Page 2 of To Match A Dragon's Fire

So I put on my smile, pulled my curly red hair up into a ponytail, and pushed out my tits as the door opened and the first of the customers came stumbling in for the night.

If there was one thing I’d learned in this life so far, it was how to survive.

∞

“Hands off,” I growled through clenched teeth, two seconds away from smashing the mug into his splotchy face.

“Leave the beer and take a seat,” the drunk slurred as his dirty fingers caressed my jean-covered thigh. “Tips’ll be good if you do.”

I finished setting the mugs around the table in front of his friends, grabbing his beer off the tray last. My feet were killing me. My patience was gone. My vision narrowed as I hefted the mug above the bastard’s head.

“Whoa there, Ember.” Brendon put his beefy hand on my shoulder, moving me a step behind him. “Is there a problem here?”

“No problem,” two of the guys mumbled into their drinks.

The men were dirt-caked, with grease still under their fingernails, coming from a hard day’s work. Most of the customers at McKay’s worked construction crew and had cash to spend.

The majority were decent guys who kept trying to fix the damage happening around us with each earthquake.

But there was always one bad apple in the bunch.

“The thirsty one is grabby,” I said as I took the beer away. His grumbles of protest followed me back across the bar.

Brendon could handle it.

I placed the full glass in front of April. She smiled at me before sliding it across the counter to another customer—a more grateful one who kept his hands to himself.

“I’m taking my break,” I told April as I exited through the kitchen.

It stunk worse than normal in the back. You wouldn’t think you’d miss the smell of fried food lingering in the air until you caught a whiff of bar bathrooms that hadn’t seen decent cleaning supplies in months.

Who knew bleach was such a hot commodity?

At least we still had toilet paper.

“Do you want dinner, Mija?” Sofia asked as I hung up my apron and grabbed my purse, planning to spend my break in the alley where the smells weren’t as strong.

“If you’re making it.” I winked at the chef.

She had the gift of turning garbage into something edible. It paid to be on her good side.

“For you.” She smiled. Her soft brown eyes always seemed to size me up with worry. I wanted to squeeze her in a hug, but Sofia had a strong no-touching policy and a mean swipe with the spatula.

“You’re the best.” I took my burnt burger dressed with extra pepperoncini peppers.

She clicked her tongue in disgust, yet still piled them on for me. I missed jalapenos, but my heartburn had been unreal the past few months.

Along with my lower back pain and aching heels, everything about my body seemed to be falling apart lately. I wanted to find cushioned shoe inserts if they were even selling them anymore.

But I’d make do with my worn shoes for now.

I just needed to get off my feet for a minute.

The alleyway sat between McKay’s Bar and the pawn shop in the single-level building that still stood mostly upright. Like every other remaining structure, cracks lined the foundation and the support walls were reinforced in patchwork.

I liked being outside.

It felt less like the ceiling was going to crash down any minute.

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