“Roach! Jameson - bring over the bottle!” Berkleigh demanded as she sat down. The bartender smirked and quickly complied, placing the bottle in front of her before filling the order of the next bad apple to bark at him. 

“Seat’s taken!” A man belted out as he slapped Berkleigh in the back of the head. She whipped her head around to see a well-built man with tattoos on top of his tattoos and a long beard in a braid. 

“You deaf? I said `seat's taken’!” The man repeated as Berkleigh’s hand closed tightly over the shaft of the bottle of whiskey. Her eyes seemed to catch fire as she stood, the bottle in hand. 

“My mistake. Start a tab for me, Roach!&rdqu...

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