Alpha Bear

Patrice’s stomach tightened with nerves as she rounded the last bend on the narrow mountain road. She turned down the volume on the radio, silencing the girl-power band she’d been singing along to. Time to concentrate. According to the GPS map on her phone, she only had a quarter mile to go. Finally.
She’d known it would be a long drive out of town to reach this place, but wow. These guys liked their privacy; that was for sure. She hadn’t seen another house in miles and her nerves were starting to get to her. As if echoing the sentiment, her beater of a car whined and protested the steep hill. The asphalt had given way to dirt about a mile ago and the second-hand import with bald tires didn’t do well on this kind of terrain. Actually, it didn’t do well on any kind of terrain. Lucky for her, owning the bar in town and living above it meant she didn’t do much driving these days.
Today was an exception. And although she dreaded what she was about to do, she wasn’t going to just roll over and let the Timber Crew destroy the only thing that was truly hers in the world. When Patrice’s ex had bought the bar with her and then split a few months later, she’d worked her ass off to buy out his share.
As of six months ago, the bar was hers and hers alone. Free and clear. Screw her ex, Bobby, and the way he walked out, leaving her holding the bag five years ago. She’d stepped up then and she’d step up now. Because she wasn’t about to let the Timber Crew off the hook for what they’d done.
The Timber Crew was a shifter crew made up entirely of “problem” grizzlies that lived on the other side of Timber Falls Mountain. Word had it the men who lived here came from all kinds of messed up childhoods. Hunt, the alpha, brought them here to “rehabilitate” them. But Patrice hadn’t seen nearly as much rehab as demo when the guys came to her bar. Last night had definitely been the worst of it.
Patrice steered right, and when the road straightened, she braked hard and stared at the “welcome” post in front of her. Two telephone poles stood like sentinels on either side of a muddy driveway. Mounted across the top of the poles was a thick plank and underneath that, an old wooden sign hung precariously by only two of its four rusted chains. The sign swung lightly in the late afternoon breeze but it was visible enough in the fading light, and a shiver ran through her.
Once, it had said Timber Falls Lumber Co. but that had been struck through and spray-painted over. Now it simply said exactly what this place was known as to the townspeople in Timber Falls, Montana: the Bad News Bears. Beyond the sign, she could see that it was an old campground with tiny cabins spaced just far enough apart to appear together but separate. Tall pines were interspersed between them but not enough to afford any real privacy. These guys worked together and partied together. The second part she knew firsthand now that her bar was the only one that still offered service to shifters in town. Maybe not for much longer.
Patrice hesitated, her car idling with a low vibrating growl just before the turnoff. For a split second she was tempted to give in to her trepidation and turn back. Go home and do what she could do to repair the damage. Ban the bears from ever stepping foot inside her place again.
But then she remembered how hard she’d worked to make that bar downtown all hers. Not just the bank note but the interior décor. The Shifty Cat was a nice place now with all its gleaming hardwood and the brand new bar top—the bar top that had been cracked all the way down the middle last night by one of these creeps. She’d promised herself she’d put aside her fear of them and come demanding what was fair: they should fix what they broke. And dammit, she was going to do it. Even if it meant facing the alpha of the infamous Timber Falls Shifters himself.
She reached over and popped an M&M into her mouth. For courage. And eased onto the gas. With only a slight ripple of unease, she turned onto the muddy drive and made her way toward the first house. A cabin, although its logs had seen better days. Still, it was in better shape than the other houses. She counted six before she’d reached her destination and put it in park, hands trembling only a little.
She half-expected Hunt Blackburn himself to come marching out to greet her. Or run her off. Word had it he didn’t like visitors. He was the only member of the crew she’d never met but if the rest of them were any indication, she could only assume he would not be a pleasant guy.
The bears brought customers and a nice stream of income into her bar with the co-ed groupies that followed them around. She usually didn’t complain too much when they got rowdy. And she wasn’t going to be the hypocrite to ban a shifter from her premises either. Not when she was one herself. But lately, the girls had been fewer and the fights more often. Last night had been the worst. For the sake of the town, she had to say something.
She did a cursory mirror check and smudged on some lip gloss, hurrying in case any of them were watching her through closed blinds. She couldn’t sense anyone but she wasn’t taking any chances. One more M&M and a fluff of her hair later and she was ready.
The weathered porch creaked underneath her ankle boots and when she knocked, she grimaced at the way it seemed to echo loudly into the silence around her. It was eerie knowing how many grizzly shifters lived here and not sensing a single freaking one. The animal inside her was uneasy.
Her knock went unanswered. In fact, everything was quiet. Too quiet. But she wasn’t leaving without getting what she’d come for.
She frowned, noticing the pick-up truck parked beside her car and the other two trucks scattered out by the rickety trailers beyond. She checked the clock on her phone—which had zero service. It was late enough, she didn’t think they were still at work. So where was he?
From somewhere behind the house, a man hollered, followed by another yell and then loud laughter. A low hum of voices followed and Patrice kicked herself for not picking up on it before. Now, she followed the sound around the side of the house.
She pulled up short when she spotted them. Six men, half of them shirtless, laughed and carried on. All of them, even those who wore shirts, were toned and fit with broad shoulders that tapered into slim waists. They sported varying hair colors and heights, easily making them the most eclectic “family” she’d ever seen.