Mako (The Mako Saga: Book 1) by Ian J. Malone Read Free Book Online

ties and frat-tastic charms made them the proverbial kings of their campus domain. Per Mac’s philosophy, everyone was entitled to lay it on the line and make a play to meet someone new; it’s the bar scene way. However, if you got shot down, you should smile, take your medicine, and walk away. What you did not do was stand there and continue being obnoxious with another paying customer.
    Most people respected this unwritten rule of the house, but not everyone. On those rare occasions when a demonstration was necessary, Mac’s favorite tool of choice was typically the bar’s PA system, which she happily used for the sole purpose of public humiliation as security escorted the customer in question off the premises—most times to the thunderous applause and obligatory chants of “ awkwaaaaarrrrdddd! ” from everyone else around.
    Initially, the group’s dealings with her were no different from any other bartender/regular relationship, filled with all the usual small-talk repartee of the sort. However it didn’t take long for the five to realize that they had far more in common than a love of Florida State athletics and oatmeal stout beer. Music, sports, literature tastes, philosophies about life, a fascination with other cultures—it was all there, but above all else, they quickly discovered that Mac was devoutly loyal to those she called friends, a quality that each of them deeply admired.
    The daughter of two native New Yorkers and the youngest sibling to three older brothers, Mac had worn somewhat of a tomboy chip on her shoulder for as long as anyone could remember. Be it with her love of sports (which she played throughout high school), her taste in music (centering predominantly on British punk and hard rock), or her choice of wardrobe (typically a ratty pair of jeans, a distressed leather jacket, and her father’s faded blue Yankees cap), she always ran with the guys. She’d even picked up video gaming at an early age when her parents had bought the kids one of the early Nintendo systems for Christmas, and never one to be outdone by her brothers, she picked up a controller and taught herself to play.
    In short, Mac had always been one of the boys, and anyone who didn’t believe so needed look no further than her name itself. Much to the chagrin of her parents, who were ecstatic upon receiving the news that they’d finally have a girl in the house, she detested both her first and middle names. To her, “Evelyn” sounded like an old lady’s name—synonymous with pink hair curlers, Amway makeup, and denture cream. As the cheese factor went, however, it paled in comparison to the absurdly gaudy “Twilah.” That delightful little stamp on her birth certificate had come courtesy of Mac’s flower-child Mom, and some crap, hippie poet she’d loved since her college days in the late 60s. God only knew what psychedelic wonders had inspired it too.
    Still, for all the venom she’d spewed over the names her parents had been so very fond of, Mac always loved her last name and its Scottish heritage—a fact that endeared her to Hamish particularly. So somewhere around age 13, once everyone had given up on the notion of her accepting something even remotely more ladylike, the name “Mac” was born, and that is what had stuck.
    Throughout high school, when she wasn’t on the track or the softball diamond, Mac was usually spotted running with the rough crowd, sneaking the occasional cigarette and skipping school to party at any place with an open liquor cabinet. However, a few short years and a series of questionable judgment calls later—one of which landed her an overnight stay in the Leon County Jail for underage drinking and disorderly conduct—she began to pull her life together, and by the time she reached college, she’d actually morphed into a quasi-responsible young adult. Whereas in high school her preference would have been to skip class in favor of a dorm-room kegger, she’d become a dedicated