Page 26 of Snake

With the last word, he pulled her forward and slammed her to the wall again. The last little bit of air she had burst away, and stars did a conga line across her vision.

And then he was gone, and she was on the floor.

What had just happened?

She was on her hands and knees, trying to gather herself together again, aware of commotion nearby. By the time she could make sense, it was over, and Cox crouched beside her, offering her his hand.

His knuckles were bleeding.

She took his bloody hand and stood with him, finally getting her bearings enough to see her surroundings and make sense of the past few minutes.

Music was still playing, but the bar was strangely quiet nonetheless. A small crowd had collected at the head of the hallway. The big guy who’d tried to strangle her was being dragged out, apparently unconscious, by the bartender and a twenty-something Black man.

And Cox stood before her. Frowning, of course.

He brushed fingers lightly across her throat. “Y’okay?”

Was she okay? She had no idea, so she took a beat to check and decided she was shaken, but determined not to let that jerk get anything he wanted from her, not even her fear. So she focused on the physical: her throat hurt, but otherwise, she was fine. “Yeah.” Her voice was also a little raspy.

His arm came around her, and his hand rested at that spot on the small of her back, this time settling there possessively. He turned and began leading her forward. “Let’s get you outta here.”

Autumn absolutely wanted to leave. She wanted to disappear from this shitty town and pop up in her own home, where she was safe from belligerent rednecks. But before Cox’s sentence reached its period, she knew she absolutely would not go yet. “No,” she told him. “I am not getting chased out of this stupid bar again. Not ever.”

With that, she walked away from him, pushed through the crowd at the end of the hall, and made her way back to her stool, where a fresh Jameson and another pint of ice water awaited her.

Chapter Seven

Cox stood in the hallway for a moment and watched Autumn stride back to the bar, her shoulders straight and square and her head high. Her ponytail had fallen loose, and her long hair brushed her back with each purposeful stride.

His looked at his throbbing hand; the three largest knuckles were shredded and running blood. It was stupid as fuck to punch a guy in the mouth, and downright braindead to do it repeatedly, but Duck Drake deserved every damn blow. It was a fucking offense that the man was being put out of the house he’d raised his family in, that his kids were going to lose their school and friends, and that injustice was largely on Autumn and her boss. But no decent man ever hurt a woman who hadn’t done violence first, and he sure as shit didn’t throw her around like a fucking ragdoll and try to choke her out, no matter what she’d done.

Autumn’s throat was bright red and already swelling. Cox hoped the new gaps in Duck’s gums never got filled in.

Most of the crowd was dispersing, but a handful of gapers stood there, watching Cox like they expected Act II of a floor show. He stared back until they cleared space for him to pass by.

Jesse Adams, who’d helped Vince drag Duck’s unconscious heft out of the bar, had just come back in. “Hey, Cox, Duck’s coming ‘round. Vince wants to double check—you sure you wanna let him go home?”

“Yeah.” Cox wasn’t one for a big lecture when he gave a man what he deserved. Badger liked to call the Horde’s correction of town troublemakers ‘lessons,’ and he usually had some kind of pseudo-instructive gab to deliver, a habit he’d apparently gotten from Isaac. Cox didn’t give a shit if a man learned from his mistakes. If he didn’t, he’d get another beating.

To Cox’s mind, those ‘lessons’ were nothing more than gussied-up threats, and threats were wastes of breath. Just deal with the problem and let history teach the wise. The fools were on their own.

As he approached the bar, he saw Autumn grab her fifth Jameson and toss the whole thing down in a go, wincing as she swallowed. That little bit of a woman held her booze surprisingly well, but five of Vince’s pretty-woman pours had to be wobbling her knees. The adrenaline she must be awash with just now surely wasn’t making her any steadier.

Janie, the waitress on duty tonight, was tending bar while Vince dealt with Duck. As Cox arrived at Autumn’s side, she caught Janie’s attention and ordered another Jameson.

He was going to have to pour her back into the B&B at this rate.

Badger hadn’t put him on this detail because he wanted to know what Autumn was up to. He wanted to torment her and keep her from getting up to anything. Hell, maybe he’d specifically given Cox this shit detail because he knew Cox wouldn’t be good with slinking around the corners of buildings and lurking in shadows. He’d get right up in her business and vex the fuck out of her.

Which was exactly what he’d done. He felt like a patsy.

Autumn hadn’t touched her fresh glass of water. Without a word, Cox pushed it closer to her.

She looked up at him. “Is that a commentary on my alcohol intake?”

Her voice was rougher now, and a clear thumbprint was turning from red to purple on the side of her throat. His hand twitched toward her, ready to brush that bruise again. Instead, he made a fist and let the ache and fresh blood redirect his attention.

Janie delivered another Jameson. As Autumn picked it up and took a rhetorical slug, her eyes on Cox the whole time, Vince came up from behind the bar and set a fresh beer and lumpy wad of clean bar towel before him.

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