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ChapterOne
Morgan
Water seepedfrom under the locked door and I pounded again. “Open it now or I’m tearing it down.”
The unmistakable sounds of sex mixed with the running water from the faucet seemed to be masking the sounds of my pounding and my screams. My little bar didn’t need any other issues. I already had enough to repair as it was. A flooded bathroom destroyed by a pair of shifters trying to get it on was not in the budget.
Shaking with rage, I stomped away from the bathroom, my shoes slipping on the aging wood floor. “Free beer for whoever can get my bathroom door open with the least amount of damage.”
Several patrons looked up at me and Kenny Jones was the first to stand. His girlfriend grabbed his sleeve and yanked him back to his stool. “Don’t you dare,” she hissed.
“Come on. One of you has to be willing to tear it down.” I glanced around the space. All the bar stools were full and several groups were gathered around the wobbly tables to my right. Shifters had good hearing, so I knew the rock music on the jukebox wasn’t the reason I was being ignored.
Nobody in this town gave a shit about anybody else. That was just the way things were. And usually, it suited me just fine. But today I had a couple of shifters about to flood my entire bar.
Stella’swasn’t much. If I was being honest, it was more of a hallway than an actual bar. It would never pass a health inspection in a human city, and the only reason I had patrons in the first place was because I didn’t water down the booze like my competition. But that wasn’t enough to earn me loyalty. I groaned. This was what I got for avoiding most pack gatherings. I wasn’t seen as one of them. Even if I’d kept them in drinks for the last five years.
“I can knock it down for you, Morgan, but it’ll be messy,” Charles, one of my regulars said.
“Same, sweetheart. I’d probably knock out most of the drywall around the door,” Manny, another regular added.
Some of my tension eased. At least I had a few shifters who were in my corner. “Thanks, guys. I’ll come get you if I can’t get it off.”
Gritting my teeth I marched toward the bar. There had to be a way to do this that wouldn’t cost me all my repair savings. I grabbed a screwdriver from the cabinet under the cash register.
“Want me to give it a try?” Jasmine asked.
I shook my head. Jasmine was a witch, so she didn’t have the brute strength the shifters possessed. I was worried she’d try and end up hurting herself and I couldn’t afford for her to go down, either. Jasmine worked for a room. I knew I should pay her, but I was barely making enough to keep the bar running. Plus, she was my best friend. I couldn’t ask her to do this when it was possible whoever was in there would attack anyone who tried to open the door. “Thanks but someone needs to stay out here and monitor all these deadbeats.”
“I’ll help. But I’m going to need something in return,” Stewart Mackenzie slurred.
I lifted a brow. “I’m not giving you a blowjob.”
“Suit yourself.” Stewart shrugged and took a drink of his beer. “But you’d get a lot more response if you sweetened the pot by shaking those hips around.”
I set the screwdriver down, then leaned across the bar and yanked his mug away from him.
“Hey!”
“You will not disrespect me in my own bar,” I said. “Apologize. Now.”
“I was just teasing you,” he said with what was probably supposed to be a flirty smile.
I glared at him, holding his beer captive. “You apologize or you can start drinking at Lou’s for the rest of your miserable existence.”
His upper lip twitched, and he wrinkled his nose. Lou’s was even worse than my place and everyone knew he used the cheap stuff mixed with water. Sometimes his drinks were even made with questionable moonshine. You never knew what you’d get there. The only shifters who drank at Lou’s were those who were too old-fashioned to support a female business or too broke to afford even my low prices. As far as I was concerned, Stewart could go join them.
“Sorry, Morgan,” he said quietly.
I put my hand to my ear. “What was that?”
“I said, I’m sorry,” he was louder this time.
I wrinkled my brow and acted as if I was straining to hear him.
He let out an exasperated huff. “Sorry, Morgan.” He shouted this time and half the patrons turned and laughed.
His expression darkened, and I lowered my hand from my ear, a smug smile of satisfaction on my lips. I passed his beer back to him. “Don’t do it again.”
