Fire and Ice: Book One: Burned (The Fire and Ice Series 1)

by Delaney, Kiara

  Fire and Ice

  Book One: Burned

  Copyright © 2014 by Kiara Delaney

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  Visit my author page at: https://www.facebook.com/Kiara.Delaney.romance

  For my adoring fans...you touch me each day with your kind words, lift me up when I am down, and inspire me to be the best person I can be.

  Table of contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Other books by Kiara Delaney

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Kellan

  So you wanna know what makes Kellan Haines tick? Loose women, fast cars, loud music, and hard liquor. Plain and simple. Call me a fuckin' animal, if that's what you want; I could give two shits. I live my life for me, and everybody else can go shit in their hat. I live in a shitty, one horse town called Chambers in the middle of bum fucked Egypt. I work a shitty job as a bartender, in the only halfway decent bar in town, called Jimbo's, named aptly after the owner, Jim Carrington. Original right? I'm sick to death of this dog and pony show, and as soon as I get the money saved to get the hell of out this town, filled with raging morons, I'm gone with the wind. This whole town, and every idiot that waddles around like a sheep in the herd, can kiss my ass. I've got dreams, ambition, and it sure as fuck doesn't include wading amongst the tadpoles in this infested gene pool.

  As I light up a cigarette, inhaling deeply, standing next to my brand new black Camaro, I crank the volume on my custom sound system, blasting Dead Sara's "Weatherman". I pause and imagine the moment I'll be stepping over the city limits. I swear to all that's holy, I'm gonna turn around, give a two finger salute, and say, "Deuces, motherfuckers!"

  Chapter One

  Kellan

  "What'll it be, Tim?" I ask the surly man, a regular customer of ours; his hair grown out almost to his shoulders, thin and whitening, beginning to bald on top. He has premature wrinkles on his solemn face, and a shaggy beard beginning to grow, I'd assume from not shaving for at least three or four days. Today he's sporting his red flannel shirt, a departure from his normal array of different shades of blues he wears working at the local wood mill.

  He took a long drag off of his cigarette, coughed as he exhaled, and answered, "Shot of tequila," matter of factly.

  Jesus, here we go again. I knew exactly where this was headed, but this was a dance I was accustomed to with old Tim. "Bud chaser with that, Tim?"

  "Nope. Straight up, kid."

  I knew it. I fucking knew it. But now I had to ask, and then I was going to have to listen to him half the night. Christ on a cracker. Best to just get it over with. "April leave again?" I asked glumly as I poured the shot, not making eye contact, and handing it to him.

  He took the shot, downed it, and slammed the glass on the bar before answering, "Yep. Made off in the middle of the night. Can you believe that?" he questioned as he stared a hole into the lacquered bar top. I simply shook my head back and forth, knowing full well he couldn't see me anyways. "Didn't even leave a note this time." He looked up to me with watery eyes, as if he were about to break out into a sob. Dear God, man, do not have a breakdown in here right now! I'm not equipped for this shit. He coughed back the lump that I could tell he had formed in his throat, and waved his hand in the air, saying, "Good riddance. He can have the old bitch." He shot me a wounded grin, and I mirrored his reaction, feeling a pang of sorrow for the shit that April had put him through. It was about goddamn time he threw in the towel, but I knew he'd take her back in a heartbeat if she showed up at his doorstep, yet again. The sick cycle would not doubt continue until it finally killed the old bastard. Ain't love grand? "Give me another," he commanded.

  I poured another round for him, saying, "It's on the house."

  ******

  Hailey

  "Mom, are you sure you'll be ok by yourself for a few hours?" I asked, my voice laced with concern, and my eyes darting around the room for items to make her more comfortable.

  "Stop fussing over me!" she barked out, impatiently. "I'm not an invalid." I shot her a wry look that frankly was most likely inconsiderate of me. I wouldn't exactly call my mom an invalid, but this was her third bout with breast cancer, and some days it was all she could do to get out of bed. Tonight she was laid up on the couch, the remote firmly planted at her side, with a large glass of iced tea sitting next to the plethora of pills on the coffee table. She still had her wits about her, so I didn't have to worry about her taking them at the accurate times or dosages. She knew how to manage her pain.

  "Ok, then, I'm off," I said, giving her one last chance to change her mind...or mine; I wasn't sure which at this point. I gave myself a quick once over in front of her, without her looking up from the tv, and asked, "Do you think this looks ok?"

  Annoyed, she turned her attention away from her show to give me a quick glance before returning her focus back to the program and simply shrugging noncommittally. Well, that was a big help. Thanks, Mom.

  I grabbed my car keys and cell phone, reminding her I'd have it on me at all times, and swiftly closed the door behind me, as I made my way to the car that Mom and I shared. It was nothing fancy; a used tan Corolla with a few dings, but we kept it clean, as clean as we could. As I looked at my watch, I noticed I only had fifteen minutes to get to my new job, just barely giving me enough time to make it there. "Shit!" I muttered under my breath, as I folded myself into the seat, hurling my bag onto the passenger side, and fumbling to start the car up, while grabbing at my seatbelt, all at the same time. I peeled out of my driveway, spilling shale and dust behind me as I did, but paid no mind; I couldn't afford to lose this job on my first day.

  ******

  Kellan

  Tim was bumming me out big time, and the dull twang of country music spilling from the electronic juke box I'd talked Jim into investing in was boring me to tears. Actually, the only reason I wanted the damn thing installed was so I could pick out some decent music without having to pre-order it through Jim. He wouldn't know a good tune if it fell out of the sky, landed on his face, and started to wiggle. Great, now my filthy mind was wandering straight into the gutter; a part of myself I knew well and to be honest, relished. I queued up "Papercut" by Linkin Park and let the hard lyrics and striking guitar chords kick my mind into a place that took me far from the droll dredges of this lifeless
job and town.

  Jordan is running late, as usually, and we're short on staff as it is. I'm the only one here and trying to keep up with everyone...well the four lifeless souls gracing the joint that are shooting me dirty looks for ruining their pity parties with my song choice. Fuck 'em. Right now, I happen to be king of the castle here at Jimbo's, so they can go fuck themselves. There's a shit ton of work that needs done before tonight's crowd rolls in...the crowd that actually digs my kind of music, and Jordan's leaving me in a lurch right now. Not to mention, Gail just took her maternity leave and hired some new shooter girl that's due in any second. Where in the fuck are Jim and Jordan? If one of them doesn't show up soon, I'm probably gonna have to deal with the ditz on my own, and I hate training new staff. Of course, being a shooter girl isn't rocket science, but then again, they don't get hired for their managerial skills, if you know what I'm sayin'.

  "Hey man, sorry I'm late," Jordan huffed out, breathing heavy as he finally entered, as if on cue, jogging in behind the bar and carrying a load of ice. "Had to stop for gas," was his sad and sorry excuse. I didn't really give a shit. I managed to make it here on time six days a week to open up the place and stay until closing. Jesus, the kid works eight, maybe nine hour shifts, while Jim, Gail, and I usually end up pulling fourteen to sixteen hour days. Gimme a break. Stop for gas on your own damn time. And where the fuck is Jim?!

  I didn't say anything in response; I really wasn't in charge of him, or the place. I just simply took the job more seriously than most people that ended up coming and going within a month or two of getting hired. At least Jordan had managed to stick around for the last six months, to my amazement, ever since I'd gotten him the job. He's the only friend I have, if that's what I'd call him...not sure I actually consider myself to have any friends per se; so he better not fuck it up either, or it's on me. I vouched for his ass.

  Before I could let him know what needed stocked and readied for tonight, the wooden lacquered door, which matched the theme of the rest of the bar, was pulled open, as the last remnants of the day's sunlight spilled in, casting a glow over an obvious female form. As she stepped in, time seemed to slow for a moment, and the room began to fade away, as if she cast an ethereal radiance. Shit like this didn't happen for me. What the fuck was I thinking about. This wasn't a Pantene commercial for Christ's sake. Aaand then she stumbled over a crack in one of the wooden planks, nearly taking a nosedive. I snickered as the customers turned to gawk momentarily, before returning to their stations without so much as an iota of compassion. Jordan quickly jumped to aid her in her time of need. Fucking white knight pansy.

  Jordan raced to the small framed, barely legal looking...woman? Girl? I'm not sure what she'd be classified as...as I said, I wasn't even sure if she was legal to be in the bar; maybe she was looking for her dad or some shit. Whatever. At any rate, good old Jordan was at her side in lightening speed, helping her get her high heel spike unstuck from the crack in the floor. A wry grin creased my face. Lucky bastard had his hands all over her legs and she was eating up his 'chivalry' like a thirteen-year-old girl. I was pretty certain she was older than thirteen, but nowadays...well have you seen thirteen year olds? Fuck, I'm not a pervert, but they can put on a misleading show...that's all I'm saying. It's a damn good thing I can spot a fake ID.

  As I tried to watch on with anonymity, I caught the sight of Jordan finally freeing her from the clutches of the cracked and aging floor, which could use a good waxing. Jordan walked over to the bar, his new tag along in tow, as he rested his hand on the small of her back. I kept my head down, cleaning dirty glasses and drying them, as I peeked up from underneath my lashes every few moments to volley my eyes back and forth between the two of them.

  "Hey, Kellan," Jordan said with more enthusiasm than necessary. "This is our new shooter girl, Hailey," he introduced her with a beaming smile as he continued, ushering his hand between us. "Hailey, this is Kellan Haines." I looked up, my face impassive, and quickly returned to my task without speaking to the petite young lady. If she turns out to be smarter than a fifth grader, I'll eat my hand. There was an awkward silence before Jordan broke in. "Aren't you gonna say 'hi' Kellan?"

  I turned around abruptly to begin stacking the glasses behind me, as I blatantly grumbled out, "I'll be training you today. I hope you can keep up, because it's Friday night and we're gonna get busy. Sink or swim." I turned around and gave her a once over, as she stared at me in disbelief at my callousness and said, "You're not gonna get many tips dressed like that, honey," before I disappeared into the back office.

  Chapter Two

  Hailey

  I was literally stunned at what had just flown out of this jerk's mouth. He had met me not thirty seconds ago, and was already the biggest prick I'd ever encountered. Great. And I was going to have to work with him? With him? I wasn't sure if I could do this. I didn't need some self-centered asshole jumping down my throat every night. It's only a few hours a day. You need the money, and so does Mom. Suck it up Buttercup. Damnit! I was just going have to eat shit, and get over his controlling attitude. My mom was more important than some self-righteous ignoramus with a chip on his shoulder.

  The guy who helped me, Jordan...Carson I think he said his name was, broke into my thoughts. "Don't mind him...he's..."

  "A dick?" I cut to the quick and concluded.

  Jordan scratched the back of his neck, I'm sure due to feeling uncomfortable about the situation that had just taken place. He peeked up at me self-consciously, and giving me a look of trepidation, he said, "Well, I personally wouldn't put it that way. He's my friend...but, yeah...he can tend to rub people the wrong way sometimes," he laughed nervously.

  I frowned, not really caring about his explanation of his 'friend', more so interested in the jack ass's comment on my attire. "So what's his deal? I mean, what was he talking about when he said I wasn't going to make any tips dressed like this? What's that supposed to mean? That I look trashy? Because..."

  Jordan cut me off mid-sentence, "He shouldn't have said that. You look..." His eyes wandered to and fro, taking in the dimly lit scenery of the bar, anywhere but me.

  I was becoming more agitated by the moment. I blurted out, "Well, out with it. No point in hiding it from me. The least you can do is let me know what the proper attire is so that I can make the most money I can. I didn't come here to make less money than I should be making, due to my clothing choice. I'll punch out and go home and change, if it's such a big deal," I ranted, throwing my arms up with animation. People were staring.

  Jordan placed his hand on the bar, stepping closer to me, his tall, lean frame just inches from my own, as his clean, fresh scent wafted my way, nearly making me forget what had been my argument. His dirty blond hair was a bit long on the top and sides, perfect for running a girl's hands through, and his green eyes were intently staring into mine, as if he were pleading with me to understand a hidden code that I had not yet figured out. He finally broke the silence between us, his deep voice coming out barely audible as he said, "The shooter girls...they get more tips if they..." He looked away as if it pained him to continue his explanation.

  "If they what?" I probed.

  Returning his gaze to mine, he continued, "If they wear...less." He furrowed his brow, and clenched his jaw. He clearly didn't agree with the lack of respect the patrons had for the women that were simply hired to served drinks, regardless of what clothing they donned. It was a ridiculous notion, which I could barely comprehend myself, as my jaw went slack.

  Looking down at my simple jeans, neat and plain turquoise blouse, accented by black heels, I thought I had dressed like a lady that would be serving high end, expensive shots to good paying customers; not having to look like a skank to gain more tips. As far as I knew, this wasn't the same crowd as a strip club drew. For the second time of the evening, I glanced at my own outfit, and back to Jordan, saying, "Well, what do you suggest, then?"

  He shrugged noncommittally and said, "Doesn't matter what I think. Kellan's g
onna throw a bitch unless you wear what he tells you to anyways, so you may as well get it over with," he motioned his head to the back room.

  Are you freaking kidding me? I have to wear what HE says? Great. Just perfect. What have I signed up for?

  ******

  Kellan

  Well, I guess it was just going to be Jordan, Miss Priss, and me tonight. Jim just called in letting me know he has the stomach flu, and he can gladly keep that shit (no pun intended) away from me. This is fucking awesome. Not. I hope Jordan can handle his own, and as I said, Miss Priss can keep up, because I'm not a goddamn babysitter. I'll train her ass for one hour. If she doesn't get the gist of it by then, fuck her...she's on her own. A sly smile crept up my face. That outfit has to go. I'll be surprised if she makes more than fifty bucks tonight. The shooter girls don't get paid hourly; tips only. I wasn't joking when I said sink or swim.

  I grabbed the ledger to take with me out to the bar so I could take stock and make sure we had enough liquor on supply for tonight. I'd keep the jukebox steady until 9:00 when the DJ started. Friday nights we usually had a packed house. I know I bitch and complain about how small our town is, but we have a decent sized local university here, and we're the only bar in town that has the room to cater to the college kids. The older crowd usually clears out by 7:00 or 8:00 and we stop serving food at 9:00, so we're good to go when the anxious kids, ready to party, start rolling in...well, when we're at full staff, that is. Tonight will be a free for all; who knows what the hell is gonna go down.