Stella

 

The next night, when Stella showed up for her shift at the Haven, Mark wasn’t there. For a second Stella was worried that he’d gotten panicked after pledging to help her protect the bar and left town, but then she remembered that he was scheduled for the following night’s bouncer shift instead. Oh well. She’d see him tomorrow, and then they could talk about what they were going to do to make sure that the Marauders didn’t interfere with the Haven.

 

The bar was relatively empty today anyway, with only a few semi-regulars hanging around drinking beers. On days like this, Stella’s job was easy. She didn’t even have to look that pretty or be that charming, since the customers were there to get drunk, not to chat up the bartender. She almost wished that she brought a book to read or a pen and paper to doodle while she waited for the crowds to come in later, but just as that thought passed through her mind, the front door opened, and Cameron walked in. Cameron! Fuck!  

 

Stella didn’t know what to do. Her entire body went as stiff as a block of wood, and she felt rooted to the spot behind the bar, utterly stuck in place. What do I do? What the fuck do I do? Stella asked herself, trying to keep her face as blank and calm and natural looking as possible as Cameron strode over to the bar. One thing was clear: She couldn’t show fear. She couldn’t let him think that he’d made her feel uncomfortable just by walking into her place of work.

 

Cameron approached her and nodded in greeting before scanning the drinks lined up behind her. “I don’t suppose you have any well-aged scotch, do you?” he murmured.

 

Stella was baffled, unsure of how to respond. He was acting like he hadn’t come here specifically to see her. Instead it was like he’d just shown up randomly because he wanted a drink, and he wasn’t even really acknowledging her. What the fuck was going on?

 

When she didn’t answer his question quickly enough, Cameron finally looked back at her, widening his eyes in wordless question. Finally, he just said, “So?”

“Um, I think we have a bottle in the back that I can get for you…” Stella muttered before saying to the bouncer. “Hey, watch the bar, okay? I’ll be right back, just going into the cellar.”

 

On her way to grab the oldest scotch they had, deep in the cellar, she couldn’t stop herself from breathing harder and faster, her body desperately trying to steady itself in the face of the threat Cameron posed just by walking into her new life. “Goddammit,” she whispered to herself as she took the bottle of scotch off its shelf, pausing just to breathe and to give herself a tiny reprieve from dealing with Cameron. Man, she wished Mark were here. She didn’t want him to beat Cameron up or anything like that, but it would help her feel just a tiny bit safer if she had someone in her corner.

 

After a few seconds, Stella turned and headed back upstairs, running her hand along the box that Mark had bent her over a week before, just to give herself a modicum of strength before going back into the lion’s den.

 

“You want just a shot?” Stella asked as she opened up the bottle of aged, expensive scotch.

 

“No, fill me up a glass,” Cameron said, a sly, almost sadistic-looking half-smile spreading across his face. What was he playing at?

Stella did as she was told, feeling tiny beads of sweat start to appear under her arms and behind her knees. Luckily those parts of her body were covered, so Cameron wasn’t able to see how much he was affecting her. “Here,” she said, putting the glass of scotch in front of him and then walking away to another open stretch of bar, trying to make eye contact with literally any other customer in the joint.

 

But then less than a minute later, Cameron cleared his throat and spoke again. “Miss? Bartender? There’s something wrong with my drink.”

 

Stella couldn’t suppress the long, exhausted sigh that automatically left her mouth in response. “What’s wrong with it?” she asked, walking back over to stand across from Cameron.

 

Cameron shrugged. “Tastes wrong.”

 

“Okay….” Stella said dubiously, taking the drink back and pouring its contents out into the sink. “I’ll get you another glass. Maybe there was something wrong with that one.”

 

She got out a fresh glass, one she’d cleaned herself earlier during her shift, and poured out another healthy portion of scotch for Cameron. “Here you go,” she said as she placed the glass down in front him.

 

Cameron stared at it for a long moment without tasting it or saying anything. After a full minute or so of unbearable silence, he finally clicked his teeth and shook his head, his eyes narrowing as he looked up at Stella. “I want to speak to your manager.”

 

“What?” Stella said incredulously, feeling her whole body flush with heat as Cameron’s words sunk in. “What are you talking about?”

 

“You heard me,” Cameron said with a shrug. “The manager. Get him, now, or I’ll just call him later. You can do what you want, of course, but I imagine you don’t want to be fired from this pretty little establishment, now do you?”

 

Stella’s teeth ground together painfully, her hands balling up into fists under the bar where Cameron couldn’t see. God, how she’d love to just sock him right in the jaw, give him what he really deserved. But he was right. He had the power here. If he called the bar later and gave a bad report to Wesley, it wasn’t like Stella could talk her boss down by saying it was just her crazy ex. She certainly wouldn’t believe someone who gave that story to get out of trouble. The best thing she could do was show Cameron to Wesley now and hope that she could explain things to her boss later without getting fired.

 

Stella headed over to the back of the bar, knocking on the door of Wesley’s office. “Wesley! Wesley, there’s a customer here who wants to speak with you.”

 

She heard Wesley grumble something under his breath, along with the shuffling of papers as he got to his feet and walked to the door. “What?” he asked as he opened the door, looking irritated already.

 

“There’s a customer. He’s unhappy with something and he’d like to speak with you,” Stella said as calmly as she could. She knew Cameron was still listening and would probably flip out if she told Wesley right now that he was her ex. Stella felt like her blood was boiling inside of her veins, her body screaming at her to revolt, to resist, to tell Cameron to go fuck himself, to quit the job herself if it meant not letting him control her.

 

But she had more important things to protect than her pride, at least for the moment. All she could do was try to nonverbally express her fear to Wesley, using just her eyes. She didn’t know if it worked or not, but at least a few seconds later Wesley nodded and followed her out into the main room of the Haven.

 

“What seems to be the issue here, sir?” Wesley asked he approached Cameron, keeping his arms crossed in front of his chest.

 

Cameron’s eyes flicked between Wesley and Stella, back and forth a few times before settling on the owner of the Haven. “Let’s take this outside, hmm?”

 

“No, you can express your complaints here. We’ll do our best to give you the best service possible, sir,” Wesley said politely, but there was an edge of anxiety to his voice, like he was starting to understand how dangerous Cameron really was.

 

“Outside,” Cameron said, turning on his heel and marching out in front of the bar.

 

For a moment, Wesley just turned to look at Stella, wordlessly asking her what he should do. Stella shook her head back and forth, trying to tell him not to take the bait and just stay inside the bar, where she knew it was safe. But Wesley’s pride must have gotten the better of him, as he straightened his shoulders and followed Cameron outside.

 

Stella rushed after him, breaking through the front door of the bar to see a half dozen familiar-looking Marauders huddled around Cameron, who stood there sucking on a cigarette with a smile on his face. That motherfucker, Stella thought as she looked at each of the MC members, who all smirked at her like she’d done something to deserve this. They were all Cameron’s little sycophants, doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. They probably couldn’t understand how anyone would want to leave him, even if Cameron had cheated on her constantly and called her names when he got mad.

 

“What seems to be the problem here, fellas?” Wesley asked. At the very least his voice didn’t betray any fear he might have been feeling as a result of the Marauders’ obvious show of dominance. But his eyes kept returning to Stella, like somehow he knew this was all her fault for bringing these men here. Stella felt a crushing sense of guilt hit her right in the chest, feeling responsible for bringing the MC over to this side of town.

 

I should have never come here, she thought. I should have gotten out of town or stayed with the MC. I shouldn’t have gotten innocent people involved.

 

Cameron stared at Wesley for a long moment before he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and offered it forward for Wesley to take. “I don’t smoke,” Wesley said, shaking his head. Cameron just shrugged and resumed smoking for a second before he finally spoke.

 

“So, I realized I was pretty rude for not introducing myself to you earlier. I’m Cameron Finley. I run the Marauders,” he said grandly, his eyes twinkling with self-satisfaction as he continued to puff away at his cigarette.

 

“Okay,” Wesley said, confusion apparent in his voice. “Thanks for that, I guess. So…Do you want to come back in and pay for your drink?”

 

Cameron shook his head and grinned. “Nah, see, you’re not getting it. Don’t worry, I’ll repeat myself, just for you. I’m the head of the MC around here. I don’t pay for my drinks.”

 

“Well, somebody’s going to pay for your fucking drink,” Wesley said, stepping a little closer to Cameron, obviously feeling his confidence return along with his indignation. “So who’s it going to be, guys?” he said, addressing the mini-crowd of Marauders around Cameron.

 

“They don’t pay for drinks, either,” Cameron said casually, his stupidly bright smile persistently staying on his face even as Wesley got visibly angrier in front of him.

 

“Like fuck they don’t,” Wesley said. “There are no free drinks here, guys. You either pay for your fucking drinks or you find another bar to get fucked up. End of story.”

 

Cameron flicked his cigarette on the ground, stepping on it to ground it under his foot before stepping closer to Wesley, getting up in his face. “See, I’m going to say this again, just so you understand it. I’m the head of the Marauders. We run this town. You want to be successful, big guy? Then you’ll listen to us. Otherwise…” He trailed off, letting his silence stand in for whatever threat he was about to say instead.

 

But Wesley stood his ground. “Fuck off. You ‘run this town’? I’ve never even fucking heard of your little club before. Get out of here before I call the police.”

 

Cameron and the other Marauders sputtered into laughter, turning to slap each other on the shoulders like they’d just heard the most hilarious joke ever. “That’s funny. That’s really cute,” Cameron said, but the smile finally slipped off his face, replaced by a stony, hard look that Stella recognized from her years living with him. He wasn’t fucking around now. This was serious. “Listen, buddy, why don’t I give you just a little bit of friendly advice? There’s more than one MC around these parts. Sooner or later, the others will come sniffing around here, trying to get into your business. You become friends with me, and I’ll leave you alone. Hell, I’ll even offer a little bit of protection to make sure that other clubs don’t come around here and interfere with your shit. If you don’t…you might regret it.”

 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Wesley spat, his whole face going red as he stared back at Cameron. He hadn’t flinched yet, surprisingly, but Stella could tell that his resolve was crumbling.

 

Cameron shrugged and gave another face-splitting smile, although at this point it looked more like a snarl. “Figure it out. I’ll be seeing you.” He paused and turned his head to look at Stella. “And you, too, sweetheart. See you soon.”

 

The Marauders all turned and crossed the street without even looking at traffic, heading over to where their bikes were parked before roaring off into the distance. Wesley stood still, watching as their motorcycles receded into the horizon. “Motherfucker,” he muttered under his breath, but still loud enough for Stella to hear.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Stella whispered, rubbing her own arms to protect herself against the chill of the surrounding air. The guilt pressing down on her shoulders was so heavy, it was all she could do to keep standing still, waiting for Wesley to move.

 

“Are they right?” Wesley asked softly.

 

“What do you mean?” Stella asked.

 

“About what they said before they left. About this town. Is it true?”

 

Stella considered for a moment. There was some truth to it. The town had been the battleground for at least three or four MCs over the past twenty years, each of them rising to different periods of dominance, one after another after another, while everybody else just tried to keep their heads down amidst the fray.

 

“He’s not wrong about this town,” Stella finally said. “But he was lying when he said that he’ll protect you from the other MCs. He wants this bar so he can control it, so he can make money off of it. He doesn’t care about you. Believe me. I know what it’s like to have him lie to me.”

 

Wesley turned to look at her, but he didn’t ask her to elaborate, instead nodding slowly as he turned to walk back inside the bar. Stella followed him, but not before sending a quick text to both Mark and Nicole, asking them to meet her at her apartment later. She needed them to reassure her, to make her feel like the world wasn’t about to end.

 

But it was also more than just for comfort. Cameron had declared war on her new life, and she needed to draw up some battle plans.