Whiskey Sour
Abby Knox
Copyright © 2021 by Abby Knox
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Edited by Aquila Editing
Cover by Mayhem Cover Creations
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Abby Knox
Chapter One
Dash
Scanning the crowd of usual drunks and sketchy characters at Crow Bar that night, Dash felt uneasy.
"You look on edge."
The statement rang right in his left ear from Dash's fellow bouncer at Crow Bar, Levi Spanos. The new bar owner had insisted on the entire staff wearing headsets as if they were a security team at a pop concert. Dash felt ridiculous wearing those things.
"It's the stupid headsets," Dash grumbled into the mic. "Keeps getting tangled in my hair."
Even though Levi was clear on the other side of the room, keeping an eye on some drunk college girls, Dash could detect the note of sarcasm when Levi replied, "That must be it. I'm sure a man bun will solve your problems."
Dash shot back, "Stay in your lane, buddy. You know, the lane with the college students you're so fond of." Dash knew that low blow would have earned him an elbow to the gut. Levi had met his college-age girlfriend Fiona when that loudmouth creep Jerry Walls had harassed her. Though what the governor's daughter was doing at Crow Bar, the roughest bar in Newcastle, was anyone's guess.
Tonight, there were more college students than usual. Having been the spot where, on New Year's Eve, the capo's punk son had attempted to shoot the governor, Crow Bar had become somewhat of a tourist spot for all kinds of locals who would never otherwise set foot south of the river.
Not only were those new customers unaccustomed to the neighborhood, but the Brute Squad had the challenge of preventing dust-ups between the newbies and the surly dockworkers, loudmouth drunks, sailors on leave, wise guys, biker gangs, and — god forbid — The Recruiter. Two women had disappeared from Dockside in the last year, but police and FBI had yet been unable to connect the disappearances to organized crime. Nobody knew who The Recruiter was, but when the alcohol flowed, wise guys talked. And the bar staff low-key listened to every conversation.
Apart from the headset, Dash had no specific reason to feel as if he was standing on the edge of a knife that night. The crowd was relatively calm. The usual customers were in a good mood, even. For a good reason: The city's top crime boss, Ralph Girardi, and his top generals were sitting in jail awaiting trial for suspected ties to the political assassination attempt. The FBI was investigating the Miami Mafia, which had attempted to poach the Girardi family's assets in the meantime. And Dockside's longtime corrupt representation on city council had just been arrested on bribery charges.
The vibe was slightly less paranoid around the neighborhood and likewise in the neighborhood's favorite bar.
Just as Dash had begun to talk himself out of his hyper-vigilant state, she walked in.
Harper Ross.
His spidey-sense must have been tingling; her presence anywhere always set Dash's teeth on edge. Apart from the Ross and the Fitzgerald families' immovable hatred for each other, Harper Ross was simply a thorn in his side.
She was always prancing into Crow Bar, fired up about something, gathering signatures for a cause, drawing attention to herself.
Dash positioned himself on the far wall, and Holden, handling the door, warned him via the headset. "Firecracker incoming."
His best friend, Holden, used that code word to talk about Harper. The term was appropriate. With her red curls, small size, and zippy way of talking people into joining whatever cause she was into at the moment, she was the embodiment of a firecracker.
That night, she walked right up to Holden, her clipboard in hand. Dash rolled his eyes, readying himself for a lecture.
"Did you know about the sinkhole on Tenth Street?"
He sighed. "Yeah. Everybody knows about it."
She held out a pen. "Good. Then you'll be relieved to know that tonight is your last chance to sign my petition to get the old underground tunnels filled in and tell the city that Dockside will not be ignored during the current budget talks. Are you listening to me?"
Dash was listening, but he was also watching a creepy-looking dude who was staring at Harper's backside.
"Not really. You should go."
She cocked her head. "Am I making you look uncool in front of your Butthead Squad?"
"Brute. We're called the Brute Squad, and you know that we didn't make up that name. Also, you know my name is Dash."
Harper smirked. "Oh, I know lots of things. I also know the sinkhole adds extra delivery time for the bar's suppliers since the trucks have to be re-routed through alleyways and other streets that can't handle the weight, which will ultimately result in more sinkholes…you see where I'm going with this?"
Dash had been trying not to look at her but then finally made eye contact. Her blue eyes narrowed, awaiting a response.
Dash was ready for her to be gone. He didn't like how some of the sketchier folks in the bar turned to look at her the louder she voiced her opinions. And he didn't like her, or the way she tried to rile him.
He tried to maintain his calm. "That's more a
