"Hey," Vonn growled in an effort to drown it out. But he knew that the bartender had heard him the first time.
The gray-haired brother manning the bar tonight wasn't the usual one—but unluckily for Vonn, he was the most sanctimonious of the pinch hitters. Gray might be the closest thing they had to a leader in the uplands of the Pacific Northwest Boundarylands, but he was a little too casual about getting into other brothers' business, in Vonn's opinion. Though if he was being honest—(ha ha! the little voice chimed in) Vonn hadn't much cared until the older alpha had focused all that judgment on him.
At the moment, Gray was watching him with his arms crossed and unmistakable disapproval in his eyes, his pinched expression reminding Vonn of his second-grade teacher. Mrs. Peabody had written a note to Vonn's parents saying that she would recommend holding him back a year if she wasn't worried she'd have him in her classroom again.
As far as Vonn was concerned, betas like her deserved what they got. If she had just let him wear himself out during recess instead of constantly screeching at him, he might have worked off enough energy to be able to sit still in class. But no… betas' impulse when confronted by something they couldn't control was to double down.
At least Gray wouldn't do anything stupid like try to kick him out of the roadhouse. Vonn had every right to his seat at the bar unless he threatened another brother—and even that would probably just get him ordered outside until they settled the argument.
Unfortunately, there wasn't anything in alpha law to keep a brother from acting like his damn mommy. Vonn had hoped that he'd be drunk enough by now not to care what kind of shit Gray gave him, but apparently he wasn't quite there yet.
"I ordered another beer," he said, slurring slightly.
"I heard you." Gray didn't move a muscle.
Vonn looked around, but everyone had gone back to their drinking. "Somebody ought to tell Trace what a shitty substitute barkeep you are."
"Why don't you do it yourself?" Gray asked mockingly, knowing it was the last thing in the world that Vonn wanted to do.
"You know I can't."
Gray shrugged and scratched the back of his head. "Might be a good exercise in self-control."
"I got plenty of that, asshole," Vonn shot back. No one could dispute Vonn's discipline; the four wooded acres he'd single-handedly cleared last summer was proof. "Now get me another fucking beer."
As the seconds ticked by and Gray didn't move, Vonn wondered if he was going to have to throw a punch to satisfy his thirst, but finally, the older brother sighed and grabbed his mug and began to refill it. Neither spoke as he poured an amateurish pint with a sloppy head and slid it across the bar. "This is the last one, Vonn. After this, you're cut off."
"I never realized you had a sense of humor," Vonn said with a sneer. "Turns out you're fucking hysterical."
Gray only shook his head before walking away to the other end of the bar. Fine with Vonn—he wasn't looking for the judgmental bastard's company anyway. There were plenty of guys as drunk as him here tonight.
Okay, maybe not plenty, but some…and yet Vonn was the only one Gray was trying to put into a time-out. The fact that Vonn knew exactly why only pissed him off further.
If this was really going to be his last drink of the night, then he was going to need something a hell of a lot harder than beer. Vonn leaned over the bar—being one of the tallest alphas in the settlement came in handy sometimes—and groped around underneath, grabbing the first bottle he touched.
In his first stroke of luck in ages, Vonn came up with a nearly-full bottle of Wild Turkey. He picked up his beer and downed it in one long gulp, then twisted the top off the bourbon and poured half the bottle into the glass. He set the bottle down and took a healthy sip.
Ahhh….that was better.
If Gray didn't like it, he could go to hell. The alpha knew exactly why Vonn could only come to the roadhouse four nights out of every month these days. He should have been able to understand that on those nights, Vonn needed to pack as much into the night as possible. And since tonight wasn't one of the nights the working girls were…well, working, getting as drunk as possible was about the best he was going to do. And that was no small feat when you weighed nearly four hundred pounds of muscle.
"Don't think I didn't see that," Gray called down the bar like a mother hen, causing a few of Vonn's fellow patrons to give them both a curious glance.
"Don't think I give a shit," he shot back.
Screw it—half a bottle might not do the trick.
Vonn picked up his brimming glass in one hand and swiped the bottle of Wild Turkey in the other before heading straight for the door. He didn't need to waste a precious night out trading barbs with Gray when he could get just as drunk outside in peace.
Unfortunately, it was a balmy spring night, and the covered patio was full of revelers. It was unseasonably warm for May. The creeks were running high with snowmelt, the breeze was light, and everyone was in high spirits—especially once the sun had gone down. Laughter mixed with the clinking of glasses and the sound of dice being thrown. The mournful picking of a banjo drifted from the campground out back where the beta smugglers stayed while they were trading.
The betas were tolerated at the roadhouse only because they were respectful of alpha culture, keeping to themselves other than an occasional night in the bar, where they occupied a table in the back and exhibited better manners than a bunch of debutantes learning to curtsy. There was also the unfortunate fact that with the borders still locked
