wants to go into town, she’s going.” Landon shook his head ruefully. “I’ve never been able to control her, and I suggest you don’t try to.”
Tyler grimaced, knowing he wouldn’t be able to take that advice. Landon might not be able to control her, but God knew Zoe could use a keeper. And Tyler knew just the man for the job. If Landon wouldn’t check her, he would. For her own good.
Chapter Five
“It’s too quiet.”
“It’s a weekday.”
“It’s still too quiet.” Zoe flicked a glance around the Bar Nothing—the seedy honky-tonk where the shit had first hit the fan. It looked like the kind of place well acquainted with shit.
Shana had called dibs on investigating the town proper, hauling Caleb with her to do some shopping. Which stuck Zoe with the ass who thought he had the right to dictate her life just because she’d let him get to third base, trolling for clues at the high-class joint where Michael Minor had half-shifted defending his mate from a drunk. The Bar Nothing was filthy enough to be a health-code violation and probably a biohazard, smelled of beer and less savory things, and still managed to draw a crowd of hopeless hopefuls every weekend.
Zoe dragged a fingernail through the grime coating the chipped wood bar. “I do not understand the appeal of this place.”
Tyler shrugged, leaning one elbow against the bar at her side. She ignored the way his biceps flexed beneath his fresh shirt—she was too pissed at him to notice how mouthwatering he was right now. He’d been hulking over her protectively, shadowing her every move since they walked out of Landon’s place. And from the way he avoided looking at her, he was still pissy because he hadn’t been able to leave her home, chained to the stove.
“Beer’s cheap, music’s loud, and everyone looking to get laid comes here, male and female.”
Jealousy spiked, an unwanted jab in Zoe’s gut. “Know this from experience, do we?”
“I’ve lived twenty miles from here my whole life. So yeah, I know from experience. Doesn’t mean I’ve been here recently.”
Zoe refused to ask what qualified as recently. They didn’t have that kind of relationship, where they talked about past lovers. She reminded herself that she didn’t want that kind of relationship. Tyler Minor was just an itch to scratch.
And from the appetizer she’d gotten in the garage, he was pretty damn good at scratching.
But right now, he was the last thing she needed to be thinking about. She’d lived outside the prides long enough to know distractions could get you caught or killed.
Zoe studied their surroundings as the bartender ambled in their direction. His slow pace didn’t appear to be due to caution, just his natural rolling gait—which made no sense. Michael going part-furry was bound to leave an impression. Tyler and Michael had drastically different coloring, but their features and build were so similar the bartender should have reacted. Caution, wariness, something.
If he’d been working that night. Though he seemed like the kind of guy who was a fixture in the bar, working every night. Fifty-something and heavyset with a face like a bulldog and a wedding ring embedded on one fleshy finger, he spat on the floor and folded his arms over the barrel of his chest. “Getcha somethin’?”
“Whiskey sour, please.” Zoe put a little extra oomph in her smile to make up for the behemoth glaring at the world next to her.
“Bud,” the behemoth grunted.
The bartender nodded, keeping the same lazy pace as he reached under the bar. Out of the corner of her eye, Zoe saw Tyler’s shoulders tense then relax slightly when the bartender came up with a bottle of Jack. She knew he was remembering Michael’s description of the pump shotgun that also lived underneath the scarred wood.
But her new buddy the bartender didn’t seem inclined to drive them out at gunpoint. That’s a start. He just mixed her drink, popped the top off Tyler’s beer and slid them across the bar until the glass caught on a crack in the wood and stopped itself. Tyler laid a ten next to the trail of condensation. The bartender nodded to Zoe with a “Ma’am”, scooped up the money, and ambled back toward the regulars shooting the shit at the opposite end of the bar.
“That was anticlimactic,” Zoe commented, sipping her sour. “I expected threats and pitchforks at least.”
“Maybe they only do lynchings every other day.”
Zoe frowned, scanning the room and examining every drunken patron in turn. “They aren’t even