Novel Barhocker Novels & Stories

Digar, digar, namikhaaham bebinamat (I don't want to see you anymore) The barman immediately filled the glass with whiskey and kept it on the counter. I want her more than this whiskey. "Where is he?" I noticed the barman visibly shivered when I asked him. ''I ...I...I... don't.. kn... kn..know.'' When a person is lying, they stutter nervously. And I hate liars. Does he want to play games? Hell, then I love to play with my prey.

But with the Alhaj's backing, they would be more than willing to. The bikers joined us where we stood, the most popular and feared biker in the whole of Harmony City was Baraka. A large, wild man with a big beard and a piercing fierce look to go with it. He got off his bike and came straight to the Alhaj. They embraced like they were good friends.

My senses told me Pixie was somewhere around here, but not in this room. I let out a growl, pulling the blanket closer to my body. I could only thank the Goddess they didn’t do anything to me… yet. “Name’s Barrak.” He spoke, elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. He tilted his head. The guy I could tell was probably around Zachary’s age. But slightly older. He was handsome. If only he didn’t give such a bad first impression. “What’s your name and which pack are you from?” He was that same man I saw enter the diner first, and probably the one that knocked me up.

Suddenly, I pull her to a stop and shift. “Where are we in relation to Yorick and Cyra’s pack?” I ask. “Fuck!” Venom says, grabbing a map and quickly laying it out. “Hacker!” Intrigue says. “I’m looking now. Hellfire, is it a straight shot in the direction you were going?” he asks. I turn, lifting my nose in the air. “Yes.” “Shit! I’m calling Yorick now,” Hacker says. Stellan is headed straight to his old pack, the pack that is now part of Yorick and Cyra’s pack.

I shooed off the lingering thoughts, clothed in a linen button-down and a pair of jeans I was preparing for the long night ahead. The Howler's Bar stood on unclaimed territory just outside of my territory. To an ordinary human, it appeared as just another local bar nestled in a town frequented by weary travellers. To us of supernatural species, it was a haven. Where an unwritten oath held sway- a promise of peace among those who stayed here, some who came here were rogues just passing through, not looking to make any trouble; others were pack members from all around seeking their fated mate. Tonight, the bar pulsed with life. Bodies swayed on the dance floor, laughter and music filled the ai

I’d certainly be keeping some of the nice bathroom items I’d been given today. “What’s … a bar,” I asked, making a face. He put his hands on my hips and pulled me close. “You’re the perfect mate for me. Warrior woman but you clean up nice enough to take out in public. A bar is a building in the human cities where people go to have alcohol and talk. It’s just a laid back place,” he said, as he took my hand and pulled me forward. Great, so I’ll have to contend with a drunk Rusty later. Hopefully that means the sex will be quick and he’ll pass out. Unless of course I can get away.

That would kill all hope of finding any clues along the way to the end. “Understandable. Oh, I came to find you to tell you to look more closely at those hunter types. They came off very sketchy to me. One of them was practically climbing the walls and fences to mess around with the bar owner. Something about a score to settle.” Grace, thankful to Bart’s great relief, changed the subject to something else that was important. “I plan to. Did you get a name?” Bart still had his notebook and pen in his hand. He’d never gotten used to the idea of using a tablet or any other electronic for his initial notes. They were too easy to be tampered with.

However, sleep never comes, and I find myself in the lobby's twenty-four-hour bar less than half an hour later, working on the ending of my rather silly book. As it turns out, I wasn't the only one in the bar with that particular agenda. ... "One Jägerbomb, please," I request from the bartender, but then I change my mind. "Actually, just bring me the whole bottle." The bartender eyes me with a hint of suspicion, which quickly dissipates when he realizes I'm serious. He retrieves a fresh bottle of Jägermeister from the well-stocked shelf behind him.

A young woman hovered three inches off the ground, too traumatized to let her gravity-nullifying mutation deactivate. It was a sanctuary of the broken, the terrified, and the hunted. As Baraka walked into the light of the reservoir, the low murmur of conversation in the camp began to die down. Heads turned. Eyes widened. Baraka was a towering, muscular figure, covered in black ash, dried mud, and blood. His trench coat hung in ribbons. The burn scars on his right arm were still raw, and his eyes carried the heavy, haunted weight of a boy who had looked into the abyss and fought his way back out.

Hazel complained as she handed her ID to the bar attendant, who ensured no minors were visiting the place. Not to get drunk. Hazel always comes there after finding out that one of the men who had harassed her works as a bartender at the bar. She comes to tease him. “You’re here again,” he greets her enthusiastically. Hazel smiled and sat down in front of him. “I like this place,” Hazel replied with her best smile. “You come to the bar, but you always order non-alcoholic drinks. That's a bit odd,” commented the long-haired man. Although his appearance was different from when he was with Lucas and had abused her, Hazel remembered every inch of his face very well. Even the sound of his laughter