She shrugged and grabbed a rag near the sink. “It must be a full moon or something; that’s the third rude person tonight.” She’d seen it time and time again. Full moons made people act…wild.
“Well, let’s hope that’s the last,” Justin said.
She nodded. The shadow beneath his eye was a reminder of the tourist from last weekend who had decided Justin was his mortal enemy. Luckily, Boone had been in the bar that night, stepping in when Justin took the powerful punch. “Thanks for coming to get him on his way.”
Justin saluted her. “It’s what you pay me the big bucks for.”
She laughed. He wasn’t lying. She did pay him more than she would a short order cook, but she was glad to have the extra muscle on staff.
While Justin headed back to the kitchen, she took away the man’s empty glass and wiped down the bar.
“If that’s not your cue to get out of here,” Benji said, stepping in next to her, “I don’t know what is.” He leaned a hip against the side of the ice bucket and folded his arms. Being a few inches taller than her, Benji could certainly hold his own. “Do I need to remind you that you own this bar? You make the rules. Why the hell are you working on your birthday?”
Why, indeed?
Lately, all Kinsley had been doing was keeping herself busy. She didn’t even try and pretend she didn’t know why…Rhett. “What can I say, I just love you so much, Benji. Why would I be anywhere else but here with you?”
Benji flashed his charming grin, his unruly blond hair falling down over his brow. “I am pretty lovable, aren’t I?” He nudged her in the playful way they were accustomed to ever since they’d spent two hot weeks together—long before she hired him as head bartender.
“Truly.” She smiled.
Benji’s grin fell. “Seriously, though, get out of here. Lola and I’ve got the bar tonight.” Lola was the other bartender on staff, whom Kinsley had hired after Remy quit to open up her own New Age magic shop next door.
She knew she needed to face tonight. Another birthday…alone. “I’ll help until Lola comes then I’m outta here,” she said.
“Good.” Benji flashed her his cute grin that always won over the ladies. It had made an impact on Kinsley too, until the lust died between them and all that remained was a good, solid friendship. “Any big plans for tonight?” he asked.
Kinsley tried not to flinch. And failed. “Does watching reruns of Friends and eating a bag of chips count as big?”
Benji frowned. “Kinsley, you’re twenty-nine, not dead.”
She certainly wasn’t dead, but she wasn’t sure what she was anymore. Bored, lonely, and everything in between. She tried not to feel emotional that no one had dropped in today to greet her—not her brother or Peyton or her father or Remy. They’d all been so busy with their lives, it seemed they’d forgotten her birthday. “I’m sure we’ll end up doing something next weekend.”
“You better,” Benji said, right as the bar’s front door opened.
Three men entered. All tall and wide in the shoulders. The one leading the group held Kinsley’s gaze as he approached. Shaggy brown hair, dark eyes that held little warmth, and lips that curled at the corners like he had some wicked insight. “I’ll grab these guys,” she told Benji. “Wanna make sure we’re all stocked up before things get busy tonight?” In two hours, the bar would be packed full because of the headline singer coming in from Nashville.
Benji’s attention stayed with the men entering the bar before he looked at her and nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
When he disappeared into the back room, Kinsley closed in on the three men sliding onto the stools at the bar, catching the RED DRAGON crest on the arms of their leather jackets. The biker gang hailed from Whitby Falls, the larger neighboring city to the north. They were bad news, a ruthless, dangerous motorcycle gang, who killed often, and never asked questions. Her dad, brother, and late grandfather were all cops, and growing up, Kinsley had heard stories of these guys. Terrible stories of murder, greed, and more murder.
“Welcome to Whiskey Blues,” she greeted them, placing three circular coasters down on the bar with the club’s logo of a guitar in neon blue and WHISKEY BLUES written in a bold yellow. “What can I get ya?”
The man who’d led the group inside ignored her question. Instead, he said, “Cute place.”
“Thanks.” She forced a smile, even though his tone made it clear that he meant to insult, not praise. “What can I get for you?” she repeated.
“Whiskey. Neat. All around.”
She turned away, fighting against the slight tremble of her fingers before she forced herself to get it together. Men like these got off on scaring the public. She’d never give them that satisfaction. She reached for three shot glasses then grabbed the whiskey bottle behind her bar, feeling their gazes examining her every move.
She poured the shots. “Enjoy.”
The same man grinned darkly, sending a chill straight into her bones. With his gaze set on hers, he lifted the shot glass in salute then downed it. There was something disconcerting in the way he watched her. A little too closely, knowingly almost. Though what truly worried her was the gun she saw resting beneath his leather coat.
After a lifetime around cops, Kinsley knew to trust her instincts, and her inner alarms screamed at her. While the other two men polished off their shots, she quickly moved to the other side of the bar, the hairs on the back of her neck rising with every step. She grabbed her cell phone from her back pocket and dialed her brother.
No answer.