Wrong Side of the Tracks by Ashley Zakrzewski

ChapterOne

Heart drumming in her chest, Julia Hayes opened the passenger door of the Town Car and sat for a moment, taking in the Wake and its surroundings. The fact that she and her friends were here was due to her relentless pushing and desire to escape the Cliffs—the wealthy section of the city on the east side of the river—and everything it stood for. Where they all lived, worked, and played.

The Wake’s reputation preceded itself.

The two-story structure, towering and proud, stood in a large, cleared forested area. Mismatched lights decorated its exterior, hanging from the eaves and secured around the window frames, giving the caked-with-grime panes an odd color wash. The building was in need of paint and repairs.

Rows of gleaming and magnificent motorcycles—mostly Harleys—were parked in the weedy grass in front of the generous porch, parting at the wide stepped entry.

Commercial LED lighting illuminated the gravel and dirt parking lot and its assortment of newer and well-used trucks, and more Harleys.

Porter, her father’s driver, spoke from his seat. “Miss Julia, I am not comfortable leaving you and your friends here. It is worse than I imagined,” he said adamantly. “You and your friends shouldn’t be here. I should not have driven you here. Your father—”

Julia waved a hand in the air and laughed. “Father’s out of town. And Mother …” She closed her eyes tightly and grimaced before opening them again. Only a few weeks home and she wanted to leave. “Don’t you worry, Porter. If you hadn't driven us, we would have gotten someone else to, or appointed one of us a designated driver.”

Porter turned and faced her. The skin around his sullen eyes had sunken, and the lines finer and more frequent. Julia had known him all her life. He'd been a loyal and lively employee of Wilson Hayes since before she was born, and seldom had she seen him so stern.

His voice was threaded with worry. “This isn’t the sort of establishment a Hayes frequents. Your parents—”

“That’s exactly the problem. My parents …”

“Miss Julia—”

“The only thing Susan and Wilson Hayes would be worried about is if I were to embarrass them. Not going to happen. At least, not tonight. I survived Europe without my parents, without any major hiccups. I can easily survive the Wake. Besides, there are five of us.  We’re staying here. Dancing and drinking. Not a word, Porter. You promised. Midnight. I’ll call if it’s earlier. Thanks.”

Her eyes passed over the riveted expressions of her friends seated behind her and grinned. She scooted out and stood, waiting as her friends followed.

Ported leaned toward her opened door and pointed at the building. “There are more of them. Far more. Your parents—”

Julia slammed the door before he could finish, then turned and bathed her friends in a beaming smile. “Shall we?”

Gravel crunched behind her as the Town Car crept away. Her friends Haven, Edie, Tilly, and Poppy trailed behind, having accepted Julia’s dare. Dressed in thrifted clothes, like her, each was fortified with a shot of tequila enjoyed at Poppy’s, and confident of easing into one of the most notorious establishments in Torch River unnoticed.

Until now. Julia and her friends hadn’t done anything this wild since high school. Sure, they had driven through the Narrows periodically, itching to leave the confines of the Cliffs and curious about the residents on the other side of the river, but it had been ages. Nervous, they chattered quietly.

Live music came from somewhere behind the old building. The robust guitar riffs and bass lines and the driving rhythm of drums pulsed through her body.

The shiver running through her had everything to do with an edgy excitement as she sauntered toward the Wake. She was completely out of her element here in the Narrows—the “wrong side” of Torch River, situated along the west side of the river, the city’s namesake, and it was thrilling. She halted, wanting to absorb all of it.

Haven teased loudly. “Are we going in, Julia, or are you just going to keep staring?”

“Yeah, this is making me jumpy.” Tilly snapped her fingers, a habit that drove Julia nuts. She nodded to the bikes. “There are a lot of rough guys here, as in bikers. Nothing like the wannabes on the Cliffs, right? We’re going to see the real deal tonight, better than that show on cable. I mean, look at all these damned motorcycles. Plus, what do they call their women?” She snapped her fingers again, her eyes bouncing from friend-to-friend for the answer.

“Ol' or old ladies, I think. There might be some tough women, too.” Poppy added.

Edie’s voice was high and tight. “But we’re tough, right?”

Julia glanced over her shoulder at her friends. “Settle down. Tilly, your snapping makes me jumpy. Stop worrying and embrace the possibilities. Let’s do this. The music sounds great, right? We’ll check that out after we get some drinks.”

She took a few steps only to stop dead in her tracks. Haven, on her heels, slammed into her. “What the fuck…”

But Haven saw it then.

They all did.

Inscribed above the bar in chipped lettering, read RHETT’S WAKE. Julia had no idea it was the bar’s full name. In Torch River, the bar was simply known as the Wake. Why Rhett? Seeing her brother’s name was like receiving a message.

Their blank looks confirmed that the significance was missed by all, friends since middle school, except Haven, who had been her bestie since diapers.

Haven, who had known her brother and had held Julia as she broke down upon news of his death.

Haven, who had listened to and held Julia over the years when the grief recycled.

Haven squeezed her shoulder and offered a supportive smile.

Julia smiled back. She felt safe. Watched over and protected. Besides, they were Torch River’s golden girls. Untouchable. The invisible assurances drove her forward, escorting her into the Wake with its unknown and unfavored.

* * *

Even though the mid-May evening was cool, it was hot and humid indoors. Fans hugged the whitewashed ceiling and spun rapidly. The ill-reputed Wake was gritty and dark, exceeding any dive bar Julia could have imagined, and its patrons were rougher-looking, exuding a quiet presence that came from hard times and how to live them. The crowd was dressed in jeans and t-shirts, the bikers noticeable by their leather vests full of patches and the woman with them who were of all ages and provocatively dressed, displaying a generous amount of cleavage.

Hemmed-in by bodies, Julia and her friends endured curious stares, cocked heads, and fleeting inspections. They were shuffled and bumped, often with apologies, while they made their way to the scarred primitive bar.

“Epic fail.” Haven announced and rolled her eyes.

Poppy settled her elbows on the countertop. “You think? We stick out like a bunch of sore thumbs.”

“Well, sore thumbs or not, we’re going to have fun. The first round is on me.” Julia lifted her chin at the woman with braided white hair piled onto her head moving as she filled a series of pint glasses from the taps.

“You’re next,” the bartender said, turning one-hundred-and eighty degrees and placing them in front of a massive thick man. “On your tab, Khan.”

The woman approached the group, her eyes briefly connecting with each of theirs. “You’re new.”

“Yes ma’am,” they chorused, flashing her their perfect white smiles.

She grinned back, her dark brown eyes sparkling. “Well … Welcome to the Wake. I’m Sammi. What’re you having, ladies?”

“Uh …” Haven studied the shelves behind Sammi.

While Haven struggled with her selection, Julia realized she and her friends couldn’t fake it. Despite their thrifted clothes and efforts to fit in, they imbued privilege and sure and certain futures. She decided what she wanted, despite not seeing any champagne. But what the hell, she’d ask. It was the perfect drink to quench her thirst and to celebrate being out with her friends.

“Can you make a French 75?”

“Is a pig’s ass pork?”

She burst out laughing. “Yes ma'am, it is.”

“I don’t have flutes or wine glasses, so it’ll be in a highball. And I don’t have Champagne, so it’ll be made with prosecco. Still want it?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Sammi.” The barkeep looked Julia in the eyes and raised her dark brows.

“Sammi."

Poppy cut in. “I’d love the same.”

“Margaritas for the rest of us, on the rocks. No salt, please,” Tilly said, looking from Edie to Haven.

Sammi nodded and lined up the corresponding glasses in front of the women. She was fascinating to watch because she made the drinks with such ease.

Edie engaged. “Is the band local?”

“No. They’re friends of the owner’s and are vacationing here for a few days.” Sammi explained, combining the gin, lemon juice, simple syrup, and a cocktail shaker, adding ice before covering and shaking. She poured the drinks into two highball glasses, topped them with the prosecco, and garnished each with a lemon twist, then set them in front of Julia and Haven. She turned her attention to making the margaritas.

“Vacationing? Here?”

Julie elbowed Edie sharply in her ribs.

Sammi didn’t appear offended, but her retort carried a bite. “Torch River and the surrounding area is a destination.” She rang up the total and gave it to Julia. “Plenty of outdoor activities for all kinds of people, views that take a person’s breath away, a rich river history, and the Narrows.”

Edie had already sucked down half of her drink. “And the Cliffs.”

“Keep the change.” Julia handed Sammi a stack of twenties.

“Thank you,” Sammi said, then addressed Edie. “Right, the Cliffs.”

Julia picked up her drink and inclined her head toward the open accordion doors. “C'mon! Let’s check out the band and dance.”

“There’s a bar, tables, and seating outside too, ladies.” Sammi waved the hand holding a bar towel. “Have fun.”

* * *

An enormous deck cantilevered over the river’s edge. It was a recent addition by the looks of it. The entire space was strung with mismatched lights, like those decorating the front of the Wake. Black metal tables and chairs had been pushed out from the center, leaving it open for any who wished to dance. It was packed. Those who couldn’t find a table or weren’t dancing spilled out into the weedy grass in groups or as couples, with mostly beers in-hand.

The band was off to the right on their own stage built over the ground, complete with a simple lighting show and sound board. They announced they were taking a break in fifteen minutes.

An outdoor kitchen of sorts was close to the edge of where the parking extended on the side of the building. Meat and vegetables sizzled on grates supported by stone columns and suspended over burning wood. Her stomach growled, having skipped on the junk food at Poppy’s. It smelled delicious.

Closer was another full bar. Julia stuttered-stepped as soon as she saw the man behind it. Abundantly silver-streaked hair, over six feet tall, packed with muscle, and to-die-for-handsome. She fell behind her friends, who had downed their drinks and placed them on a tray, intent on the dance floor.

Haven circled back. “You good?”

“Uh-huh.” Julia lifted her drink in a salute. It was full. “I'm just going slow. Remember, I didn’t eat much.”

“They have food. Maybe get something?”

Julia wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know. You think it’s safe?”

“It smells amazing, and my stomach is growling. even though I did eat. But it was that crappy junk food Poppy is so fond of. Want to split something?”

“Maybe when the band breaks. You go ahead. I’ll join you guys in a little bit.”

“Okay.” Haven hugged her around the shoulders, flashed a smile, and made a beeline for the dance floor.

Julia leaned against the wall for support, struggling to gather her wits, her breathing rhythm, and slow her galloping heart as her eyes strayed again and again to the gorgeous man working the bar.

She looked around then and dumped the drink she had only one sip of. It had been perfect, but she wanted one made by him.

“Hi. Can you make me a French 75?”

Dazzling hazel eyes studied her. Framed by thick dark lashes and brows that were a sexy-as-hell contrast to his hair. A crooked smile appeared, along with one evident dimple in the short scruff covering his face.

Christ. Just like that she was a goner.

“Sammi makes the foo-foo drinks. She’s tending inside.”

“I know.” She placed her empty glass on the counter. “But it’s nicer out here. The band. The woods. I just figured …”

“Did you? Are those your friends on the dance floor?” His eyes traveled to Edie, Poppy, Haven, and Tilly.

Her eyes followed his. Her friends were indeed dancing, each partnered with a man, she noticed. That was quick.

“Yes. I’m Julia.”

“Nice to meet you, Julia.” He grabbed her glass and put it in the sink to soak. “Plastic out here. What’s in your French drink? Guide me,” he said seductively, the smile broadening and displaying even white teeth.

What she wanted was to take him by the hand and ravage him, guide him all over her body, slowly. All night.

“Gin, lemon juice, simple syrup. Shaken with ice and strained. Topped with prosecco and a lemon twist. Can you do that?”

“Yup,” he said, popping the P. “I have some orders to fill first. Then yours.”

He was older than her, maybe ten years or so, if she had to guess, and packed with muscle, but he moved with a grace that was admirable. Few big men did. The black tee prominently featuring the logo of the bar—Rhett's Wake—clung to him, displaying the flat corded muscles of his pecs and abs in the low lighting and he did the well-worn jeans proud.

The bartender turned to pull some drafts, treating Julia to his back side. She pushed up on her toes, bracing herself on the bar to better appreciate what she was seeing, completely missing the fact that he also watched her. He was perfectly proportioned—broad shoulders and back tapering into a lean waist. Her inspection halted at his ass. It was perfect. She had never considered herself an ass-woman until this very moment. Her heart pounded in her mouth, and she swallowed. She was practically drooling.

Julia snapped back up and onto her heels as he was turning toward her. Shit, she had almost been caught gawking.

An impish smirk covered his face as he made her drink. He poured it into a plastic cup, topped it off with the prosecco, added the twist, and placed it in front of her. He didn’t wear a ring.

“How’d I do?” His eyes locked on hers, full of amusement and … heat.

What the hell. She averted her eyes and sipped. “It’s good.”

“Julia,” he said quietly.

That deep timbre vibrated in her cells. Her eyes rose to his and was at a loss for words. She could get lost in those eyes.

He placed his forearms on the counter and leaned in. “I’m available.”

A mixture of soap and the wood wafted over her, his scent. Ink covered his skin from above the wrists, snaking upward along his arms and disappearing under short sleeves stretching to accommodate the bulging biceps and triceps. Within the multitude of black and gray art, she picked out geometric patterns that looked tribal, as well as a dragon on an inner forearm, and a part of a phoenix on an outside upper arm.

She wanted to trace that ink with her fingers. Mm, like a decadent treasure hunt.

“You’re here for a bit of the rough.”

“What do you mean, rough?”

“A man from the wrong side of town. A taste of bad boy.” He cocked his head and motioned it at the shelves of liquor behind him. “You were checking me out, Julia.”

The mirrors behind them. How had she not seen them? Shit, shit, shit. “No, I was just watching you work.”

His voice dropped even lower as he spoke, mesmerizing her. “You’re beautiful. And I bet you’re smart. But you’re a fuckin' awful liar, says the blush on your skin.”

She was mortified to be caught so obviously ogling him. She took a long sip from her drink and almost choked.

“We get a lot of you Cliff Bunnies here for the thrill.”

“Here?”

“At the Wake.”

“I’m not a Cliff Bunny.”

“I call bullshit.”

“You think you have me pegged.”

“One hundred percent. I know you like what you see.”

She tapped her foot, mulling over his words. How was she to deny that? It was true.

An older man, wearing a black vest over a faded brown tee, knocked on far end of the counter. “Can we get some beers, brother?”

Julia studied his long gray beard, the patches displayed on every surface of the vest, and the colorful tats while trying to come up with some retort and failing.

“Coming your way, Jolly,” the bartender said. He glanced back at Julia before heading toward that end of the bar and winked. “I’ll be off about eleven-thirty. I’ll see you then, Julia.”