by Aiden Bates
Shaken and Stirred
Aiden Bates
© 2016
Disclaimer
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and events are all fictitious for the reader’s pleasure. Any similarities to real people, places, events, living or dead are all coincidental.
This book contains sexually explicit content that is intended for ADULTS ONLY (+18).
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Bonus Chapter Thirteen
The story may be over but
Chapter One
Sam grabbed the empty pint glass from in front of Felix and replaced it with a new one. "You got a ride home tonight, Felix?" He didn't really need to ask. He already knew the answer. Felix's old lady was coming to pick him up at eleven thirty, in her powder blue Buick.
Felix brightened up at the question, the same way he always did. "Yup. Marsha, my wife. She don't mind that I come here at all, you know? Long as I keep it to a couple of times a month, anyway."
Sam glanced over at the other side of the bar. Mondays were always a light night. A lot of folks from the usual crew preferred to start the week off with family or with other aspects of their lives. "Starting the week off right," or so they said. Gunner and Alex sat together in the corner. Sam didn't want to know what they were talking about, but they were nursing the whiskey he'd poured for them so he guessed he didn't need to go find out. Ned sat only a stool or two away, glued to his phone like he was someone important when everyone knew he was only playing that stupid candy game. Sam had a few customers over at the pool tables, but they'd come over if they needed him.
"I know she doesn't mind, Felix." Sam wiped the counter down in front of the man. "She's a good wife."
"She is." Felix's wrinkled face fell. "I still feel like I'm being unfaithful to my Bessie's memory, though. She used to sit right here next to me, every night. Even when she was pregnant, she sat right here next to me." His eyes slid past Sam, and possibly past the walls of the past fifty years. "Of course, that was before your time, kid. Before all this new-fangled stuff. Have you seen what they've done to some of the houses in Portland?" Felix drew himself up in righteous indignation, snapping himself out of a grief-filled reverie. The guy had a weird sort of mental strength about him in that way. Sam admired it, even as he shook his head.
"Yeah, I've seen it." Sam snickered and poured himself a water. "That's some bizarre stuff right there. I saw in the paper, they turned that old factory into condos. The one that burned in the Great Conflagration, I mean. Charging one point two million for the condos, too." His shoulders shook from laughter. "Idiots."
Felix shook his head. "That place is cursed. It's always been cursed. What in the Sam Hill do they want to go putting people in there for? It don't matter what they do with the bones of that place, people die." He gulped at his beer.
Sam didn't know if the deaths were from a curse, from lazy and shoddy construction, or just from natural causes. When a building had stood for over two centuries, and survived things like a fire that had burned down half the city and the 1918 influenza epidemic, it was a safe bet that people were going to die in it. Still, people had their own theories. "Silas thinks it's haunted."
"He's probably not wrong." Felix nodded his head, granting Sam's elder brother some wisdom. "He always was a good egg, that Silas. Where is he tonight?"
Sam didn't know exactly where Silas was at the moment. He knew his brother was probably off doing things he'd rather not know more about than he already did, and he made a conscious decision not to worry about it. Silas had gotten them through everything that brought them here. He'd be fine. "He's around. I think he's planning on coming in a little later."
"He can't be too pleased about that place opening up next door."
Sam chuckled at that and nodded at a couple of bikers walking in. They walked right up to the bar, so he had to put his conversation with Felix on hold to pour the newcomers pints of Bud. The pair weren't interested in him, though. They were here for Gunner and Alex, which was fine with Sam.
"You mean the trattoria?" Sam snorted and collected the tip the newcomers had left for him. "Yeah, I don't think he takes it all that seriously. I mean, come on. Look at the neighborhood. I hardly think that Westbrook is the right place for a joint that charges thirty-five dollars a plate, right?"
Felix inclined his head toward Sam in acknowledgment, but the corners of his toothless mouth were turned down. "Okay, sure, maybe not before. But that whole 'gentrification' thing, you really think that Westbrook's going to be safe once the bad guys figure out how much cheaper it is to live over here? Watch out."
Sam wiggled his hand from side to side in a so-so kind of motion. "Yeah, maybe. I don't know. I think it'd take a lot for them to move out here, though. Too industrial, not 'historic' enough. I could be wrong. It's happened before." He shrugged. "I'm surprised that they stuck a place like that next to a dive like us, though. I can't think that the customers would mix well."
"Long as they keep their hands to themselves, we should be okay." Felix sniffed and turned back to his beer. "I used to come into this place after the war, you know. This was before your brother owned it."
Sam heroically refrained from laughing. Silas might be his older brother, but he was only older by four years. Unless a person believed in reincarnation, and Sam had no reason to explore his customer's feelings on the subject, Silas would not have been the one delivering the pints to Felix back when he still had teeth. He didn't bother to correct Silas on the bar's ownership, either. "I'd bet," he said instead.
"It was before the guy your brother bought it from owned it too." Felix poked an age-spotted finger into the bar. "I love how everyone who's taken the place over has kept it more or less the same. Nothing changes at Joe's. Well, maybe the faces, but that would happen anywhere. Right?"
"Most likely." Sam had heard all of this before, at least every other week ever since he'd turned eighteen and started working here. He didn't mind. It let Felix feel like he was contributing something, dispensing advice to an eager young man.
The door opened again. This time, it carried an unfamiliar alpha's scent with it.
The bar got alpha customers. That wasn't a problem for Sam. Any regulars, or anyone who knew regulars, knew enough to treat Sam right. Sometimes they got a pushy, new alpha showing up, and Sam or Silas had to take steps. Sam didn't mind picking up a customer here or there, as long as the expectations were clear, but this alpha was different.
For one thing, his scent was stronger and clearer than any other alpha that had come into the bar before. He smelled like strong black tea. While tea wasn't a scent that Sam usually associated with masculinity or alphas, this guy's aroma got Sam's motor running before the door fully clos
ed behind him.
New Alpha was hot, but he wasn't the kind of guy that got more than a derisive snort from Sam nine times out of ten. He was tall, which was a plus, but his straight, chocolate-brown hair had been cut short in some kind of corporate haircut that screamed drone. Those dress pants and that pressed, button-down shirt probably hid an amazing body, but it was nine o'clock on a Monday night. Who still wore a tie at nine o'clock on a Monday night, for Pete's sake?
New Alpha's blue eyes scanned over the scant crowd as he stood in the doorway, and he gave a little snort. Sam stiffened. Who the hell did this guy think he was, anyway?
The stranger walked up to the bar and sat down in one of the stools. "I'd like a martini, please. Do you know how to make a martini?" He bit his lip and looked over at the rack of cocktail glasses.
Sam smirked. "Gin or vodka?" He slid a glass off the rack. This guy might smell fantastic, and his deep voice might be an audible aphrodisiac, but he was still an arrogant little turd. Sam would serve him his drink and move on.
New Alpha's eyes lost a little bit of their tightness, but his nose didn't unwrinkled when he glanced around him again. "Gin, please. Stirred, not shaken."
"Only barbarians shake a proper martini." Sam measured out the vermouth and the gin. He speared three olives onto a skewer and used them to stir the martini, which he then passed over to his prick of a customer. "Eight dollars."
New Alpha passed him a ten. "I'm Logan." He held out a hand to shake.
Sam shook it. He didn't have a choice. New Alpha's touch was like a jolt of electricity, just a little one, but Sam would be damned if he let it show. "Sam."
Logan nodded. "Sam. I'm pleased to meet you, Sam. Is your manager around, or maybe one of the owners?"
Felix laughed, a wheezing sort of hiss with his gums bared. Ned glanced up from his stupid candy game to snicker, only to look down again.
Sam fought to avoid smirking again. "I'm one of the owners. My brother and I own this place."
"Oh." To his credit, Logan blushed. "I see. You seem to be awfully young."
Sam forced his jaw to unclench. He'd tried to cover for his mistake. Sam should let him try to recover. "Maybe. But it's ours. How can I help you?" He did grin this time. "You looking to rent some space for a party?"
Logan's jaw dropped and he stared for a moment. Sam kept his victory celebration internal as Logan recovered his aplomb. "Ah, no, but thanks for the idea. I'm the general manager of the trattoria opening up next door. Our grand opening is next week, and we were hoping that you might consider shutting down for the evening."
"Shutting down for the evening." Sam repeated Logan's words, just to be sure that he'd heard them right.
"Well, yes, shut down for the evening. It seems like it would be in your best interest. We're going to try to get some press coverage, drive up as much traffic as we can. It'll be a circus, but none of those customers would exactly be your typical clientele." He sipped from his drink and turned his head to look over at the pool tables. "I mean, it's not as if you'd be losing much money on a night like this, am I right?"
Sam pursed his lips and pretended to think about it. "Well, you know what? I'll run your request by my brother. I'm not going to make any agreements without him, you know? I mean, that would just be wrong." He let his eyes go wide and innocent, just like most alphas thought a proper omega should be. "I have to warn you, though, I'm pretty sure he's not going to go for it."
Logan frowned. "Why not? It makes perfect sense. That way you're not inconvenienced by our grand opening activities, and we don't have anything to distract from the opening and the message we're trying to send." He spread his hands out wide, palms up, on the bar. "It's a win-win, Sam."
If there was one phrase that Sam hated more than any other, it was win-win. He'd heard it so often when he'd been in the system that he'd learned to assume that it was just a precursor to bullshit. Of course, he'd also learned other important skills in the system. He'd learned how to nod, and smile, and play along. "Well, you know, like I said. I'll present your idea to Silas. If you have a card I can have him give you a call, or hey! Here he is coming in the door right now."
Sam could certainly handle this Logan guy on his own, without a problem. He could probably handle Logan in a calmer and less confrontational way than Silas could, if he were to be honest about it. Logan had pissed him off. He'd come in here in his tie, and his expensive clothes, and he'd figured that because Sam had long hair and tattoos and worked in a biker bar that he was stupid.
"Silas!" Sam beckoned his brother over and gave him a bright smile. Outsiders would think that they were just being brotherly, but that type of smile was a code. Silas would know that something was up. "This is Logan. Logan's the GM at the tra-tor-i-a opening up next door, and he wants us to shut down for their grand opening so they don't have dirty biker types getting into their publicity shots."
Logan's jaw dropped.
Silas turned to Logan. Silas was not a small guy. Sam was tall, and he figured Logan was about the same height, but Silas was the kind of tall that people turned to stare at on the street. Every last inch of him was covered in black leather. He did not give Logan a bright or conciliatory smile. He just scowled. "No."
Logan shut his jaw and pushed his shoulders back, trying to make himself look bigger than he was. Silas wasn't an alpha, and he didn't give off those alpha pheromones that might have had the two of them throwing punches already, but he'd backed down bigger and scarier alphas than Logan. Logan didn't seem to want to back down, though. "Look, it's a beneficial situation for both of us. It's going to be an absolute circus, full of media and all kinds of people who won't be bringing in traffic to your door—you don't want that."
"Hey, wow, let me think about it. In fact, let me pour you nice shot of no. With a no chaser." Silas did smile now, showing teeth. "Clear enough for you, Mr. Trattoria?"
Logan sighed. Two beads of sweat broke out near his temples, but he didn't back down. "Look, be reasonable. Staying open next Monday doesn't benefit you at all, and it's not like you've got a full house anyway."
"Closing on Monday doesn't benefit us either. It only benefits a bunch of yuppies, and if I look like the kind of guy who does a goddamn thing to benefit a yuppie then you need to get your eyes examined. Finish your drink, Trattoria." Silas stashed his helmet behind the bar and hung his jacket on a peg near the door to the back room. "We're open on Christmas, for crying out loud, but you think we're closing down for you?"
Felix laughed again and held up his empty pint. Sam replaced it with another one.
"You're open on Christmas?" Logan wrinkled his nose. "Is that legal?"
"You bet." Sam grinned at him, wolfish and demanding. "And it's one of the best days to work, too. Anyway, I did warn you."
Logan chuckled, maybe a little weakly. "You did." He lifted his glass in a kind of salute. "Oh well. Can't say I didn't try. You do make an excellent martini." He slid another ten across the bar. "I think I'll have another."
***
Logan sat in his office and looked over the schedule one more time. He was pretty sure that he'd gotten it right, or at least as right as the manager ever got the schedule. He had four servers on per shift. The trattoria didn't have more than twenty tables, and even that was pushing it. He could probably get away with telling Janine that she didn't need to come in, but he'd promised her the day and by this point it would already be on her schedule. He didn't want to start things off on the wrong foot with the staff.
Of course, he didn't want to start things off on the wrong foot with the budget either. The servers didn't get paid all that much. Most of their pay came from tips, but Logan still had to pay them something. The number of line cooks he had on for the day concerned him more than the number of servers. The number of line cooks they needed on hand was a touchier issue. Too many, and they'd be idle, wasting food and payroll to put the restaurant into the red before the first month even got started.
Too few, and service would be
too slow for customers to tolerate. Online reviews would trash the trattoria, and it would sink before it ever got off the ground.
Someone knocked on his door. He looked through the long glass window to see Kaylee, his head chef. Logan's mother had told him never to trust a skinny chef, and he probably wouldn't trust Kaylee if he hadn't seen the amount of food she could put away in one sitting. She stood in front of the door, hands on her narrow hips, and frowned at him.
Logan sighed. All he needed today was to have Kaylee mad at him. He waved her in and braced for impact.
Kaylee stormed over to the desk. "Logan Evers, did you order a delivery of squid from the harbor at eight o'clock this morning?"
Logan closed his eyes and slumped down in his chair. "I ordered a delivery of squid. I ordered it for eight o'clock on Monday morning. Not today."
"No fishing boat delivers on Monday, Logan. They don't put out to sea on Sunday." She glared at him again. "The order had your initials on it anyway. Did you read the document carefully before you signed it, or were you on the phone while you were signing again?"
