Page 4 of Don't Speak

CHAPTER THREE

I started working at The Bunker Bar around the same time as when I bought the house.

The last three years have been pretty smooth sailing.

I haven’t had too many issues with the patrons, and the regulars have always been very nice.

I loved the concept of the bar when I first started.

It’s built to replicate an actual bunker, so when you walk through the doors, you have to take a spiral staircase down to the floor.

Of course, there are a few emergency exits in case of a fire or an event that needs a swift exit of patrons, but I enjoy working here.

Even though it’s been hard keeping bartenders around.

By day, The Bunker Bar is a relaxed bar and lunch establishment, and by night, it’s a banging nightclub. Best of both worlds, honestly.

Ben, my manager, greets me as I enter the building. “Hey, Nikki. How you doin’ today?”

“Oh, you know. Same shit, different day. You?”

“Ready to get this shift over with,” he responds with a brief yawn.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” I ask.

“Hardly. The baby has been waking up every morning around 3am lately. I try to give Sarah a break a few nights a week, so I’ve been gettin’ up with him. Last night was brutal. He left me some not-so-nice gifts in his diaper.”

“Well, I’m glad you have the next few days off after tonight. You need to catch up on some sleep. Nothing is worse than being exhausted during the day.” I should know.

“Yeah, I’m definitely looking forward to a bit of a break,” he says, following it with another yawn.

Ben and his wife, Sarah, just had a baby a few weeks ago.

He’s a very attentive husband and an overall nice guy.

He’s been understanding when I need time off, never questioning my reasons.

He’s fun to work with and will check the patrons if they get out of line.

I’m happy for both of them. He’s a great dad.

“I’m gonna finish up taking inventory in the back before we open for the day.

Holler if you need me,” he states before leaving the room.

I walk around the bar, grabbing the rags to wipe down the bar tops.

We do this every closing shift, so it’s just a quick touch-up before I clear out the remaining dishes that need to be washed.

“Hey, gorgeous,” a voice says from behind. “Ready to work our double today?”

My lip curls in disgust. Ughh, no. Eric, my fuckboy co-worker, enters the bar area with a huge grin on his face.

Eric is the type of guy who thinks he is God’s gift to women.

With his shaggy blond hair, blue eyes, and pearly white smile, he exudes cringe-worthy energy.

He has slept with almost all of the wait staff here and thinks no means “not right now.” I can’t stand the guy, but I remain cordial for work purposes.

“Yeah. Should be a busy night. Hoping to make a few hundred in tips,” I respond blandly.

Eric takes a few steps toward me, closing the space between us.

I’m up against the bar, so there isn’t much room for me to move.

My body vibrates with rage, and my stomach begins to sour due to how uncomfortable he’s making me.

I turn to face him, looking up at him as he approaches.

He reaches out and gently glides a finger down my cheek before whispering, “Maybe after work, we could go back to my place?”

Chills run up my spine at his proximity.

I’m pretty good at reading people, and Eric has never given me anything but dark vibes.

Under the facade of being a Greek god, there’s definitely more to him.

I’ve dealt with guys like him before, and I’m tired of them getting whatever they want, whenever they want it.

Looking up at him, I stare directly into his eyes and say, “There is no way in hell I would ever go back to your place.” His eyes briefly flicker to what looks like anger before he puts his mask back up.

“Aww, you wound me, baby,” he says, faking a knife to the heart. I brush past him, not giving him another second to say or do anything else. I finish up the chores in preparation for the doors opening. Eric disappears, heading toward the back where Ben is.

I hope that we start hiring some new people soon. I hate being short-staffed.

The lunch rush came and went. It was pretty uneventful.

A few of our regulars came in, ordered their food, and had a couple drinks before heading back out to reality.

There isn’t a lot that occurs during lunch hours, which is why I prefer the night shift.

Most people have already eaten by the time they get here, so it’s nothing but drinks for most of them.

The tables and chairs we have out for lunch are pushed to the side, leaving an open dance floor, and we typically have a DJ or live band performing.

Tonight, we have a DJ—a pretty good one, I might add.

He’s playing a mix of 90s alternative, hip-hop, and today’s hits. I’ve been jamming while pouring drinks.

The bar is packed, and I have been running back and forth non-stop.

There are two of us back here, but it doesn’t seem to be enough.

Cora is working the bar with me, which I am glad about.

Cora and I get along great. She has a bubbly personality but a no-bullshit attitude.

She isn’t afraid to tell you what you need to hear instead of what you want to hear.

Bonus points, she also sees right through Eric’s facade.

We are the only two women in the building he hasn’t slept with.

Eric is in charge of walking around and grabbing the glasses from the floor to wash and restock.

“What can I get you?” I ask the bald man on the other side of the bar.

“I’ll have a Corona, dressed, and a shot of Patron, please.

” I love it when orders are simple. It moves the line along quickly.

Grabbing a Corona bottle, I sprinkle some beer salt around the rim, dress it with a lime, and pour his simple shot of tequila, adding a lime wedge to the rim.

“Do you already have a tab open?” I ask, handing him his drinks.

“I do. Last name is Babbins.” Finding it quickly, I nod, giving him the silent okay for him to walk away.

I turn to place a bottle back on the shelf, and when I turn back around to take the next order, I freeze.

It’s the man from the café earlier. Damn, he’s gorgeous.

He’s probably 6’2”, with an average build, some defined muscle, which is decorated in black and grey tattoos, and he has hazel eyes and medium-length dark-brown hair.

I could definitely grab hold of that. Is it normal for me to see the same stranger twice on the same day?

I mean, I know it’s a small town, but still.

I went from never seeing him to seeing him twice in the same day.

“What can I get for you?” I ask, looking him up and down a bit longer than I intended.

“What is your specialty with whiskey?” he responds, a slight smirk lifting on his face.

“I can make a pretty mean whiskey sour.”

“Then a whiskey sour is what I’ll have.”

“Coming right up.” Grabbing the shaker, I toss equal parts Jim Beam and lemon juice with equal parts simple syrup and egg white, shake with ice, and pour into a whiskey glass. Garnishing it with a lemon wedge, I hand the glass to him and take his card. “Do you want to keep it open or close it?”

“Close it, please.” I do just that, printing his receipt and handing it to him with a pen.

He signs and hands it back before walking away.

That was weird. Not a talker, I see. Grabbing his receipt, I look down and see that he tipped me $100 on his one-drink tab.

“What the hell?” I say, a little too loudly.

“What? Is everything okay?” Cora asks, concern etched in her features as she shakes up a mojito.

“Yeah. Everything is great. That guy just tipped me $100, and he only ordered a whiskey sour,” I respond, wide-eyed and in shock.

“No shit! That’s awesome! Where is he?”

Looking up to find the man, I realize he’s long gone, disappeared somewhere into the crowd.

With as many people as there are in here, I won’t be able to find him.

“I don’t know. I can’t see him from here, but he closed out, so I don’t think he’s coming back.

” I look back down at the receipt again, looking for a name.

What I find, though, is weirder than I have words to explain.

Next to his signature are the words, “Be careful, little lioness. People are not as they seem.”