Page 8 of Twister’s Salvation (Saint’s Outlaws MC: Madison, WI #1)

Tempi

The clink of clean glass against clean glass was one of my favorite sounds.

There was something calming about it. Just me, the bar, and a few dozen pint glasses still dripping from their last run through the washer.

Eleven fifteen. We’d been open all of fifteen minutes.

Britta wouldn’t roll in until three, and the regulars never started filing in until at least four. Mornings were mine except for the one-off customer who wandered in. I could get things done without yelling over jukebox music or dodging darts.

The quiet didn’t last.

The front door creaked open, bringing with it the sound of the street, distant traffic, the hiss of a city bus, and the jingle of someone’s bike bell.

“Tempi!”

a familiar voice called.

“The prettiest bartender on State Street.”

I didn’t even have to look up.

I rolled my eyes and reached for another glass.

“You say that to all the bartenders, Frank. Even Mick over at the Salty Badger.”

I looked up just in time to catch Frank Osborn grinning like the devil in a Packers windbreaker, while his big hand gestured behind him to Nick Hamlet, who followed him inside like a quiet shadow.

“I just call ‘em like I see ‘em,”

Frank said and slid onto his usual stool at the bar.

Nick sat beside him with a nod. Less flashy, but still sharp. I’d seen them both more times than I could count. City guys, not politicians exactly, but they had their hands in city council meetings, real estate committees, and zoning boards. They didn’t own Madison, but they knew who did.

“What can I get you?” I asked.

“Wisconsin Amber for me,”

Frank said.

“Same,”

Nick added.

I grabbed two chilled pint glasses from the cooler and poured. The foam rose just high enough to crown the amber-colored beer before sliding it across the counter to them.

They didn’t drink right away. That was the first clue.

Frank leaned in slightly.

“So, how’s business?”

I shrugged.

“Can’t complain. Locals are still thirsty, and the cheese curds are still squeaking.”

Nick chuckled quietly, but Frank just kept looking at me with that smile that never quite reached his eyes.

“You had a full house the other night,”

he said, grabbing his beer but still not taking a sip.

“Heard it was loud in here.”

I kept my face blank and picked up another glass to polish.

“We had a good crowd, yeah.”

“Bikers, right?”

Nick added, voice casual but too smooth.

“The Saint’s Outlaws?”

My hands didn’t stop moving, but my gut tightened just a little.

“Yeah, they came in,”

I said with my tone even.

“Had some food and a few drinks.”

Frank nodded.

“You talk to them much?”

I set the polished glass down gently.

“Not really. They were having a good time, but nothing out of line. Paid their tab and tipped well.”

There was a beat of silence. The kind that had weight.

Frank’s fingers tapped on the bar.

“You know anything about ‘em?”

That’s when it hit me; they weren’t making conversation. They were digging. Friendly smiles, casual tone, but their questions were all aimed in the same direction.

I gave a shrug and turned to wipe down the back bar, giving myself a second to think.

“Not really. Just that they came in for burgers and whiskey. Didn’t cause trouble.”

I saw Nick exchange a look with Frank in the mirror behind the bar.

Frank leaned in slightly.

“They’re not from around here. You know that, right?”

“I figured,”

I said, keeping my voice neutral.

“Didn’t really seem like Wisconsin born and bred.”

“They’re setting up shop,”

Nick added.

“Clubhouse and a business. A whole operation.”

I turned back toward them.

“Yeah, I heard.”

Frank tilted his head.

“You okay with that?”

I blinked.

“What does that mean?”

“Just asking,”

Frank said, and lifted his beer finally to take a sip.

“Seems like a big shift for downtown. New faces, new muscle. Not everyone likes that.”

I placed both hands flat on the bar, smiling lightly.

“Isn’t Madison all about welcoming everyone? I’m pretty sure there’s a billboard that says so.”

Frank let out a chuckle, but it didn’t sound amused.

“You got a sharp tongue, Tempi. Just like your old man.”

“Must be genetic,”

I drawled. I normally liked Frank and Nick, but right now, they were rubbing me the wrong way. I grabbed another glass to polish.

They fell quiet for a moment while they both finally drank their beer. The tension didn’t break. It just shifted, thinner now, like fishing line stretched tight.

Nick leaned forward.

“Just… keep your eyes open, alright? If you hear anything about what they’re doing, who they’re meeting with, what they’re planning, maybe pass it along.”

I kept my expression flat.

“I’m just a bartender.”

Frank smiled, too wide.

“Exactly. Bartenders hear everything.”

I didn’t reply.

“We all gotta look out for each other,”

Nick added.

“Especially now.”

I gave a tight nod. “Sure.”

They finished their beers in silence. When they stood, Frank pulled out his wallet and dropped a few bills on the bar, more than needed, but not generous enough to feel like a bribe.

Nick adjusted his jacket and looked at me again.

“Just be careful, Tempi. You don’t know what kind of people you’re letting into your place.”

“Thanks for the warning,”

I said evenly.

They left with a nod. Frank gave a parting wink before the door swung shut behind them.

I stood there for a moment with my heart ticking a little faster than I liked and a polished glass still in my hand. I set it down and reached for another, but my focus was gone.

They weren’t just nosy.

They were warning me.

Or threatening me.

And I didn’t like either version.

The Badger’s Den was my home. This place was my roots. People came in, drank, talked, and left their stress at the door. That’s what it was supposed to be.

But this?

This was something else.

I shook it off and got back to work, but I couldn’t shake the weird feeling crawling up my spine.

Frank and Nick might’ve smiled like neighbors.

But I’d just seen the wolf behind the grin.

And it was watching.