24 - Kodiak
24
Kodiak
—
The wheel vibrates beneath my fingertips as the Bentley slices through the Alaskan wilderness, the tires gripping the road like claws. The sheer intensity of cornering at high speeds, rapid braking, and counteracting these forces makes my dick hard, matching the hungry rhythm of my heart.
Learning to drive checks off a box, a skill we need in this world.
But driving this sexy car? It’s goddamn thrilling.
“Bet you couldn’t take that turn as smoothly as I did.” I meet Leo’s eyes in the rearview.
“Pull over, rimjob,” he shouts over the roar of the wind. “Watch and learn.”
Beside me, Monty assesses every move we make, providing instruction, but only when we need it. His presence no longer chafes. Not right now. All I can think about is the road ahead and the rush of adrenaline as we switch drivers again.
Leo slides into the driver’s seat with practiced ease, his gold and blue eyes glinting with challenge.
The rivalry between us lights a fire in me. But it’s less about besting Leo and more about sharing this experience with him.
We all need something to ground us, something to remind us of who we are and what we’ve accomplished.
For Monty, it’s his car collection, expensive suits, and fine liquors—the proof of his success.
For Leo and me, it’s been survival, scraping by on guts and adrenaline.
But this…this is another level.
By the time we head back to the garage, my entire body buzzes with vitality. I replay the powerful thrusts of speed, the g-forces exerted on my muscles, the scent of burning rubber and exhaust, every twist and turn of the road—all of it etches into my memory.
“Well done, both of you.” Monty steps out of the car, his expression indifferent. “A few more practice runs, and you’ll be ready to take the test.”
As we walk back to the yacht, the sun perches on the horizon, setting the harbor ablaze and wrapping a distant volcano in velvety robes of pink, orange, and purple.
Small boats come and go from the islands. Eagles and gulls worry the air above the fish processing plants. Yet, from the concrete path beneath my feet, this busy world seems at peace.
“Let’s stop in here for a minute.” Monty takes a detour, heading down a narrow alleyway.
I share a look with Leo, my muscles coiling. Is it a trap?
Monty reaches for a door, glancing over his shoulder with a dare in his eyes. Then he steps inside, swallowed by the blast of music and lively conversations within.
I stare at the faded wooden sign overhead.
Tipsy Sailor
“Have you heard from Frankie?” I remove my phone.
“Not since her last message.”
I text her again.
Me: How are you doing?
Frankie: Still talking to Rhett.
Me: Want us to head back?
Frankie: Take your time.
“She’s okay.” I show Leo the messages. “I can’t decide if we should rush back to her or see what this is about.” I gesture at the door.
He shrugs. “You’re dying to see what’s in there.”
“So are you.”
Curiosity wins, and I follow him into the establishment.
The scent of wood smoke, grilled fish, and aged spirits bombard my senses. The clatter of dishes competes with the hum of dozens of conversations.
Nautical memorabilia adorn the walls—old ship wheels, fishing nets, and framed photos of past fishing hauls. Half of the tables are occupied. Some patrons laugh and talk. Others sit quietly and eat. With the cruise ship in the port, this place should be packed with an energy that thrums the air.
Maybe it will fill up later.
I weave through the small crowd to catch up with Monty, careful not to bump into the servers balancing trays of drinks and plates of steaming food. He leads us to the bar, a long counter lined with high stools.
Heads turn. Women stop and stare. These aren’t the stares that people gave us on the streets. The gawking here is more intimate, direct, suggestive, climbing up and down my body, and lingering longer than polite. Unnerving.
Leo and I take the empty stools beside Monty at the bar. The bartender gives a friendly nod and continues mixing a cocktail. I watch, fascinated by the quick, expert movements, the clink of ice, and the splash of liquid in the glass.
“Three rounds of your handcrafted vodka.” Monty flicks a finger at the bartender.
Handcrafted vodka?
That explains the scent of fermenting corn. It also hints at why he brought us here.
This is more than a restaurant and bar.
It’s a distillery.
I shift uncomfortably, my gaze sweeping the room. Low lighting barely illuminates the space. Not in a cozy, intimate way. The mysterious nautical atmosphere comes off as forced and gimmicky.
The tables resemble barrels, making them awkward to sit around. Giant anchors, life preservers, and nets with plastic fish entangled plaster the walls.
The whole place feels like it’s trying too hard to embrace local pride and tradition. It’s a tourist trap that’s more interested in people’s money than their experience.
“If this was yours,” Monty says, “what would you change?”
“Everything.”
“Be specific.”
“I don’t know where to start.”
“You start by knowing what you want.” His blue eyes burn into mine. “Then you fight like hell to get it.”
I give the bar another perusal, focusing on its patrons.
The women here don’t look like Frankie. Skimpy dresses drape their ample curves. Floral perfumes overpower the earthy scent of spirits. None of them have skin like porcelain, girlish bodies, or hair the color of sunlit rust and twilight embers that tumbles everywhere in wild rebellion.
Feminine faces stare back at me beneath unnecessary layers of paint on their eyes, cheeks, and lips. They drink and smile and toss their glossy, tamed hair while pretending not to watch us with interest that borders on desperation.
Leo soaks in the attention with intimidating confidence, his snarly scowl only making them lean forward and stare harder.
Monty sits at the bar as if we’re the only people in the building. I guess he’s used to the silent propositions and bold glances.
“I want a distillery that embodies the flavor of its vodka and tells a story of survival in the Arctic. Not a tourist attraction that shoves its theme down people’s throats with its overpriced alcohol.”
“Good answer.” Monty motions at the bartender. “Let Pilip know I’m here.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Novak.” The young, spindly man delivers our vodka and disappears through a side door.
Pilip? That sounds like an Inuit name.
I give Monty a questioning look.
“Pilip is the owner.” He sips his drink. “It’s easier to buy a distillery than start from scratch. Less red tape and legalities. Everything is already established.”
“This place is for sale?” My pulse quickens.
“No.”
I tilt my head, trying to understand. “How many distilleries are for sale around here?”
“This is the only distillery in Sitka. But anything can be bought for the right price.”
I can’t be bought.
Taking a sip of my drink, I find it as bland as the vodka on the plane.
As I push it away, a group of women approaches us, their eyes sparkling with the buzz of alcohol.
“Tourists,” Monty mutters, glancing at his watch, his mind seemingly elsewhere.
One of them, a blonde with a sultry gaze, sidles up to Leo and trails her fingers down his arm. “Did it hurt when you fell from Valhalla?”
“Look at his eyes.” Another woman sighs. “This one conquers kingdoms.”
Leo hisses, brushing away the woman’s touch.
“I’ll let you conquer me.” The blonde licks her red lips.
“Not interested in easy conquests,” he barks.
She sucks in a breath.
Her friend angles toward me, a redhead with hair so bright it glows with a plastic-like sheen.
“I’ll make you work for it, handsome.” Her voice drips with insinuation as she teases my chest with fingernails so long and sharp that she would injure herself if she attempted to masturbate.
“No.” I bare my teeth, pushing away those dangerous claws.
“Are you sure?” She pouts, her lower lip jutting in a way that’s probably meant to be enticing. “I’m not easy. But for you, I can be.”
Beside me, Monty turns his back on another woman. “Not interested.” He flicks a hand at the crowd of females around us, hardening his voice. “Move along. Now.”
The tension in my shoulders eases as they scatter, returning to their table.
“Is that normal?” I stare at my drink, my back twitching beneath the probe of dozens of eyes on me.
“When you’re the most attractive man in the bar…” Monty rakes a hand through his hair, mussing the black strands. “Comes with the territory.”
I steal a glance behind me. Several men now surround the women who propositioned us. The males press in too close, touching, smiling, and invading personal boundaries, but the females seem to welcome the attention.
“Did Frankie come here?” The thought stiffens my spine. “Is this where she drinks with her colleagues?”
“No.” Monty follows my line of sight, glowering. “The locals avoid this tourist trap.”
“Why are we here?” Leo asks.
“With Kody’s vision and my financial backing, this place could be a hot spot for both tourists and locals.”
His words resonate within me, igniting a fire that’s been smoldering for years.
This isn’t just about survival anymore. It’s about building a future, about creating something that tells our story. And for the first time, I believe it’s possible.
While we wait for the owner, Monty returns to his phone, a frown knitting his forehead as he types.
“What’s wrong?” I crane my neck, unable to see his screen.
“Sirena’s here.” He pockets the device and twists toward the door.
She walks in, drawing every pair of eyes in the bar.
Tight denim molds to her long, shapely legs. That’s as far as my perusal goes before Leo’s hand smacks the back of my head.
“I wasn’t checking her out.” I grunt.
“Sure you weren’t.” He sweeps his gaze over the crowd. “You and every other hard dick in this place.”
She might be the most beautiful female here, but my dick only responds to one woman.
Monty hasn’t spared her a glance beyond his quick acknowledgment when she walked in.
Men whistle and leer as she passes, but she doesn’t flinch. It’s like they don’t exist to her.
I track her in my periphery like I track everyone else in this place. She carries herself with the kind of confidence that makes everyone take notice, her head held high, and dark hair flowing down her back.
But she only has eyes for us.
As she approaches, the crowd parts, drawn to her but knowing better than to get too close.
“Hello, boys,” she purrs.
I return to my drink, preferring the tasteless vodka over her sugary conversation.
Monty doesn’t pay her attention, leaving us to deal with her as he buries his nose in his phone.
I focus on the bar, on all the ways I would change it if it were mine.
Sirena moves closer to me and rests a hand on my thigh.
I loosen a low, warning sound deep in my chest. “Remove your fucking hand.”
She blinks, a look of surprise crossing her face before she chuckles and withdraws her hand. “Easy there, big guy.”
“Why are you here?”
“I heard you were in town.”
“How?” I glare at her, my patience wearing thin.
“It’s my job to know.” At my glance toward Monty, she shakes her head. “I have a lot of customers, baby. I need to know who’s coming and going from this port.” She pitches forward, tits first, and exhales hot breath in my ear. “You three are by far my sexiest clients.”
“I’m not your client.”
“Even better.”
“I’m only going to say this once.” Slowly, I rise from the stool, donning my scariest scowl.
One peek at my face, and she stumbles back.
“Don’t touch me.” I tower over her, forcing her back another step while keeping a foot of space between us. “Don’t look at me. Don’t fucking talk to me unless it’s important. And just to be clear, your opinions about our sexiness aren’t important.”
A sound draws my eyes to the bar. Monty and Leo have their backs to me, but given how their shoulders shake, they find my speech amusing.
Sirena, on the other hand, sucks in a breath as a flush rises from her low-cut shirt and blotches her heavy chest.
“Fuck you.” Her words spit like venom.
Turning on her heel, she struts out the door amid more whistles and cat calls.
“Damn, bro.” Leo tips an eyebrow at me. “Fucking harsh.”
Before I can respond, the owner appears, a man in his late forties with a stout build and a face weathered by years of hard work.
“Mr. Novak, it’s a pleasure to have you in my establishment.” He extends a hand.
“Pilip.” Monty shakes it, sliding him a polite smile.
“What brings you in tonight?” Pilip turns to Leo and me, recognition dawning in his eyes. “Oh! You’re the brother and nephew I saw all over the news.”
I press my lips together, my gaze hard.
“We’d like a tour of the distillery.” Monty pockets his phone.
“Of course, of course. Right this way.”
Would the man be so eager if he knew Monty was interested in buying it?
Monty makes formal introductions, giving him our names. Then we follow him into the back and through a network of gleaming stainless-steel stills, polished pipes, and rows of filtration tanks.
The scents of sweet corn, earthy wheat, and the faintest hint of rye envelop me in a sensory experience that transports me back to the cellar in Hoss.
Pilip talks animatedly, explaining the process and the history of the place, but my thoughts are elsewhere.
I see the future so clearly. A vision of transformation. I would keep the state-of-the-art equipment. But everything else would go.
My vision comes together in my mind. With passion and hard work—and Monty’s capital investment—my ideas can become a reality.
As we finish the tour, Pilip looks at us expectantly. “Do you have any questions?”
Monty glances at me, giving me the floor.
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the decision. “We’d like to discuss a potential purchase.”
“Oh…uh…” Pilip smiles. “It’s not for sale.”
Monty throws out a number that sends the man into a choking fit.
If I hadn’t seen Monty’s car collection, I would’ve been choking, too.
“Let’s sit down and go over the details.” Monty gestures toward the private room in the back.
Leo catches my gaze, wordlessly asking if I’m sure about this.
Monty hasn’t given me his offer as my investor. Right now, this is just a conversation. A potential purchase. Nothing is set in stone. I won’t sign or agree to anything until I discuss it with Leo and Frankie.
Nodding, I let Leo see the hunger in my eyes. The hunger for a dream I never thought was possible.
As Monty follows Pilip toward the back, Leo steps into my space and wraps his arms around me.
“I’m happy for you.” He shifts, resting his hands on my shoulders. “I’m going to leave you to it and go see our girl.”
“Good.” I straighten. “I won’t make any decisions without you.”
“This is your dream, fuckwit.” He lightly slaps my cheek. “You already have my support.”
With a feral grin, he turns and stalks away.
Pulse racing, I find Monty and Pilip sitting at a table in a nearby room.
Within minutes, Monty dives into negotiations and financials, his expertise shining through. I focus on my vision, ensuring that every detail aligns with the story I want to tell.
I still don’t trust that Monty has my best interests in mind. But there’s one thing I know for sure.
With or without him, this is happening. Nothing will stand in my way.