Romance on the Edge 01 - Hooked

farther in his rickety chair. Sonya wondered how it held his weight.
    “He’s fine. A little bruised.”
    “Good to hear it,” Earl said and then quickly followed up with, “That is, it’s good to hear he’ll be fine. Aidan headed up the bluff. He shouldn’t be more than a few hundred yards.”
    “Check out his shoulders, while you’re up there.” Roland stubbed out his cigarette with the heel of his boot. “He could help carry your load.”
    “Thanks.” Sonya gratefully turned and headed up the trail. Conversing with Cranky and Crafty was never something she liked to linger over.
    She found Aidan reclining on his elbow in the tall grass, his long legs crossed at the ankles. A sketchbook lay opened near his side, a charcoal pencil between his blackened fingers.
    “Hey,” she greeted, smiling as she startled him. “Am I interrupting?” She knew how involved he became when writing his graphic novels. “I can come back later.”
    Aidan’s eyes cleared of whatever world he’d been visiting. “No, now’s fine.” He sat up, dropped the pencil in the tin box next to him, and reached his arms over his head and stretched. “I could benefit from a break.” He closed the sketchbook, setting it aside, and then regarded her with his intuitive gaze. “What happened?”
    She sat next to him in the sweet-smelling grass with the warm sun soothing her temper and a slight sea breeze wafting like a lover’s caress over her skin. She told him what had transpired that morning. At first, she hadn’t wanted to include Aidan, but he’d always regarded Gramps as an adoptive grandfather. It was time to set things right between them.
    Besides, she needed a friend.
    She also needed muscle who wasn’t overly concerned about the limitations of the law.

    Later that evening, Sonya and Aidan parked their 4-wheelers side-by-side in front of the Pitt. The gray salt-weathered board-and-bat siding was years behind a new coat of paint. A neon sign in the window flashed “Sorry We’re Open.”
    The front door grated on rusty hinges as Aidan yanked it ajar for her to enter. The acrid smell of smoke drifted over her and helped to dispel the unwashed body odor of the patrons squatting at the bar. Years of fried food and spilled beer gave the floor a dark patina underfoot. On the jukebox, Johnny Cash’s deep baritone sang, “Walk the Line.” Balls clacked over scarred velvet as a few fishermen passed the time shooting pool.
    The one redeeming quality the Pitt had was its view of the South Naknek River as it poured into Bristol Bay. Plate glass windows flanked the north side of the building. Sonya picked out the Double Dippin’ beached below on the muddy sand from the outgoing tide. Peter was keeping watch with Gracie for company.
    Aidan wrapped an arm around her, leaned down and whispered in her ear, “There he is.” He turned her with his body so that she saw Kendrick sitting at the end of the bar. “You sure you want to do this?”
    She took off her sunglasses, getting a better look at Kendrick sitting smug at the bar, and anchored them in the collar of her shirt. “I’m dying to do this.” This moment had been building for fourteen years.
    “The brutes next to him, his crewmen?”
    She nodded.
    He gave a big sigh. “We could’ve used Cranky and Crafty as back up.”
    “I’m counting on those wicked martial art skills of yours to tip the scales.” She shrugged. “Who knows, this might end peacefully.”
    “Uh-huh, and I’ve got a deed to a goldmine if your interested.” Aidan rolled his shoulders. “Remember what I showed you?”
    “Yep, let’s do this.” With all the bravado she could muster, Sonya strutted over to the end of the bar, Aidan flanking her side. “Kendrick, I’d like a word.”
    “Well, if it isn’t the captain of the Double D, and who’s this?” Kendrick swiveled on his barstool, and raised coarse brows at Aidan. “Your sidekick?” He threw his head back and laughed at his own joke. While his crewmen belatedly joined in, one stocky with a skull tattooed on his bald head, the other looked like a walking Slim-Jim. Kendrick’s laugh boomed and echoed in the large room, silencing the patrons as everyone turned their direction. A pool ball, still en route, cracked like a gunshot as it sunk a ball into the corner pocket.
    Sonya’s legs trembled and she locked her knees. She replayed the image of the reel ramming into Gramps, followed by the haunting memory of fire, and blood, and