“I wish. I’d already be uploading it.”
“Hmph,” Aaron grunted without opening his mouth. Maybe he was taking my threat seriously.
“A lesson learned, my young Padawan?”
The unexpected voice was so close that I jumped half a foot in the air. A man stood behind me like he’d popped out of the floor. With chiseled features, intelligent eyes, salt-and-pepper hair, and a short beard, he exuded the calm authority of a Person In Charge. With capital letters. I inched back a step, eyeing him. Another handsome one, and though I wasn’t normally into older guys, he was definitely yummy.
But he was probably here to throw me out, which made him less yummy.
I cringed when he turned to me, waiting for the scowl, the demand for an explanation, and the inevitable dismissal.
Instead, he offered his hand. “I’m Darius, the GM. Welcome to the Crow and Hammer.”
Oh, I was getting my ass booted to the curb by the general manager himself. Lucky me. I took his hand, surprised by his warm, strong grip. “Tori Dawson. Nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine,” he replied with a sparkle in his gray eyes. “Thank you for your hard work tonight.”
I waited for the inevitable “but I’m afraid I must ask you to leave.”
He stretched his arm out and scooped Clara out of thin air—or, more likely, snatched her in mid-sprint out of the kitchen. “Clara, we’re almost ready to begin, and I think the bartender has earned a break. Are you up for serving drinks after our meeting, Tori?”
“Uh.” This conversation was not following my mental script. “Y-yes?”
“Excellent. Clara, set her up in the back for a break, and I’ll serve the last few drinks here.”
“Yes, sir.” Clara grabbed my arm, and the next thing I knew, she’d steered me into the kitchen. “Ramsey, do you have an extra burger?”
“Already cooked one up for her.” Sweat shone on his forehead and his eyeliner had smudged. I wasn’t the only one who’d worked my butt off. “Hope you like all the fixings.”
He passed me a plate with a loaded burger, melted cheese dripping down the thick sesame bun, and steaming fries dusted with seasonings. Clara pulled me into the cluttered office, and I waited with my plate as she unburied a corner of the desk.
“Get off your feet and relax,” she told me. “The meeting will take about an hour, then I’ll come get you.”
“Are you sure? I didn’t—”
“Just relax for a bit.” She stepped backward through the doorway. “I need to get out there before they start. Help yourself to anything in the fridge to drink.”
Alone, I picked up a fry and nibbled on the end, burning my tongue. She and Darius must have been desperate if they were letting me finish my shift. Sinking onto the chair, I replayed the margarita toss in my head. The expression on Aaron’s face had been priceless.
I smirked at my burger. Job opportunity lost, but worth it. Who’d want to work here anyway? It was a pub of consummate jerks.
Clara was sweet, I amended. And Darius seemed pleasant enough, though he was probably playing nice to keep me around for the after-meeting rush. As I ate, I pondered the mystery meeting they were hosting. Such a weird group of people. What could possibly unite them for a shared gathering?
I bolted upright in my seat as I figured it out. Assholes Anonymous. This was a therapy group for mean people.
Snickering, I relaxed again, wincing at the ache in my back. My feet hurt and my formerly comfortable sandals had rubbed my pinky toes into blistered fireballs. How much longer would this shift last? If it went too long, I’d have a nervous wait at the bus stop.
Burger and fries finished—simple but delicious—I ventured to the walk-in and grabbed an old-fashioned bottle of coke. My dry throat, coated with remnant potato, stuck painfully as I twisted the top. What the hell? Who made soda bottles with real bottle caps?
On the verge of death from dehydration, I searched for a bottle opener. Yeah, I could have gotten water but I wanted the coke, damn it. I’d earned it. The bottle even had trickles of condensation running down the glass, just like in the commercials. I could almost taste it.
I’d left the bottle opener at my station. Popping out for a second to grab it wasn’t a big deal, was it? I’d be quick. I crept to the saloon doors and cracked them open.
The pub was quiet except for Darius’s clear voice. Every single Assholes Anonymous member sat facing the wall where Darius stood with a few papers in his hands. Clara waited beside him, nodding along as he spoke. Everyone listened intently like employees in a business meeting.
Actually, scratch that. The atmosphere was more like a task force being briefed on a recent crime. Way more serious than any employee meeting I’d ever attended.
Darius held the attention of the fifty or so people with flawless confidence. “The amendment to the regulations on GM accountability will require a few changes behind the scenes, but I don’t expect it to affect our day-to-day workings. The MPD’s document suggested strict enforcement, but—”
“But when has that ever stopped us?” someone called. Snickers sounded through the group.
“Dunno, boss.” Aaron’s familiar voice rang out, and I spotted the three guys at a table with a blue-haired girl. “Are you sure this won’t change the first rule?”
“Don’t hit first—” someone else began.
“But always hit back!” The shout rang from almost every voice in the building. Eyes wide, I stared incredulously as Darius smiled like a proud parent.
“The first rule will never change,” he said. “After all, don’t forget our second rule.”
More laughter.
“Back to business. MPD has issued a few safety notices that—” His eyes turned and met mine.
I lurched backward, clutching my coke. As the doors swung into place again, his voice continued with barely a stutter, and no screech of chairs warned of a furious stampede to lynch me for eavesdropping. Retreating into the office, I sat my unopened coke on the desk.
Don’t hit first, but always hit back. What kind of rule was that? If this really was an Assholes Anonymous support group, they were teaching all the wrong lessons. I bit my thumbnail. He’d talked about GM responsibilities and what sounded like a regulatory body of some kind—that MPD thing. Maybe this was related to businesses or restaurants or something.
I put it out of my mind. Whatever the meeting was for, it didn’t matter because I wasn’t coming back.
I waited out the rest of the hour playing a game on my phone, though I did take a couple minutes to text Justin more details about where I was, just in case he needed to identify my body later. Shortly after eight, Clara appeared in the doorway.
“How was your break?” she asked cheerily. “Ready to go again?”
“Yeah,” I said heavily, not bothering to fake any enthusiasm.
Her forehead scrunched with what was either disappointment or worry, but before she could comment, I pulled myself together and smiled.
We returned to the front, and the atmosphere in the pub brought me to a halt just outside the saloon doors. Had Darius dosed everyone with laughing gas? Relaxed chatter filled the room, interspersed with joking tones and mirth. I blinked. Had to be drugs. No other explanation for the mood shift.
I got back to work, but it was a breeze compared to earlier. And though I would never call them friendly, the patrons’ antagonism and impatience had subsided. Either that, or they were afraid I’d drench them if they were rude. Even the creepy old man was reasonably polite, so I poured him a real drink.
The next hour slipped by, and between customers, I assessed the bizarre gathering. An ancient Chinese couple was talking to a petite woman with a short bob that screamed attitude, her platinum hair streaked with pale pink. Beside her was a guy with dirty blond hair and thick glasses who looked like he’d gotten lost on his way to a tech convention.
Another table held a prim businesswoman with designer sunglasses perched on her head. Acr
oss from her was a young man with magnificent cheekbones and hair longer than mine done up in elaborate braids like an elfin cosplay. An old lady wearing a knit cap and turquoise-framed spectacles was showing off playing cards to a younger woman with teak-colored skin and wooden beads decorating her hair.
And, of course, the three Wonder Boys. Aaron the redhead joker, Kai the exotic smooth-talker, and the nameless third one. They lounged at a table with a pretty young woman, her wavy hair dyed bright blue. At least they were leaving me alone.
I ducked into the kitchen for more ice and found Ramsey perched on a stool, reading something on his phone with a hairnet covering his goth locks. Filling my bucket, I hauled the ice back to the front—and groaned when I saw who was waiting for me.
“What now?” I asked Aaron testily.
He rolled his vibrant blue eyes. Kai and the other man flanked him, the former with his hands tucked in the pockets of his slim black jeans and the latter leaning casually against the bar.
“Well.” Aaron cleared his throat. “Even though meeting nights are on the house, we went around and collected some tips for you.”
I stared at him. “You … what?”
He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and pushed it across the bar. “Don’t play dumb. You earned it, new girl.”
“My name is Tori,” I snapped. I really wanted to snatch that pretty stack of bills, but I still had some pride.
A second passed, then I stuffed the money in my apron pocket. Who needs pride?
“Thanks,” I added. “I appreciate it.”
As though offended by my suggestion that he’d done something nice, Aaron shot his nameless friend a scowl. “It wasn’t my idea … but yeah. I’m looking forward to hearing you insult Sylvia again.”
“Are you looking forward to another margarita facial?” I retorted.
He flashed me a laughing grin that—to my horror—made my stomach flip. Just a little. Very minor. When he wasn’t talking, the jerk was almost charming.
Aaron and Kai headed back to their table, but the third guy stayed put. “Could I trouble you for a coke?”
“Sure.” I poured him one and slid it over. “Was it your idea to collect tips for me?”
“Mmm,” he murmured vaguely. “Like Aaron said, you earned it. We aren’t the easiest bunch to deal with.”
I thought he meant Aaron and Kai, but then I realized he meant everyone—the whole weird lot of them. I glanced across the pub, then back to him. Even knowing it was there, the scar cutting across his features threw me off, but I didn’t hesitate when I met his mismatched eyes.
He smiled—not Aaron’s boisterous grin, but a quiet smile that exuded an infectious calm. And my stomach did another little somersault. Damn it.
“What’s your name?” I blurted.
“Ezra.” He offered his hand over the bar and I shook it. His grip was warm and strong, his palm calloused. “Thanks for putting up with us, Tori. I hope you’ll stick around.”
I pulled a face before I could stop myself.
“We’re not that bad, I swear,” he said with a laugh. “Anyone who can leave Aaron speechless will fit right in.”
Carefully scooping up his drink like he might spill it—not that it was overly full or that my bar wasn’t plenty spilled on already—he rejoined his friends. I watched him walk away, admiring the view. Three super-hot fit men, and one was actually nice. Not bad odds, I supposed.
The evening wound down over the next hour. Before I knew it, the pub had emptied, the patrons wandering out in twos and threes until it was just me, Clara, and Ramsey again. The quiet was almost deafening as I wiped tables and tucked in chairs. What a night. I was exhausted, and a heavy weight was growing in my stomach.
Time for another rejection.
I lifted my chin. Whatever. As much as I’d tried to control my temper, insulting rude customers, refusing to serve jerks, and standing up for myself while on the clock had been fun. I mean, most of the night had sucked balls, but throwing that margarita and shouting at Aaron had been satisfying as hell.
Sighing, I cleaned up the last few tables and as I returned to the bar, Clara burst through the saloon doors in the same haphazard rush as always. What could she possibly be hurrying over now?
“Tori! I was worried you’d left.” She slumped against the bar, almost knocking the soda gun out of its holster. “What a night. My feet are killing me.”
“Same.”
Her eyebrows knitted together. “How did your night go? What did you think?”
“Me? Uh …” My brain fizzled. What kind of question was that after the way I’d behaved?
“I know they can be unpleasant,” she said earnestly. “They’re just very protective of—this is their safe place, you know? Anyone new is an unknown entity.”
“Um … okay.”
“You did a really good job—and you didn’t ask me for help at all. Darius was impressed too.”
I could have used help more than once, but Clara had been almost as slammed and—wait. Did she say the general manager was impressed? “You were watching, weren’t you? Didn’t Darius see me throw a drink on those guys?”
Clara laughed. “I didn’t see it, but knowing Aaron, he had it coming. Kai and Ezra are almost as bad.”
“You’re not mad? You’re not throwing me out?”
“Throwing you out?” Clara frowned at me. “Of course not. I want to hire you.”
I braced a hand on the bar. “I’m sorry, but are you drunk?”
“Tori, you did an amazing job! I told you not to take any crap, and you didn’t. The last five bartenders stuck around for all of a week, but I think you can handle it.” She smiled encouragingly. “It gets better, I promise. Once they get used to you, you’ll be a member of the gang in no time.”
There was that word again. Gang. “Uh, Clara, don’t take this the wrong way, but … is this place doing, you know, criminal stuff? Because I’m not into that kind of thing.”
“Oh, no, no, we follow regulations, don’t worry.” She clasped her hands together. “What do you think, Tori? Will you give it a shot?”
What was this ironic twist of fate? A manager begging me to take the job instead of the other way around? “I’m not … sure.”
Nasty people. Weird gang stuff. Alarming meeting mottos. Dangerous part of town. There weren’t many pluses here.
“I’ll start you at fifteen dollars an hour.”
My eyes popped wide. Uh, okay, that was a plus.
“Your schedule will be Tuesdays to Saturdays from four to twelve,” she continued. “Cooper covers the bar on Sundays and Mondays … though I may call you in if he’s out for the day and you’re available.”
I pursed my lips. Four to twelve worked perfectly with my college schedule. Another plus.
“You can eat whatever you’d like while you’re on shift and non-alcoholic drinks are free. As long as you keep it reasonable, you can have a few other drinks too.”
Okay, now she was seriously tempting me. Great pay, great hours, and free food. “Will it be a problem if I’m, er, extra firm with difficult people when—”
“Oh, not at all,” Clara said happily as though my question had been a hearty, “Ay, I’ll take the job!” She dug into her pocket and pulled out a folded stack of bills. “Here’s your pay for tonight. Can you work tomorrow? Sundays aren’t normally your shift, but Cooper is sick and it’ll be a quiet night for you to learn your way around and get more comfortable.”
“Um.” I blinked rapidly. “That sounds … good?”
“Wonderful! Can you come at three thirty? We can do up your paperwork so you’ll be ready to go at four. And we can discuss your membership application then, if that’s something you’re interested in.” She beamed and pulled me into an unexpected hug. “Welcome to the Crow and Hammer, Tori!”
I was still shell-shocked when she dashed off. I’d been prepared to walk out and never return. But … I had the job? And I was getting paid fifteen freaking bucks an hou
r?
Tilting my head back, I squinted at the huge hammer hanging above the bar. My confused elation twisted into a prickling sensation that crept down my spine.
Just what had I gotten myself into?
Chapter Five
I sat at the peninsula in Justin’s kitchen and eyed the neat stacks of bills laid out on the counter. The early afternoon sun streamed through the windows, warming my back. I pushed my loose curls, still damp from the shower, over my shoulders.
Lips pursed, I methodically counted the money for the third time.
By my best guess, Clara had paid me for a full eight-hour shift even though I’d worked less than six hours. And the rest … I hadn’t stopped to count the tips Aaron, Kai, and Ezra had collected for me until I’d gotten home. If I’d realized how much had been in that wad of cash, I’d have been a lot nicer to Aaron.
Almost four hundred dollars. Four. Hundred. Dollars. They must have approached every single person in the pub and gotten them to cough up five or ten bucks. Times fifty people.
I bit my lower lip. Collecting tips had been Ezra’s idea, but he seemed too quiet and soft-spoken for the job of getting money out of people. But Aaron and Kai … those two had likely done all the cajoling—or bullying.
Pushing away from the counter, I returned to the sofa and pulled my laptop onto my legs. The browser was still open to my earlier search. According to the internet, the Crow and Hammer had been in business for over fifty years, but its online presence was limited to a few restaurant review sites with no actual reviews, and one business listing.
No internet presence meant no desire to attract new customers. Clara had called it their “safe place” and mentioned something about a membership. I still couldn’t figure out what would attract such an eclectic mix of people from all ages and walks of life to the same club, but maybe it was an invitation-only sort of deal. That would explain why they hadn’t even bothered with a Facebook page.
But what if it was an illegal organization hiding behind a pub front? A criminal gang … with elderly members, businesswomen, girls my age, hot guys, goth cooks, and bubbly AGMs who gave new employees welcoming hugs.