose patties, he was the biggest slob she’d ever encountered. Maybe all bachelors were like that. No, Mac had never been a slob, and his wife had died years ago. Perhaps it was different with widowers than bachelors, though.
“Hellooo,” Barney sang out. “I’ve been waiting ten minutes for you to come and refill my drink.”
Barney was a regular, and he was also a steady source of headache material. Lucky for him, she was a pro. “Why didn’t you have Jackson refill you, Barney?”
“Because,” he slurred as she refilled his whiskey and coke, “Jackson don’t do nothin’ for my boner.”
“Charming. There you go. Just give me a holler when you need another. You want me to turn the volume up?” She pointed to the television above the bar and waited with the sweetest smile she could manage over her gritted teeth. Barney liked sports, and turning up the volume was the quickest way to get his attention off her.
He slurped and nodded, then pulled a bowl of mixed nuts to his chest and began snacking while she searched for the remote. Freaking Jackson. Empty bottles, dirty rags, bottle caps, and used wine glasses littered the bar. She was a tidy person by nature, and cleaning up after Jackson’s shift was her least favorite chore. She turned to Barney who was staring at her tits with a gap-toothed grin. Well, it was one of her least favorite. Barney tipped her well, though, so he could stare all he wanted. This was part of the job. She’d known it the day she was hired a few years ago. Did she like being ogled by handsy strangers? No. But she had a steady job in a small town with a nice enough boss, and the tips kept food on the table. She was lucky to work here, a mantra she would probably repeat to herself a hundred times tonight.
Saturdays were busy thanks to the two men sauntering in through the front door right now. Denison and Brighton Beck, and she had a genuine smile for those boys. Denison waved as he set his guitar case up on the stage.
“Let me clean up, and I’ll get you two a drink,” she called across the bar.
“No rush. I know Jackson’s shite at cleaning up his mess,” Denison said through a grin.
He and his brother had been playing here on the weekends as long as she’d worked here. They were the reason she hadn’t felt frightened like some of the other people in town when the bear shifters of Saratoga had begun registering to the public. Denison and Brighton were always nice to her. Growly as hell if anyone pissed them off, and sure, they could rip someone’s esophagus through their mouth hole if they were ever so inclined, but the twins had a strong moral compass, and damn they could sing. Or, at least Denison could. His brother, Brighton, had no voice. Didn’t stop him from the raspy whisper he used in the microphone, but Brighton shredded guitar in the background while Denison sang lead. And shit could they play. If they’d had a mind to, they could be big. She’d asked them once why they hadn’t gone to Nashville and chased the big stage, but Denison said his inner animal wouldn’t let him, and he was happy to stay here where he knew the crowd.
The Becks tuned their guitars and did a sound check while she rushed to clean up the bar to shining. And every few minutes, her eyes lifted to the door to check for Kong. An irritating habit, but she couldn’t help herself and had stopped trying weeks ago when her crush had gotten bigger.
Bar cleaned and a few drink orders refilled, she strode to the stage with a couple of light beers in glass mugs. “Are Everly and Danielle coming tonight?” she asked.
Denison shook his head as he took the drinks from her hand and set them on stools beside him and Brighton’s chairs. “Not tonight.”
“Oh, man. I was looking forward to seeing them. It’s been a couple of weeks.”
“Everly isn’t feeling well,” Brighton said in that raspy whisper of his.
“She’s sick? Oh no! You want me to get Nate to whip up some of his noodle soup? He could have it done by the time y’all finish your last set, and you can take it home to Everly.”
“It ain’t that kind of sick,” Brighton whispered with an arch to his dark eyebrow.
Layla’s face went slack, and she stepped closer. “Is she pregnant?”
A grin busted up Brighton’s face, and he nodded.
Layla squeaked and hugged his neck. “You’re not joking. You wouldn’t do that to me. She’s pregnant? Holy shit!” Dang, she was getting all misty-eyed. Brighton and his mate had been trying for a baby for a while. “I’m so happy for you. She got any cravings? I’ll get Nate on it.”
Brighton laughed silently and released her from his hug. “Not yet.”
“She’s sick as all get out, barfing all the time,” Denison said. “I feel bad for her. Danielle’s been staying with her while we’re up on the landing, and she’s taking care of her tonight while we play.”
“Aw, poor Ev. Well, if there is anything I can do, you let me know. And Brighton,” she murmured, gripping his arm, “congratulations.”
“Thanks, Layla,” he whispered through a proud grin.
“You boys let me know when you need another drink. Are you eating here tonight?”
“Maybe after the set, before we hit the road.”
“Great, just give me a heads up on your second to last song. I’ll get Nate on your regular.”
“You got it,” Denison said distractedly as he threaded a cable from one of the amps to his guitar.
Beaming with happiness, she turned and ran into a solid wall of muscle. Her face smacked right into a big, steely torso. “Shoot,” she said in a rush. “I’m sorry. I should’ve watched where I was…” She arched her neck back and looked directly into the sexy face of Kong. “…walking.”
He stared at her passively. Dark eyes steady, cheekbones sharp as ever, and those sexy lips that lifted easily into a smile for everyone but her. He stood straighter with an irritated sigh and clasped his hand
s behind his back. “It’s fine.”
“Hi,” she said lamely.
He took a step back and angled his face away, eyes never leaving her. His gaze dipped once to her chest, then back to her face, but he didn’t respond to her greeting. She was supposed to do something with Kong. Think! Talk to him about something. Her head was spinning from being so close to him. He was tall and strong with wide shoulders and arms that stretched the thin material of his black V-neck T-shirt. A curl of ink peeked out from under the sleeve. She wanted to lick him. Lick him. Shit. Flyer! “I need to talk to you about something.”
A single eyebrow arched even higher. Why did he only ever look annoyed around her? “About what?”
“Kong,” one of his crew members barked out from the corner.
The behemoth slid an agitated glance over his shoulder, then back to her. “Sorry, not interested in anything you have to say.”
“Pussy!” Layla clapped her hand over her mouth as her cheeks lit on fire.
“What?” Kong asked in a low rumble.
“I want to talk to you about pussy.” And now she also wanted to melt into the cracks between the floorboards beneath her shoes and possibly die.
His eyes dipped to her boobs again, but when he lifted his gaze to her face, he looked pissed. “Not. Interested.”
He turned and walked away, his work boots making hollow sounds across the floor as he strode away from her.
“Oh, my gosh,” she whispered, mortified as she escaped to the bar. Other than to take drink orders, she’d never talked to him for that long, and her first sentence involved the word pussy? Really? She wanted to curl into a ball under the sink behind the bar.
“Thirty bucks,” Jake sang as he poured a wells beer into a tall glass.
From their table, one of Kong’s crew lifted his hand to flag her down, and she bit back the urge to beg Jake to serve their table tonight. Because really, this couldn’t get any worse. But she grabbed the crumpled flyers and made her way back to their table. Kong suddenly looked really interested in Brighton and Denison’s sound check.