by S. Ferguson
2
Bree
After I’ve walked into my apartment, I shut the door and lean back against it, letting myself catch my breath. I smile at the coincidence of running into Jake’s babbling brother as I wander into my kitchen for a drink of water. My mouth had instantly gone dry when Declan approached me.
I didn’t miss the way he seemed to snarl Greg’s name too. There was definitely some tension there. I’m going to have to think about that one for a bit. Jake and Greg are absolutely inseparable.
Jake’s brother was very different from what I expected. Whenever Jake talked about him, he described Declan as serious and uptight, but that’s definitely not the impression I got from him today. He was also really hot, if I’m being honest with myself, even in plain running clothes and covered in sweat. He had the whole bad boy thing going on with his long hair, scruff, and gauges in his ears. His funny t-shirt seemed like such a contradiction from the bad boy image. Considering I work around almost no one but your stereotypical bad boys, the fact that he stood out to me is significant. I could see he had some tattoos on his arms as well, but I didn’t want to look too closely and seem like I was checking him out. His eyes were the most amazing part of him. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen eyes that green. They reminded me of the moss you see growing deep in the forest, untouched by humans and the sun.
I’ll have to take a closer look next time, I think, and I even catch myself feeling a little excited at the idea of seeing him again. Then a wave of sadness hits me, bringing me back to reality. It doesn’t matter how hot I think he is, he’s not going to be interested in me. Maybe, if I’m lucky, he’ll want to do a quick hookup, but I’m not going to be what he wants in the long run. I am not capable of being that girl.
As if my heart needed an additional reminder, I look down and see Alex’s shoes sitting on the floor by where I’m leaning against the front door. I’m probably crazy for not throwing his stuff out. I read on the Internet once about a girl who burned all her ex-boyfriend’s stuff in a trash barrel when he left her. Call me crazy, but I like the reminder. I need to remember. I need to remember that I am damaged goods. There would be no happy ending for me. If I ever forgot that, I’d run the risk of being hurt again. Something I wasn’t sure I could survive. I would never let myself be suckered into thinking I was loved again, because I knew better. With this reminder burning into my brain, I walk across the small studio apartment and curl up on my bed. The last things I see before I shut my tear-filled eyes are more of Alex’s abandoned belongings. It creates a warped sense of balance that all of his abandoned things are in one place: his clothes, his shoes, me. We're all still here in purgatory.
After an all too short nap, I do a quick primp and finish getting ready for work. Ron had made it clear when he hired me that I wasn’t expected to put out like the other girls tend to do, but I was expected to be somewhat sexy at work. I was seen as a representative of him, and that meant I had to look the part when I was serving his guests in the bar. That didn’t mean I had to let my ass hang out. Originally, the biggest reason for our arguments was Alex; he was extremely jealous and hated the idea of me working at Keegan’s with all the men checking me out. Unfortunately, there was nothing that could be done, and Ron did a great job of making it clear that I was off limits the few times a random idiot wanted to try anything.
I stayed dressed in my super tight black jeans; well, everything I owned was black to be honest. I found my solid black wardrobe discouraged people from approaching me. It was also the uniform for Keegan’s. It made things easier for me. I traded my converse for my black ballet flats, the biggest concession I had gotten from Ron when arguing about my wardrobe. I couldn't walk in heels for shit. I grimace as I remember Alex’s new girlfriend’s long legs and her high-heeled boots. Just another reason why I wasn’t good enough, I guess. I shake my head and put my tight t-shirt on; it has the bar’s logo on the front right pocket, a large K done in white rolling script. The shirt’s about two sizes too small, and makes my B cups look like D cups, especially with my pushup bra underneath. It’s got a V-neck that also shows off my manufactured cleavage. I delicately run my fingers through my wavy hair, thankful for the natural body it has; that saves me a lot of time.
Deciding that I’m as ready as I’m going to get, I grab my green military jacket and lock up. I step out onto the street, and see the sun setting. Another day gone and nothing has changed. I still can’t believe this is my life. It’s both worse and better than I ever expected. I always feel like I freed myself from one trap just to walk right into another. I dismiss the pointless train of thought, make sure the building door shuts behind me, and take off.
I make a quick stop on the way to work at the corner store.
“Hey Bree, how’s it going?” Stan, the owner asks from his perch on a stool behind the counter.
“Same as always,” I mutter. If that isn’t the truth I don’t know what is.
“You should try smiling sometime, it could change your life.” Stan says cheerfully.
“You need something to smile about first,” I mutter, throwing a few dollars on the counter and walking out with my protein bar.
3
Declan
I’ll totally admit that meeting B Girl made the decision to go work at Keegan’s easier for me. Something about her calls to me. I’ve heard enough over the years to know she doesn’t hook up with anyone, even after her boyfriend left. Challenge accepted, B Girl.
Once I return home from my run, I spend the rest of the day back in my apartment, doing meaningful things like playing video games and listening to music.
I take a quick shower to get ready for Keegan’s and find myself thinking about B Girl again. This time things are a little naughtier. Those red lips of hers run through my mind over and over again.
Taking myself in hand, I run my hand from base to tip, slowing increasing the tightness of my grip. I groan loudly and drops of pre-cum begin to form on the head of my dick.
Suddenly I’m not remembering B Girl on the bench anymore, I’m the one on the bench and she’s kneeling in front of me. She’s looking up at me, those beautiful blue eyes wide and those bright red lips parted as she takes me out of my jeans.
Fuck.
It takes me an embarrassingly short time to come and I rinse myself off enjoying the temporary lack of tension in my body. It won’t take long for my nervousness about working for Ron to come back.
I give myself a once over on the way out. Taking a cue from B Girl, I decide to replicate her all black look, except my Chuck All Stars are bright red. See, she’s definitely my soulmate. Of course, my black t-shirt has a giant red Stormtrooper head on it. I had to put my signature somewhere.
The walk to the bar is quiet and quick; I hadn’t realized how close I lived before. As I make my way inside, I pull my hair up in bun and look for Jake, but only see a handful of guys sitting around the scattered tables and chairs. I walk over toward the closest table.
“You guys seen Jake?” I ask, before I recognize Greg sitting at the table. For once, I’m grateful for running into him. If anyone will know where Jake is, it’s him.
“Who’s asking?” Greg sits back in his chair with an I-fucking-dare-you expression on his face. What an asshole.
My jaw ticks at his attitude. Greg knows damn well who I am. I’ve never been the type to take any shit, but this isn’t the time or the place. I unclench my fists and walk towards him, extending my right hand. “I’m Dec, his brother. I’m supposed to come see Ro—-The Boss, about working behind the bar.” I deserve a medal for not rolling my eyes. God, why do I feel like I’m in a bad mafia movie?
He looks at my hand like I have some sort of disease, and I quickly drop it back to my side. My fist clenches with the need to smack that look right off of his face.
“Does Bree know you’re gonna be working with her? She’s gonna fucking love that.” He smirks, and the other guys at the table start chuckling. Could this guy be any more of a douc
he bag?
Bree! That was B Girl’s name. I make a mental note to still call her B Girl, I don’t know why. I guess I have a love for antagonizing people. Okay, that’s a lie. I totally know why. I want to get under her skin any way I can. I don’t care how pissed off she is, as long as she’s focused on me.
“Do I know what, Greg?” Bree asks, walking towards the table with what is clearly impeccable timing.
“That I’m your new best friend?” I quip, turning to look at her. Seeing her again takes my breath away just like it did the first time. I note with some disappointment she’s traded her chucks for a pair of flat shoes. I quickly turn back to Greg, trying not to show my frustration about that fact that he’s acting like he doesn’t recognize me. Judging by the smirk he’s been sporting since I walked over, I’m right in my assumption.
“Guess you really did know Jake,” she says, her voice changing to an almost singsong tone. She’s got sass, even if she tries to hide it sometimes.
“You know this clown?” Greg is giving me another once over, and there is nothing nice about it. Despite feeling like I’m being sized up by a predator, I give him an eye roll. He narrows his eyes at me, and I decide if I’m going to piss him off, why not go for gold?
“Didn’t tell everyone about our park date?” I tease Bree, who is looking at me like I’m a piece of gum stuck to her shoe.
“Trust me. You don’t want these guys thinking you stalked me to the park and tried to ask me about Ron’s bar.” She looks like she wants to smile, that same left corner of her mouth is lifted in a smirk. I get the feeling that if she ever gave me a full smile, my heart wouldn’t be able to take it.
“This motherfucker did what?” Greg starts to rise from his chair. I take a step back, bracing myself to get my ass handed to me. I could probably handle Greg one on one, but we both know we’re in his territory. No way are his friends not going to jump in.
“Bree, new kid, my office now,” Ron calls from a door to the right of the bar, saving me from Greg’s next move.
Greg’s smirk turns into a smile I’m pretty sure the Devil himself has given a time or two before.
Bree takes a deep breath, and starts walking ahead of me. I decide to seize the chance to check out her ass. It's amazing by the way. I swear I hear a growl come from behind me, and I immediately raise my eyes to the back of her head. I smile to myself. Challenge accepted.
Ron’s office isn’t anything like how I would have expected a crime boss’s office to look. The building is old, with a high ceiling, and I would say Ron took the building’s age into account when he decorated his office. It looks more like an antique shop, with a mixture of carefully placed modern touches. There is a large oriental rug, giving the room a warm feeling, and mostly likely stopping any echoing. The real centerpiece of the room though, is a painting. The painting is of a little girl with jet-black hair dancing on the beach by herself. She’s wearing a white, flowing summer dress, and looks like she is spinning in circles, her eyes closed, arms stretched wide, a peaceful smile on her face. I look at her face for a moment, and start to look away, before doing a double take. Surely, I can’t be the first person to notice the similarity between the girl and …
“I know you don’t want anyone else behind the bar. I know it was that fucker’s job, but we all know he isn’t coming back. Soon, we have one of the biggest meetings of the year coming up, and you can’t handle that by yourself. Not to mention, if the shit hits the fan, you need someone to help keep you out of it.” Ron says, cutting my thoughts off.
The faint odor of cigar is in the air, as I stop my perusal and Bree sits down in a chair across from Ron’s desk.
While Ron talks, I get a good look at him for the first time in years. He rarely goes out and about anymore; too many people want a piece of him. He has people, like Jake, to run his errands. After Keegan died, he retreated from public life. There are rumors he has a daughter, but it’s just that: rumors. If that little girl exists, she’s a ghost. He looks older. Weary. His dark brown hair has more silver at the temples. His blue eyes have a tiredness in them that I know has nothing to do with needing sleep. Life has been hard on Ron, and it looks like it hasn’t gotten any easier, even with his success.
Bree is sitting in complete silence. Her face is a mask of stone, and her posture is stiff. “You know I can take care of myself.” Her tone is as stiff as she is.
“Darlin’, you’re one of the strongest people I know, but at the end of the day you’re still five foot nothin’ and a woman. We don’t hit women, but I can’t promise others won’t. You need help. This is not up for negotiation. Declan will be working every shift with you from now on, so get used to it.” He gives her a look I would almost describe as fatherly before he turns his attention to me.
“You keep your fuckin’ hands to yourself, listen to whatever the fuck she tells you, and don’t give any shit to my boys. I know you’re Jake’s blood, and he trusts you, which means I trust you, but if you fuck me over, you’ll both pay.” He gives me a hard glare with none of the softness he just gave Bree. I nod my head because honestly, the guy is fucking terrifying. He reaches over to his phone, which hasn’t stopped buzzing, and picks it up.
Apparently, this means we are done talking because Bree stands abruptly. “Come on,” she mutters, almost too softly for me to hear, as she marches out of the office.
She spends the next three hours speaking to me only when absolutely necessary. There’s a lot of grunting and pointing involved. To be honest, the whole situation is kind of amusing.
I find as many things as I can to keep myself busy, lifting the heavy racks of clean glasses and replacing a few empty kegs. I also spend a good amount of time studying the layout of the bar.
The bar faces the front doors, which are heavy and wooden. I’m sure they’re as old as the building, which means they match the rustic décor, but I imagine they also serve a purpose for security. They’re probably thick enough to be bulletproof, from the average gun anyway, and almost impossible to ram open. Ron’s office is to the right of the bar and the rest of that side is all heavy wood paneling, with a few dartboards and three pool tables in a row. The other side of the bar is all brick. There is a kitchen with another exit behind the bar, but it's rarely used from what I understand. All the equipment is old, and covered in white cloth, to keep dust off. I also know there is a back door leading outside from Ron’s office. Directly to the right, outside of the kitchen’s backdoor, is a staircase that leads to apartments above the bar. From what Jake has told me, no one actually lives in them, but there is an understanding that those rooms can be used by Ron’s guys if they need a place to crash or screw. There are also no windows, anywhere. I’m assuming this was done as a security measure, but I can’t help but feel a little trapped. It’s very apparent that no one is entering or leaving this bar without permission.
A few of the guys introduce themselves. For the most part, they’re pretty welcoming when they find out I’m Jake’s brother. It's a pleasant surprise to see that so many of the guys think so highly of Jake.
I watch Bree to see how she runs things, where things belong, but bartending isn’t that different from place to place, so it doesn’t take me long to get the hang of things. I never stop watching her, though. Few things in life are as fascinating as she is. I notice she bites her bottom lip when she’s concentrating. She licks her lips when she does something strenuous. She is great at making mixed drinks, but when she pours a draught, she always has way too much foam on the top. No one says anything to her about it, though. She tries to do everything herself, but one of the guys always seems to magically appear if she’s trying to reach something up high or lift something heavy. That shit is gonna end now that I’m here, I think to myself, feeling strangely possessive of Bree. I want to be the one who helps her, the one she turns to.
Usually, the first one to offer to help is a tall, skinny guy wearing dress pants and a stiff dress shirt with the top two buttons undone and the sleeve
s rolled up. He introduced himself as Quinn, and gave me a warning similar to Ron’s about keeping my hands to myself. I completely ignored his warning. Ron may be someone to take seriously, but this guy is nobody. That being said, something about him doesn't quite sit right with me. His pupils tell me he’s been consuming more than alcohol tonight, which is pretty interesting considering Ron’s zero tolerance policy on drugs is pretty well known.
The night starts to calm down; most people are off sitting at the tables in small clusters talking. I try to remember everything I know about Bree, which isn’t much. I’m pretty sure she was homeless, and some asshole brought her into the bar to try to trade her off as one of Ron’s ‘hospitality girls’ (I’ll let you figure out what that means) in exchange for food and shelter, but she was too young. Ron and his guys can be bastards, but they aren’t child molesters. No way would Jake tolerate that shit after our childhood.
Ron clearly has a soft spot for her, and she’s gotta have a good work ethic to have stayed here this long, especially by herself for the last year.
After a while, I figure out she really isn’t going to smile. It seems odd to me that someone so young, granted I was only a few years older, could be so serious all the time. She moves quickly and efficiently, and she never wastes her energy. Bree clearly has had this job for a while and I was willing to bet she could do most of it with a blindfold on. She doesn’t really talk to anyone. A few of the guys greet her, some of them try to chat, but it seemed like everyone knew not to bother her. That guy, Quinn, who I found out joined Ron’s outfit shortly after my brother, seems to have a thing for her, planting himself at her end of the bar, and throwing back whiskey like his life depends on it, never taking his eyes off of her.
