Page 61 of Snake

Autumn looked over her shoulder and saw that a small crowd had gathered. That crowd did not include Chase or the girl he’d latched onto, nor did it include Badger or Double A. They were all still at the bar, though she noticed them watching, too.

The cluster of spectators did include Kellen Frey, who had spoken. His grin faltered when he saw her looking. “No offence, ma’am,” he muttered.

“Careful, or you’re next,” she told him, which got a chorus of hoots from their audience.

She turned back to the game. Cox sank the one, and then the five, before she got a chance at the table.

As Cox stepped back from the table and Autumn stepped up, she considered what he’d left her. The eight still rested right at the lip of the far right corner pocket, and the twelve sat just beside it, against the bumper. If she lined up her shot exactly right, she could bank the fourteen so it sent the twelve to the left side pocket. But if she missed by even a millimeter, she’d scratch.

She could sink the ten in the near left corner with a simple straight shot without disturbing that lie, so she took that shot first. Then she saw a chance to use a plant shot, and the two ball, to sink the fifteen and ruin Cox’s setup for the two.

Her plant shot wasn’t precisely perfect, and the two rolled to a good position at the near left pocket, but Autumn didn’t care about that just yet. The cue was perfectly positioned now for a bank shot to deal with the twelve.

As she set up the shot, she noticed that quiet had filled the room, dense as cotton batting, but she set that awareness aside. Autumn played like she worked: with full dedication and focus.

She took the shot. The cue struck the fourteen cleanly and sent it toward the twelve—and the eight—in a smooth roll full of backspin. The fourteen slowed with every inch until it gently tapped the twelve.

The eight rolled about three inches toward the center of the table, away from the pocket. The twelve dropped in, and the fourteen crept to the edge, paused—she could almost hear the held breath of the whole room—and finally dropped.

The room exploded in shouts and cheers. Dozens of hands came out of nowhere to slap Autumn on the back, shake her shoulder, clutch her arm. She hadn’t even won yet, but they were celebrating like she had.

Anyway, as soon as she could get back to the table she’d win—the remaining balls would be easy shots.

Suddenly, she was grabbed forcefully from behind and yanked around—Chase had her. Before she could do anything more than gasp, he slammed her body to his and dropped his drunken, sweaty mouth on hers. His tongue surged into her mouth like a freaking Roto-Rooter.

Shocked, appalled, disgusted, Autumn had not one single thought about her job, her career, or managing Chase to protect it. Her only thought, only feeling, only need was to get away from the horror of this assault. She fought as hard as she could to get free. But she was small and surprised. Chase was much bigger and determined. He ignored her struggle.

Then, just as suddenly, she was yanked away from Chase. This time, Cox had her. He grabbed her, frowned down at her, pushed her toward another set of grasping hands, then leapt at Chase and began to punch. Repeatedly.

And it looked like nobody intended to stop him.

Autumn freed herself from the latest set of hands and arms—they were, it turned out, Darwin’s, and he apologized as soon as she glared back at him—and then didn’t know what to do. She knew she should get Cox to stop trying to kill her boss, but frankly, still charged with outrage and disgust, she wasn’t ready to get between that boorish jerk and what he had coming.

Except Cox was still going, a flurry of blows. Chase was not fighting back. In fact, he was starting to look a little ... floppy.

“Okay, okay. Easy, brother,” Showdown said, as he and Len—two of the oldest men in the club—finally collected Cox and pulled him off.

“Is Trina around?” Badge asked as he and Dom hoisted a reeling, bleeding Chase to his feet. His face was already becoming a misshapen lump of purpling flesh. Autumn couldn’t tell if he even remembered where he was.

“I’m here!” A woman’s voice—Trina, apparently—called from somewhere near the back. “I’ll grab the kit!”

“Let’s get him in the back room,” Badger said. “Trina can clean him up. Izzy, grab the bottle—make it two—and come back with us. I think our guest could use some TLC.” As he and Dom headed to the back, Badger looked back to Cox. “You need your hands cleaned up, brother.”

At that moment Autumn saw the girl who’d been sitting on Cox’s lap earlier, and she looked like she was about to volunteer to be his nurse. Before she could think, Autumn said, “I’ll take care of him,” loud enough that the entire room heard her.

The clubhouse went quiet at once, and every eyeball seemed to be on her. They all seemed shocked, but she couldn’t understand why. So she focused on Badger, because he was in charge.

Under the heat of her regard, Badger shook off his torpor first. “Okay, then. There’s a second kit in the bathroom. Dom, c’mon.” With that, he focused on the task of carry-dragging Chase toward, and then down, a hallway at the back of the clubhouse.

Without acknowledging Autumn, Cox headed in the same direction.

Why had she volunteered to help him clean up? Why was she jealous of the overdone tart with the big hair? Obviously those two had something going on—and it was none of her business.

She didn’t live in Signal Bend. She wasn’t interested in any biker, which included Cox. She didn’t even like these guys.

Yet when she chanced to make eye contact with that girl again, the girl (really, she was a woman, obviously at least in her thirties) made a broadly condescending gesture, which screamed, If you’re not going, I am.

Autumn’s feet were heading toward the back before she’d made the decision.

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