“That witch is out for trouble,” the bartender, Dakota Wayne—or Kota, as everyone called him—warned her as he took the orders she’d brought back. “Watch yourself.”
“No kidding,” she muttered.
“Hey, while I’m putting your drinks together, could you run to the back and pull me some Jack and Johnnie Walker?” Kota called out.
“Got it, Kota.” Shoving her tips into the front pocket of her jeans, she moved quickly to the end of the bar, lifted the hinged top, and entered the “Employees Only” section.
“Keys.” Kota tossed her a key ring before turning back to the drinks he and the other bartender were quickly putting together.
Pushing through the swinging doors, she strode down the short hall before turning and heading for the liquor room.
As she entered the dimly lit, cool confines of the storage room and moved to the back shelves where the whiskey was, she was aware of voices in the office next door.
She lifted the large bottles of liquor and placed them in one arm, and was turning around as the sound of a familiar voice had her pausing.
“I don’t like it,” John protested from outside the storage room. “There are too many variables that could go wrong.”
“And if they go wrong, then we’re going to watch good friends suffer,” an unfamiliar voice argued. “We don’t want that.”
She didn’t want to hear this.
Deliberately bumping into a heavy shelf and causing it to smack against the wall, Eve cursed loud enough that she was sure to be heard.
The conversation abruptly stopped, and within seconds John was standing at the door of the storage room and staring into the dimly lit confines.
“Eve?” Narrowing his gaze on her, he watched her, not suspiciously, but curiously. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just been a long evening.” She moved more fully into the light, knowing he would be able to detect the signs of the headache she was fighting. There were few men, or even women, perceptive enough to pay attention to facial expressions or changes in them; however, there were too many men in her life who did just that: her boss, her brother, her cousins. The men who had saved her and her sisters five years before, and their very small circle of friends, almost seemed to have a second sense for it.
“Need to take off?” he asked, compassion lighting his pale blue eyes as he watched her intently.
“Who’s going to cover me?” She smiled back at him, appreciating the offer. “You’ll have Sierra out there serving drinks if you lose any more waitresses tonight.”
He grimaced at the thought. “She’ll start a riot.”
“She does every time,” Eve agreed with a little nod as she moved to the door and he backed up.
Closing the door behind her, she let him have the keys when he reached for them, and waited while he locked the door before handing them back to her.
“Tell Kota that if he needs liquor to call back and I’ll bring it out to him,” he offered quietly. “That way you don’t have to lug those bottles.” He nodded to the two in her arms.
“Got it, boss,” she promised, smiling back at him before heading back up the corridor quietly and moving back into the bar area.
Wow, whatever those two were talking about, he didn’t want to risk anyone hearing it again.
She doubted it was anything illegal. She knew John Walker and his wife too well, just as she knew her brother and cousins too well, to ever believe they would work on the wrong side of the law.
John and his friend were up to something, though, and that was scary. Because whatever John got into, then her brother and cousins were sure to follow. It was just the way it was when it came to Mackays and their family or friends. And John, his sister Rogue, and the Mackays, were definitely friends. And then—and she knew this well from the stories she had heard—then Timothy Cranston would get involved. . . .
Damn, she didn’t even want to consider the consequences there.
As she dropped the bottles off with Kota, he was placing the last of the drinks she had ordered on the tray.
Handing over the keys, she gave him John’s message and started to turn away.
“Everything okay, Evie?” he asked her as she paused. “You’re looking tired.”
“Headache coming on.” She sighed. “And I don’t think John liked me being in the back rooms, Kota, so I’d feel better if I didn’t have to do any more runs.”
“What makes you think that?” He tilted his head to the side curiously.
Eve gave a little shrug. “It was just a feeling.”
“Hell, the waitresses always go back there.” Kota frowned.
She gave a negligent shrug. “I just know what he said, Kota, and I don’t want to step on any toes, ya know?”
“Got it, sweet pea.” He gave a quick smile and nod, his expression clearing. “I’ll make sure you stay on the floor.”
Yippee.
Breathing out wearily at the thought, she grabbed the tray of drinks the other bartender, Matteo, pushed to her, and moved back into the throng. Though this time she carefully skirted the table where Brogan and Sandi sat.
She would have loved to know what the hell was going on with John— No, she didn’t want to know, she told herself quickly. She knew his type far too well. He was too much like Brogan, her brother Dawg, and her cousins Natches and Rowdy.
Brogan, John, Kota, and Matteo were cut from the same cloth, and to poke into their business was to invite trouble.
No, it was to beg for trouble.
She’d had enough trouble in her life before coming to Somerset to dare invite more. And she had no doubt in her mind that John was up to something. The group of men her brother was close to was always up to something.
She wasn’t so certain about Brogan yet, though she had hoped to find out. That aura of danger that surrounded him assured her that not knowing was probably for the best, though. This was as dangerous as she wanted her life to get, she assured herself as she evaded male hands attempting to pat her rear, cup a breast, or convince her to dance.
Her head was beginning to throb like gremlins were attempting to dig out her brains. And the gremlins were beginning to grow.
Glancing back to the table Brogan sat at, Eve saw Sandi running her fingers through his hair as she leaned toward his ear and said something. Eve’s temples began to pound even more. Anger was rushing through her, crashing through her system and making her headache worse as she delivered the drinks to the proper table.