Chapter 3
THREE
FLORA
We drive down the street and I notice my father is wearing his best T-shirt layered with an open flannel shirt. He’s made extra effort—even his beard is neatly trimmed.
My hair flutters as the evening air blows through the window and I try pushing a strand behind my ear. Hopefully, it doesn't go frizzy before we arrive at the bar.
“How was work today?” I ask.
“Didn’t run into any burning buildings. However, I did have to help an old lady get her cat down from a tree.”
I can't help but laugh. “Okay, that is super cliché.”
“It used to be so busy each day in London. Here, it's quiet,” my father replies with a shrug.
I could understand and appreciate that he liked the slower pace of life here.
“This might be too soon…but Nancy has offered you a job at the bar, if you want it.”
He catches me off guard and I don't know how to reply. I had a job back in England where I worked part-time in a small café and the regulars knew me by name. Working here seems daunti ng, but maybe this would be a way for me to meet new people.
“I will have to think about it,” I finally reply.
My father nods and doesn't press on any further. As we approach the bar, the glow of street lights fills the road. My father parks the truck. “Things will get better, Flora.”
“I know…” I say, nodding and giving him a genuine smile.
I hop out of the truck and we head towards the bar. I take in the sight—a brick building with red neon signs and old, rusty green awnings hanging over the windows. This is the only bar in town, making it popular. I’m intrigued by the thought of working here. The gentleman my father is, opens the door for me and I step inside.
It’s relatively quiet this evening with only a couple of locals scattered about. One side has all leather booths and wood tables. At the end of the room are two pool tables and an old jukebox, along with a TV mounted on the back wall. “Jerry, Flora!” a voice calls loudly.
Turning my head, I see Nancy behind the bar. She looks different from when I saw her just this morning. Her red hair is now tied back and her makeup is done nicely, giving her a professional look.
My father and I walk over to the bar. He pulls out a stool for me and I hop on it. He then takes the stool next to me and settles in.
“What can I get you both to drink?” Nancy asks with a twinkle in her eye.
“I’ll have a beer and Flora will have a white wine,” my father replies.
Nancy smirks at my father and states, “I can’t serve her wine. You need to be over twenty-one here.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that,” my father says.
“Just a Cola, please, Nancy,” I request .
Nancy nods her head and turns around, grabbing our rinks and placing them in front of us. As the night goes on, more locals enter the bar. The jukebox begins to play a mixture of classic rock and country tunes as my father, Nancy, and I chat and laugh together.
“There’s a mini concert here next week and multiple bands are playing,” Nancy says, leaning over the bar. My father looks at me, his eyebrows raised. I meet his gaze with a smile.
“Sounds like a plan,” he replies.
Nancy’s face lights up at his response. “The lineup is going to be good. A few locals will be playing,” she says.
She starts cleaning the bar, running a cloth over it as my father and I enjoy some food. He munches on a hotdog while I dig into a bowl of chili. The atmosphere is lively yet relaxed.
Suddenly, the bar door flings open. A group of individuals walk in, immediately catching my attention.
The first two men have tattoos over their bodies; I recognize them as the bikers I keep seeing around town. I catch their attention as they look straight at me with intense gazes. My breath hitches in my throat. The man with light brown hair that swoops over his forehead smirks at me. Feeling nervous, I don't know how to react.
The other man with combed back, darker hair with tattoos climbing up his neck, nudges his friend. They both stride over to the pool tables.
“Crap,” Nancy mumbles under her breath.
My father leans over the bar. “Who are they?” he asks curiously.
“The Faulkner brothers,” Nancy replies, keeping her voice low. “One of them is on the local motocross team. They aren't good news, nor bad, but they have a reputation. I can’t complain, though. They spend a lot of money when they come into town. ”
Trying to focus on my bowl of chili, I turn around, facing the bar yet feeling flustered.
I feel like someone’s eyes are lingering on me, but I don’t want to turn around and investigate.
“They usually have a few drinks and shoot a couple of games of pool. They can get rowdy, but they’ve never caused real trouble,” Nancy whispers to my father.
“As long as they don’t start trouble here.” He glances at the pool table where the Faulkner brothers are.
The smirk from the light-haired brother flashes in my mind, making my heart beat a little faster.
I glance at the pool table as the Faulkner brothers laugh and joke with their friends.
“Jerry!” a voice shouts from behind us.
We look over our shoulders and see Marty walking in.
“Hey! What are you doing here, Marty?”
“Well, I fancied a beer after work,” he replies, grabbing a stool beside my father. Nancy gives Marty a friendly nod and passes him a beer. He and my father dive into a conversation about work.
I turn back to my bowl of chili, but feel a presence beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of the Faulkner brothers. The one with the darker hair and tattoos stands close, towering over me. His scent of smoke mixed with men’s cologne wafts over me. I don't know why, but it makes my heart race.
He tosses his credit card onto the bar and says in a deep voice, “Keep the beers coming.”
I try to avoid eye contact with him as I feel his intense gaze study me.
Nancy places a few beers on the bar and he picks them up effortlessly between his fingers. His forearms flex, making the veins prominent. Something about his arms makes me feel weak.
“Thanks,” he mumbles. As he turns to walk away, his eyes linger on me. He heads back to the pool table where his friends are waiting.
Letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, I try to shake off the encounter. My father and Marty carry on talking, not noticing.
I glance back over at the group—the females are all over the Faulkner brothers. One woman with long, brown hair and a tight-fitting dress stands between the legs of the light-haired Faulkner brother as he sits on a stool. She leans in close to him, screaming for his attention, but he doesn't seem interested in her. His eyes glance over her shoulder and lock onto me as he smiles mockingly.
Feeling exposed, I quickly look down at my food. My heart pounds in my chest. I can’t help but wonder why he is focusing on me.
“Everything okay?” my father asks. I snap back into reality.
“Yeah, everything’s fine.”
He reassures me with a pat and returns to his conversation with Marty. I take a deep breath.
Suddenly, the jukebox starts playing Man! I Feel Like a Woman! by Shania Twain.
The females in the group jump up and down, clapping their hands. They rush around the bar, grabbing the hands of every lady and pulling them into their dance party. The one who was flirting with the Faulkner brother runs over to me and grabs my hand.
“Come on! Join us!” she excitedly exclaims.
“Oh, no, thank you.” A wave of shyness washes over me.
My father turns to me with a grin and says, “Go have fun, Flora. ”
Reluctantly, I let the woman pull me towards the pool tables where the other women are dancing. They form a circle around me and I join them as embarrassment flushes through my cheeks. As I move to the music, I glance at the Faulkner brothers. They are standing nearby with beers in hand, their eyes fixated on me. The lighter-haired brother smirks at me again—his gaze unwavering and intense. The darker-haired brother watches me with a more neutral expression, but his eyes don’t leave me, either.
“Man! I feel like a woman!” the women shout in unison, their voices mingling with the music. They spin around, clapping and cheering.
I glance over at my father to see him sitting at the bar, smiling at me. His conversation with Marty has paused as he watches me. Pure pride and happiness light up his face and it gives me a boost of confidence. I feel like all eyes are on me, but I don’t care.
As we continue to dance, more women join in. I feel like a free-spirited woman as we all dance and sing.
Everyone applauds and cheers when the song comes to an end. I find myself feeling breathless as
I return to the bar and my father. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asks.
I gulp loudly, trying to catch my breath.
“Your daughter can dance, Jerry!” Marty says, patting my father on the back.
Marty looks at me and I blush, looking down and sipping my soda.
“Do you two wanna play some pool?” Marty asks, tilting his head toward the pool tables.
My father jumps down from his stool and says, “Sure.”
I follow close behind as they walk over to the pool table, the Faulkner brothers and their friends playing at the next table .
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see that my Auntie Vicky is calling. “Dad, Auntie Vicky is calling. It’s loud in here…I’m gonna take it outside!” I shout over the noise.
I step outside and the cool air hits my cheek. I look down at my phone and see I just missed her call. I try calling her back, holding the phone up to my ear. Looking around the parking lot, I see a group of men on motorcycles pull up. They jump off their bikes, remove their helmets, and start walking over to the bar. They stop outside the door, leaning against the walls. I try calling my auntie back, but it goes straight to voicemail.
I put my phone in my back pocket and walk over to the bar door.
One of the men with dark blond hair steps in front of me, blocking me from entering the bar. “Well, well, well. Hello,” he says with a smirk.
“Excuse me…” I say.
“Oh, she’s British,” he remarks. He looks at his friends with approval as they all surround me and chuckle lowly.
“Let me pass,” I demand, looking up at him. They all tower over me, trying to intimidate me. He studies me briefly and then steps aside with a mocking bow. “After you,” he says.
I walk past them, ignoring his sarcasm, and re-enter the bar. I quickly rush over to my father and Marty who are still setting up the pool game.
“Everything okay?” my father asks, looking up from the table.
“Yeah. Auntie Vicky didn’t answer,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant as I brush off the encounter outside.
Marty hands me a pool cue and asks, “You ready to show us your skills?”
Taking the cue, I force a smile. “Absolutely,” I reply.
After we begin the game, I can’t help but often glance at the Faulkner brothers and their group .
I line up my shot and catch my father's reassuring smile. The song Black Velvet by Alannah Myles plays in the background, adding a sultry atmosphere to the dimly lit bar.
As I take my first shot, the three ball echoes and drops into the corner pocket. I can’t help but smirk as pride fills me.
With a smug face, I look up at my father and Marty. “Well done,” my father says, smiling.
Nancy walks over and starts collecting empty bottles. She nods towards a booth where a group of rough-looking men sit. “See that group in the booth?” she whispers to my father. I perk my ears, eavesdropping while pretending to line up my next shot. My father nods.
“Well, they’re from another motocross team.”
Nancy gathers the last of the bottles. “The teams never see eye to eye.” Her brows furrow with concern as she glances warily at the men. My father’s eyes look over at the men sitting in the booth; a younger, cockier bunch. Then, his eyes shift to the Faulkner brothers.
We continue our game, ignoring the tension between the motocross teams filling the bar.
“Wanna join me outside, Jerry?” Marty asks. “I'm going to smoke.”
My father shakes his head lightly and smirks. “Are you going to be okay, Flora?” he asks, hesitating to leave me inside the bar alone.
“I’ll be fine. Besides, I can work out how I’m going to win.” I giggle.
As my father and Marty make their way to the door, the warm light from the bar spills out into the night, illuminating their figures.
I lean over the pool table and focus on my next shot when I feel a sudden, sharp poke in my side.
Startled, I see the light-haired Faulkner brother leaning over the ad joining pool table, lining up his shot. His pool cue must have jabbed me by accident.
“Shit! Sorry. Did I poke you?” he asks with a smirk. His friend passes by and he hands off the cue.
“It’s okay…” I say, my voice coming out softer than intended. I feel the heat rushing up to my cheeks as they blush.
“Are you Australian?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, clearly intrigued.
“Uhh, British,” I reply. I look up at him, realizing how tall he is. He towers over me, his height imposing as he looks at me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.
“Nice. I’m Dax Faulkner…by the way,” he replies confidently, extending his hand towards me.
I shake his hand firmly. “Flora Lockley,” I respond. His grip is strong and wielding. I feel a strange flutter in my stomach.
The other, taller Faulkner brother strides over, standing beside Dax. He looks me up and down, evaluating me. My heart races at his presence; his eyes have a certain intensity.
“This is my brother, Lyka. Well, I say brother, but I’m adopted.”
Lyka rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, maintaining his stern, distant demeanor.
I feel overwhelmed standing between these two handsome brothers. Dax’s light hair and easy charm contrast sharply with Lyka’s darker, brooding presence. I don’t know where to look for a moment, my eyes darting between them.
As I focus, I notice Dax’s eyes are a light brown, almost golden. His gaze is steady; it feels like he’s looking straight into my soul.
“I guess you’re new around here?” Dax asks. Lyka remains beside him, silently observing.
“Yup. I moved here four months ago.”
“Nice…How do you find living here? ”
“It’s nice, I guess…You’re the guys I keep seeing on the motorcycles, right?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
The brothers look at each other, exchanging a knowing glance as their smirks deepen.
“That's us—”
“LYKA FAULKNER!”
Dax grabs my wrist and quickly pulls me behind him, not giving me time to react.
“ Shit! Get behind me,” he urges, his face now serious as his protective instincts kick in. I stumble backward slightly as Dax presses me against him and the edge of the pool table, his body shielding me from whatever is about to unfold. I manage to peer through the gaps of Dax’s massive arms and see the dark-haired blond guy from the parking lot walking over with aggressive energy. I hold onto Dax's forearm as he comes closer.
Lyka remains standing beside us, his demeanor calm and unbothered.
“What do you want, Jonny?” Dax asks with restrained anger.
Jonny is followed by several of his friends. They fan out and surround the pool table on either side, trapping us. I let out a loud gulp, feeling scared.
“Did you fuck my girlfriend?” Jonny snarls as he moves closer to Lyka, sizing him up.
Lyka lets out a deep chuckle that echoes through the now silent bar.
“This has nothing to do with me…” I mumble.
I try to move away, but Jonny’s friend steps closer to me. His gaze turns predatory as he reaches out and touches my hair. I flinch back, letting out a little noise. Dax moves swiftly, his arm snapping back to shield me. “Touch her again and I’ll break every bone in your hand,” he hisses through gritted teeth .
“NOT IN MY BAR! Take it outside or I’ll call the cops!” Nancy screams from behind the bar.
Jonny and Lyka remain locked in a tense standoff. Their faces are inches apart, their breathing heavy.
Lyka chuckles. “She loved every minute of it,” he taunts, his words dripping with provocation.
In an instant, Jonny snaps. He swings at Lyka, but Lyka is quicker and deflects Jonny's fist. Violence erupts into chaos as punches are thrown, shouts echo through the bar, and glass shatters everywhere.
My hands grip the edge of the pool table as Dax fiercely struggles with one of Jonny's friends. My heart pounds in my chest as I glance over and see Lyka and Jonny locked in a brawl.
The female patrons scream in fear as the fight spills over into every corner of the bar. Nancy rushes forward and attempts to intervene. Suddenly, I feel a hand grip the top of my arm. I look up and stare into a stranger's eyes. I don’t know this person and I don’t know what to do. I feel panic as I struggle against his hold. Dax turns around, his fist connecting with the stranger's face with a powerful punch. The man staggers backward and releases me.
Blue and red flashing lights cast a glow inside the bar.
“THE COPS!” a female voice shouts out.
Everyone involved in the fight scatters and runs towards the door. Dax looks back at me with a smirk, his white T-shirt now covered in blood.
My father pushes through the crowd and bumps shoulders with Dax, rushing over to me. Nancy appears beside me, reaching out. “Are you okay, Flora?” she asks, out of breath.
I stand there, stunned and speechless, trying to process everything.
“She’s bleeding!” my father exclaims, looking down at my T-shirt with wide eyes .
I look down at the blood on my T-shirt, searching for an injury.
Am I hurt? I don't feel any pain.
“Wa…Wait, it's not my blood,” I manage to stutter, my voice trembling.
Was it Dax's blood?
My father pulls me close and embraces me. I turn my head and look at the bar door. Red and blue flashes illuminate Nancy’s figure as she approaches the officers.
Marty pulls up a chair and gestures for me to sit down. “If I were in here…I would’ve handled those troublemakers,” Marty says with confidence.
The image of Dax’s smirk and the blood staining his T-shirt flash in my mind.
Are Dax and Lyka okay? Did they get hurt?
Nancy speaks to the cops as my father watches over me, his hand resting on my shoulder. He then heads to the bar to get me a glass of water while Marty cleans up the shattered glass from the floor. A female officer with a notepad strides over to me.
“I need a statement from you. I’ve been told you saw the whole thing,” she says, her tone firm.
I look up at her, suddenly reluctant to share what I witnessed.
“I didn’t see anything. My eyes were closed.”
The officer clicks her tongue, her eyes scanning me from head to toe as if trying to read my thoughts. “You have blood on your T-shirt and you didn't see anything…”
I shake my head, not saying a word. My father returns and hands me a glass of water.
“You know I can arrest you for obstruction of justice,” the officer warns, her eyes narrowing as she looks down at me.
Something snaps inside me. I stand up from the chair and place the glass of water on the pool table. “I didn't see anything!” I exclaim, brushing past the officer and jogging towards the door.
“Flora? Flora!” my father calls after me as he follows.
I push open the door and step outside to the gathered crowd, my eyes drawn to Jonny who’s pressed against a patrol car in handcuffs. I anxiously scan the crowd, but can't see Dax or Lyka anywhere.
“Come on, let's get you home,” my father says gently, pushing me toward the truck.
We walk towards the truck and I climb into the passenger seat, my mind racing with all kinds of thoughts. The flashing lights fade into the background as we drive away.
“Are you sure you're okay?” my father asks as he looks at me worriedly.
I nod, staring out the window at the streets passing by.
“Yeah, I'm okay. Just wanna go home.”
My thoughts keep returning to Dax and Lyka, their smirks, and the chaos that follows them.
I lie in bed, checking the local news on my phone. Every few minutes, I refresh the page. I keep looking for any mention or updates about the bar brawl.
Dax and Lyka Faulkner.
Why can't I get them out of my mind? Why didn’t I just tell the officer what happened? I couldn’t…Dax protected me. I wasn’t about to rat them out.
So far, there's nothing new. Just a brief mention of a disturbance at the bar and the involvement of local motocross teams .
I can't help but feel flustered thinking about Dax and Lyka. Dax's smirk, the way he protected me during the fight. Lyka’s brooding personality, the way he taunts others. The night's events play over and over in my mind.
What kind of world have I stumbled into?
I close my eyes, still gripping my phone.