Chapter 4: Whiskey Neat

“Esme, lunch is ready.” Uncle Harris called to me from the kitchen. Lunch? I stretched in my bed, looking out the window at how high the sun was in the sky.

“Coming,” I called back and threw on a sweatshirt over my tank top and sleep shorts. Wow, I slept great. I rarely felt rested. The boys last night scared me to my core. Blood was rushing through my ears so violently; I couldn’t hear what they were whispering. I’m sure none of it was nice. The smell of bacon dispelled all my fright when I opened the door.

“Are you feeling alright?” Uncle Harris placed the back of his hand on my forehead. He was nervous that I was having another episode. The first one freaked him out, even though my mother had warned him. “Did you hurt yourself when you fell?”

“I’m Fine. Hungry.”

“You slept well. It’s almost two.”

“Yeah, thanks for letting me sleep in.”

“The bar’s not open until four on the weekends. Unless there is a game.”

“Right.” I sat beside him as he plated a bacon cheeseburger, my favorite. “So, I’m not sure I understand what happened last night.”

“What do you mean?” Uncle Harris was being incredibly aloof.

“You know exactly what I mean—the men from the motorcycle club. They were there, then they were gone.”

“Probably had an event or a meeting. Don’t pay them much mind.”

“Why did Magnus stay then? Why are you so hard on them? They have been nothing but nice to me.”

“They look at you like you’re something good to eat.” He balked.

“Like a bacon cheeseburger.” I laughed.

“Exactly like a bacon cheeseburger.” He chuckled back but gave me a warning glare. “Always stay behind the bar. I appreciate the help, but Diablerie is no place for a young woman.”

“Mom thinks so.”

“Your mother has never been here. She’s romanticizing the elements of a saloon. I’ll be glad when you’re back in school. Did you sign up for your classes?”

“Yup. I start on Tuesday.”

“Good. I can drop you off in the mornings, but you’ll have to find a ride home. The bus at the end of the road passes right in front of the U.”

“Perfect. Thanks, Uncle Harris.” He looked like he wanted to say something else when I added, “I appreciate you taking me in. I know you didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Darlin’, I’m happy you’re here. Seems like you needed a fresh start. I wish I had a better place.”

“I’m a college student. This place is perfect.” Uncle Harris grunted his response, digging into his second burger.

After lunch, I had just enough time to shower and get ready for work. I enjoyed working at Diablerie with Uncle Harris. The posh places in the city were boring compared to the characters found in the rural mountain towns. Mom pretended she was classier and more entitled than she was. Her job gave her access to lots of men. The fact was that men were more important to her than her daughter. I made peace with that as a toddler. The change in scenery and family was working out great, and I needed it to.

The customers who frequented Diablerie fell into two categories: grumpy locals and bikers. The grumpy locals wanted you to remember their particular order: type of beer and whiskey, straight or on ice, glass or no glass when they tapped the bar. The bikers preferred a few words that usually made me blush.

The summer sun was still trying to warm the season’s last days, making the bar hot to work in. A tank top, jeans, and sneakers were my approved uniform. Uncle Harris didn’t like my skin to show, but I couldn’t move around in anything that covered more. Plus, I needed the tips to pay for school.

We opened the bar together, already having a routine. He checked the kegs and filled the shot dispensers while I opened the windows and wiped down the bar top. The night before, we had reset the tables and chairs. I began on the few garnishes we offered while he filled the till. We usually had customers before we officially opened- the grumpy kind. 

My head was down, filling orders to grunts and taps before I noticed two men standing at the bar. One, I called the gentleman biker. His name was Cyrus, and he seemed to be the boss at the motorcycle club. He was always impeccably dressed and one of the few men who asked me questions about myself when I first came here, more so to see if I could handle his friends rather than his interest in me. The other man had the same grey eyes as the man I saw last night. For some reason, he couldn’t make it through the door. Today, he looked different. Better.

“Hey. What can I get you guys?” Cyrus smiled, but his friend looked pained.

“Whiskey, please,” Cyrus ordered for both of them. I filled their glasses under their heavy gaze and placed the drinks on the bar. Cyrus handed me a twenty with a wink. I didn’t understand what was going on. “Keep the change, darlin’.” A low sound vibrated from his friend’s throat before Cyrus clinked his glass in celebration.

I ran the order through the register and placed the change in the tip jar. “Thanks.”

“This is my good friend, Ghost. He just got back from a long assignment.” Cyrus’s voice was light and pleasant, while his friend looked out of sorts.

“Ghost?” He nodded, slightly happier that I said his name. “Is that your real name?” He shook his head no but didn’t respond. Okay then.

The guys drained their drinks in a single gulp. Cyrus enjoyed his while Ghost made a face. “Here.” I took his glass and filled it from a different bottle, which we kept away from view. “Try this.” A slow grin formed as he tasted the drink. “Smoother and delicious?” He nodded. “Bourbon is made from more corn and less rye. The oak barrels help form the caramel and vanilla sweetness. Cheap rye tastes like battery acid to a discerning palate.”

Cyrus laughed, “I think she is making fun of me.”

“What’s your name?” Ghost’s gravelly voice startled me. His eyes caught mine, and I couldn’t look away. Anger and pain flitted over his face.

“Esmerelda. Esmerelda Copper.”

“Harris’s niece,” Cyrus added. “Esme, right.” I nodded, answering him, but still looking at Ghost. He was really handsome, with slicked-back wavy dark hair. Taller than Cyrus but not as bulky. He looked just as strong, just unassumingly so. With a firm jaw and high sculpted cheekbones, he could have made millions as a model. His grey eyes darkened the longer we looked at each other.

“Esme!” Uncle yelled. “Get back to work.” While I’d been entertaining the guys, the bar had filled up with the rest of the club members. And they were thirsty.

“Excuse me.” I nodded to Cyrus, not brave enough to look at Ghost again.

“You giving away the good stuff?” Uncle Harris barked at me.

“It’s called marketing. Give them a taste, and they will order it special next time.”

“Bikers are after the buzz, not the experience.”

“That’s stereotyping. Not nice, Uncle Harris.” I laughed as he grunted. We moved quickly, and soon, everyone had a drink or two in front of them.

Cyrus moved around the bar like a politician while Ghost parked himself on a stool, brooding. I filled his glass with Bourbon when it emptied, but he rarely looked away from it. I guess we weren’t going to be the best of friends.

Since coming to the Allegheny Mountains, I have only made one real friend. All the bikers had teased or tried to ask me out, but Uncle Harris or Magnus shooed them away.  Most of my customers were friendly, but only Gunnar had asked me on a proper date. A few weeks ago, we went to the movies in town and then out for pizza. He was a student at the U, and we had a class together in the fall semester, making him acceptable to Uncle Harris. Knowing one person made the start of a new school year and the transfer experience less daunting.

“Hey, Gunnar. What can I get you?” He was gingerly coming to see me while shooting looks toward Ghost. “The latest Marvel movie was just released. Do you want to catch it tomorrow night?” I asked him.

A low, snarling hum filled the air and heated the blood pumping through my veins. My eyes went wide at the sensation. Gunnar had a shitty grin on his face as he contemplated his answer.

“I would love to go on a date, Esme. I’ll pick you up at seven. Want to go to dinner again, too?” Before I could respond, Ghost leaped out of his seat and wrapped his hand around Gunnar’s throat, raising him off the ground. His broad shoulders hid their exchange. Words were said that I couldn’t hear.

“Outside.” Uncle Harris yelled to the men, and Cyrus and Deisel escorted the pair out the side door. “You’re working tomorrow, Esmerelda—one to close. The games are on. No time for dating.”

College suddenly wasn’t as daunting if I wanted a social life.