"Kentucky!" he shouted at me over the noise of the bar as I free poured four shots of Jameson. He'd taken to nicknaming me after my home state. "Where'd you learn how to pour?"
I handed the shots to one of the curvy waitresses who was waiting patiently with a tray balanced on one manicured hand. I shook my head, "It's not exactly rocket science."
Hayes laughed, "You sure do love to keep your cards close to the vest, Kentucky. You know I'm going to crack the mystery that is Belle Delford, right? So you might as well spill your story now." He grinned at me and I rolled my eyes.
"I think you're going to be disappointed to find out I'm nothing exciting," I said as I reached into the ice chest under the bar for three bottles of beer.
"Somehow I doubt that," Hayes said, reaching into the same cooler. His large arm brushed against me. "It's not every day a girl like you stumbles into Whitmer. I mean, you've completely spooked my brother. That's even more rare."
I stood there, a cold bottle in each hand, suddenly forgetting what I'd needed them for in the first place. What was he talking about?
"Spooked your brother?" I asked. "How?"
Hayes took the bottles from me and quickly pulled the caps off them. They fell to the floor making a tinny clinking sound as they landed. "Come on, now. You can't tell he's uncomfortable around you?"
I shrugged, trying to seem like I didn't know what he was talking about. Even though I definitely did.
Hayes handed the beers to the men who were waiting for them across the bar. "You running from the law?"
I laughed, completely taken aback by the question, "No! Not even close. I'm telling you, Hayes. It's not that exciting. And if I felt like talking about it, I would. Right? So can we just work please? You're nosy as hell."
Hayes chuckled. "So I've been told. But I can't help it. It's Whitmer. I gotta get my entertainment where I can."
After a steady night, last call at The Side Pocket was upon us. As I watched the last of the drunks stumble out into the parking lot, Hayes threw a towel at me.
"Kentucky, do you mind wiping the bar down?" he asked. "I need to count the drawer in the back so I can get us out of here. I'm ready to pass out. This was a hard-ass night. Thanks for being on your game."
I nodded. "Sure, I can do that. And you're welcome. How did we do?"
Hayes winked at me. "Pretty damn good." He handed me over a wad of cash from his back pocket. The money was warm from the heat of his body. "I just kind of flipped through it really quick, but we both made about $200."
I slipped the money into the back pocket of my jean shorts. I couldn't deny how happy I was. I'd worked two nights and had already made almost $400 in tips.
And sure, I came from a life where I'd drop $400 easily on a new pair of shoes on a whim. Or on a new dress. Or on a really expensive dinner with a couple of bottles of the best wine. But when you worked as hard for $400 as I just had the last couple of days, it felt like so much more. I couldn't help but be slightly disgusted with myself for never appreciating the value of what I'd had before this new life of mine in Whitmer.
It's hard to value things though, when they've always been there.
If Hayes only knew the real mystery of me.
That mystery hung on my mind as I walked into my bedroom that night, my legs and back sore from being on my feet for seven hours. I slipped the low cut, V-neck shirt I'd worn to the bar over my head as I looked in the mirror that hung above the sink in my tiny bathroom.
I turned around to get a look at my shoulders and back. The bruises were almost gone, and if I hadn't known they were there I probably wouldn't have even seen them. Not in that dim lighting anyway.
A tear fell down my cheek and I wiped it away. No. There was no time for crying anymore. The bruises were almost gone which meant evidence of him, the man who'd given them to me, was almost gone, too. And that was all I needed. He needed to be erased, and with each mile I'd driven and with every day of healing, it was happening. I'd escaped. He'd never find me, not in a million years.
It hadn't always been like this. I was running away from my old life, but that life hadn't always been bad. As a matter of fact, most of my life up until two years ago had been pretty damn charmed.
If you'd told me then where I'd be now, I would have laughed.
"You're thinking of someone else," I'd say. "That would never happen to me. I'd never allow it."
It's funny how sometimes we're the last people to know ourselves and what our limits are.
As I sunk down into my bed and into a deep sleep, I tried not to think of that past, the one I couldn't change. I'd fled from it to find a better future.
And that's exactly what I planned to do.
7
My first couple of nights tending bar had gone better than I could have ever hoped or guessed they would, so I was feeling a little cocky as I strolled into The Side Pocket for my Friday shift.
I'd noticed that the lower my top was cut and the tighter my jeans were, the fuller my tip jar became, so I was dressed in my money-making best; jeans I practically had to stand on my head to get over my hips and a snug-fitting pale blue top that would have required two or three more buttons to close in order to visit with what my momma back home would have termed "polite company".
Any doubts I harbored as to how I looked were answered by Huck. He had his back to the door when I walked in, giving me a glance over his shoulder. "Hey, Belle."
It wasn't much, but it beat the customary stony silence to which Id grown uncomfortably accustomed to.
As I walked over to where the waitresses were gathered for an informal staff meeting, I noticed Huck's eyes following me in the mirror behind the bar. I stifled a smirk as I approached the group, exchanging hellos with what were becoming familiar faces.
Huck came around the bar and approached us. His saunter was slow, and he held a glass in his hand that he was drying with a towel. The movement made the muscles in his arms stand out. I could have stared at his rippling forearms all day.
He raised a hand, signaling to the far side of the bar, where two men I'd never seen before rose from a booth and came to join us.
"Belle, you're the only one who doesn't know our bouncers. This," Huck said, motioning to a wiry guy with shaggy blonde hair who looked about fifteen years old, "is Bo. He'll be out and about mingling, defusing any ‘situations' that arise. Grizz will be at the door."
Bo extended a hand. "Ma'am," he said, shaking mine firmly.
Grizz, who looked every bit of 6'7 and well over 300 pounds, tipped the ball cap he wore and smiled, more empty holes than teeth.
"There are Mutineers in the area. They'll almost certainly visit us tonight. I know they can be a pain in the ass, but last time they were here, everybody made lots of money, right?" As Huck said the word "Mutineers," several of the girls groaned, but when he reminded them of the money they'd made, they begrudgingly nodded their heads.
"I'll be behind the bar with Belle. Bo and Grizz are here. I don't know if both my brothers will make it in tonight, but I hope at least one of them shows up. Let's stop fights before they happen. Some of these guys get a little touchy-feely, and if you aren't comfortable, let one of us know, okay? Go get dolled up and ready to rock and roll."
The group dispersed, the girls heading to a back room that doubled as their changing room, makeup room, and clubhouse. The two-men security team returned to their booth, where Grizz got back to work on a mountain of chicken wings.
I followed Huck through the office and back around the bar.
"What's a Mutineer?" I asked.
"Bikers. Like Hell's Angels. They love to party and drink. Unfortunately, they also like to fight, and our regulars don't take kindly to them showing up and trying to pick up the waitresses. People here are very territorial. But these Mutineers have lots of money. They roll through Whitmer every few months. I warned you it can get a little crazy in here. Friday night is a whole different animal, especially with those maniacs here. Hope you're ready. This isn't going to be like the other nights you've worked. You need to be careful."
I nodded and set about prepping the bar, chopping lemons and limes, checking bottles, and such.
Albert showed up a short time later. He was a skinny older guy I'd seen hanging around the bar, and Rick had explained to me that he sometimes worked as a bar back when the place got busy. Rick described him as "a little slow," and told me that if I hung around Whitmer for a year I may not hear him utter three words. Huck gave him some instructions, and he checked the coolers and filled up the ice.