Chapter 3

THREE

KYLE

The manbehind the bar introduces himself as Sal. He is, indeed, Sal of Sal's Bar. I love it. There's something to be said for small towns, and while I've never been immersed in one, I hope that this one lives up to the hype.

He watches me, tilting his head to the side, his eyes taking me in, and then he jerks his chin as if he's made some kind of decision. He's animated in his own way, and I'm here for it. I also can't help but smile as I look at him.

"You come in here tomorrow at noon. I'll get you all trained up, and you can work the floor. I always need the help, and my best waitresses usually leave for more… lucrative positions," he says.

I don't ask him what that means. I've also been through enough in my life to know that you don't ask questions when someone is being specifically ominous. They're doing it for a reason, and that reason is none of my damn business.

Sinking my teeth into the corner of my bottom lip, I think about the offer. It sounds too good to be true, honestly. But I know how to do the work, it's comfortable, and it will keep me busy.

"Most of the bars around here have closed. Downtown used to be seedy bars, but that area's been cleaned up. I'm the biggest, busiest place around until you get to the town of about a hundred thousand people, and that town is twenty miles away."

Well… then, I suppose I'm sold.

"There's a bakery downtown. They have had a couple part-time positions…" His words trail off.

He knows I'm desperate, but he just doesn't know why. I need money to live on. But a bakery job isn't going to cut it. There's no question about that. He also knows that working at a bar is going to be the most bang for my time. As long as your top is just a little too low-cut and your jeans are a little too tight, tips are usually abundant in places like this.

"I'll be here."

He winks. "Thought that's what you'd say. Wine's on the house. Consider it a sign-on bonus."

I thank him, and he nods again, reminds me to be here at noon, and then turns and walks away to focus on his other patrons. Spinning around in my seat, I look out at the bar. There is a lot of movement for such a small area.

Not just movement around the floor itself, but men seem to keep going to the back hallway, and then different men come out of the same hallway, and what I notice the most… there are no women here.

Not a single one.

That's odd.

I know that bars are usually frequented by men, but to not have a single woman at all… odd. Shaking my head, I decide to finish my wine, then ask where a motel is so I can get a room there with the little money I have left.

Hopefully, I can start working tomorrow and make enough tip money to pay for my room every night. That is the least I can hope for. The most I can hope for is that I'm able to stay here long enough to save for an apartment to rent.

It would be nice to have a home again. I once had an apartment in Arkansas. It took Xavier a little longer to find me there. I even had some secondhand furniture and everything. I loved it, and I cried when I was taken from there for several reasons, the biggest being that I was ripped from my first home.

Once I'm finished with my wine, I stand and walk over to the other side of the bar, where Sal is leaning and chatting with a man around his age. They're laughing as I approach. Sal jerks his chin toward me, his eyes catching mine.

"Here's the new girl who's brave enough to be working the floor," he says with a laugh.

The other gentleman lifts his hand and gives me a wave but doesn't say anything. I smile and dip my chin toward him. "I'm sorry to interrupt," I say, "but is there a motel within walking distance?"

Sal frowns. "Walking distance?" he asks.

"My car ran out of gas a few miles down the road. I was planning to get some in the morning and take it out there when it's light. But for tonight, I thought I'd just walk to a motel."

There is a moment of silence. Then Sal shakes his head a couple of times. "I'm sure you wouldn't accept a ride from me, but I don't want you walking out there alone. Pineville is safe, but still."

"Maybe there's an Uber or something?" I ask.

He snorts. "New age, shit," Sal grumbles. "I'll have one of the girls drive you. And while you wait, I'll get the kitchen to make you something to eat."

I open my mouth to ask him what girl because I've seen zero women, but I decide not to. Walking back to my seat at the bar, I sink down on the stool and set my duffel at my feet again. A few moments later, a plate of fried deliciousness is sitting in front of me.

"No salad's here at Sal's," he announces. Then he chuckles. "That should be my slogan."

"Thank you. It looks amazing," I whisper.

He turns from me and goes about his business again. Tears well in the backs of my eyes. I try to blink them away, but a few escape. In all my years of life, a mere thirty, I've encountered kindness on the run, but nothing like this.

I feel, dare I even think… at home.

I don't know if I've ever felt this sensation before, but it's here, and I don't want it to ever go away. I hope I don't have to run from here. I think I'm really going to like it. I should have come to a small town all those years ago. Four years ago, when I ran.

Reaching for a French fry, I bring it to my lips and take a bite. It's good, damn good. The chicken strips look amazing, too. I eat it all, every single bite. And by the time I'm finished, I am so full that all I want to do is take a nap.

"It's fried in beef tallow. It's what makes it so good," Sal announces as he passes by me.

Beef tallow. My eyes widen. I didn't know that was a thing. But I understand why they do it, because that was the best fried food I've ever had in my life, and I don't usually eat much of it.

What feels like just seconds later, there is a tap on my shoulder. Looking behind me, I see a girl who can't be more than twenty. She's got bleached blonde hair, heavy makeup, and is wearing an oversized T-shirt with tight exercise shorts. She's beautiful.

"Sal said you needed a ride," she says with a smile.

Maybe I shouldn't feel safe with her, considering I don't even know her, but I grab my bag and slide off the stool. Hitching my duffel over my shoulder, I give her a smile, because I actually do feel safe with her. This whole scenario gives me zero bad vibes.

"I'm Kyle, by the way," I introduce myself.

She continues to grin at me. "I'm Bren," she says. "The motel in town is just a few miles away. It's clean, and the people running it are great. I've stayed there before."

"Thanks," whisper.

I follow behind her and climb into her gorgeous, brand-new, lifted four-door Jeep Wrangler. The Jeep is awesome. I've seen them on the road before, drooling with envy as they passed by me, but I have never been inside one.

Bren gives me a grin and a wink before she starts the engine. Then she's off, and the girl drives this Jeep like we're in an off-road race… I love every second. I decide that when I'm able to, I'm buying one of these for myself. It may take me a decade, but I'm doing it.

GNAW

Atomic arches a brow at me.I've read the proposal to myself and then aloud to him. Sal's proposal. He can financially do a lot. Truly, he doesn't need us or our money, but he wants us involved for protection.

Protection is the main thing he's after here. I know without a doubt that there is more to this story, and reading the documents told the story, or at least part of it. It's not the local cops and the feds that he has to worry about. They're all in on his shit. They're all frequent visitors of Sal's Bar, both back rooms.

"The goddamn Southern Mafia?" Atomic asks. "What the actual fuck?"

I snort, leaning back in my chair. "Yeah, the fucking Southern Mafia. I didn't even know they were still around. I thought they disbanded years ago when their leader retired and moved to Arizona, but I guess they've been flying under the radar."

Atomic picks up the paper again, reading it as he lets out a heavy sigh. "Fuck, there's nothing we can do," he says.

Frowning, I start to ask him what he means by that, but I don't have to because he continues to speak.

"There's nothing we can do except support him. We'll be his backers and his protection. Sal is part of Pineville, and no way those fucks are going to invade our territory. In fact, I think we need to abolish them completely. Because fuck them. They don't get to come into Texas."

"I agree," I say. "But are we ready to take on more? A bar, a strip club, and a gambling club?" I ask. "We've got keg deliveries, loan collections, and merchandise distribution deliveries."

Atomic stands and walks over to the window. He stares outside, rocks back on his heels, then spins around to face me. His eyes find mine, and his lips curve up into a grin. He chuckles, and finally, he speaks.

"Okay," he says, "we don't necessarily have resources, but what we do have is the ability to gather them."

"How?" I ask.

Dipping his chin, he lets out a long sigh. "Let's regroup," he begins. "I've been thinking about this for a while, and I knew I needed to restructure some things. Prospects can do all the keg deliveries. That shit is busy work. It keeps us, as a club, somewhat honest. Members can focus on warehouse deliveries. And the office-holding members can help out Sal."

"You want me and the rest of the officers to do club business and run a gambling and strip club?" I ask.

He jerks his chin, then walks around the front of the desk and leans against it. I watch as he grips the edge, his eyes finding mine again.

"I know we're busy, but taking keg and warehouse deliveries off the table will free us up a bit. All of you, in my cabinet, you're the ones I trust with something like this. The other guys won't be able to handle the strippers."

"You think we will?" I ask.

He snorts. "Two of us are married with old ladies and babies. The other ones are old enough to keep their dicks in their pants for the job. I think that's the best solution to this issue. And honestly, I don't want just anyone when it comes to the Southern Mafia. I need my men."

Then his men are who he will get—proudly.

"Sal's going to love this shit," I point out.

"Good, I think it's going to be beneficial as fuck."

And that is that.

We are now in charge of Sal's Bar, the expansion of the strip club, and the gambling house. I laugh, knowing that Sal is going to be over the moon about this. I'm also not mad at the fact that I get to see strippers on the regular.

I can keep my dick in my pants… barely.

There are plenty of clubwhores willing and ready to help me with my dick. But I can't deny that it will be nice to see some pretty girls dancing naked on a pole. Nothing wrong with looking, even if Atomic doesn't want us touching… much.

"We have to iron out details," I point out.

"Tell Sal I'll take the meet. Just let me know when."

I decide to call him immediately, knowing he's probably been waiting on pins and fucking needles for an answer. I think I would feel the same way if any other organization was trying to come for my business.

"Gnaw?" Sal shouts into the phone as his greeting.

"When can you meet?" I shout back, mainly just matching his intensity.

"Tomorrow, noon," he barks.

"We'll be there."

"Fucking great."

And that is that. A meeting is set with Sal to tell him we are in on his proposal and that we are, without a doubt, ready to invest in his bar. Partially because his bar really is great, and also because fuck the Southern Mafia. They do not belong in our goddamn town. Pineville is our territory, not theirs. Texas itself is ours and not fucking theirs.