Page 4 of Disturbed Lucidity

Nodding, I walked right behind him when he headed for the bar, pointing to a stool.

I dropped my backpack and sat.

“Whatcha doing with the Barbie doll, Logic? She lost?”

“Where is Slash?”

“In a meeting with the boss.”

Leaning against the bar, Logic looked at me and asked, “What is your name?”

“Ivy. Ivy Scott.”

“Ivy, this is Mouth,” Logic said, pointing to the man behind the bar. “Stay here, and I’ll go get Slash.”

Sitting at the bar, I noticed that every man with a leather cut on stared, not giving two fucks if it made me uncomfortable. Generally, having men look at me wouldn’t bother me. It was something I was used to my entire life, but this was different.

These weren’t just regular men.

There was something about the soulless depths in their eyes that told me these men didn’t have a fucking care in the world.

“Yo, Mouth”—a woman wearing what looked like a Band-Aid covering her ass and tits walked over, slamming a tray on the bar—“I need six beers and a Slippery Nipple.”

“What the fuck is that?” The bartender frowned, placing six bottles of beer on the tray.

“No fucking clue, but college-boy over there ordered one.”

“It’s a cocktail shot. Half Sambuca and half Baileys Irish Cream. I’d ask the guy if he’s looking to get his ass beat, ‘cause only someone looking to start a fight would order that shit.”

The bartender smirked. “That so?”

“Yep. Happens every time.”

“You know how to make it?”

I nodded.

“Well, climb on back here, Barbie, ‘cause I ain’t making that shit.”

Sliding off my stool, I walked around behind the bar, impressed with the set-up. It was an honest-to-God fucking bar. Everything was neat, organized, and clean. Reaching for a clean shot glass, I placed it on the bar, turning to grab the Baileys and Sambuca. After pouring the ingredients, I placed the shot glass on the tray and said to the server, “Serve the beers first, then ask the guy who ordered this who the recipient is. When he tells you, get ready to run.”

The young girl nodded and picked up the heavy tray.

Watching the waitress deliver the beers, she did exactly what I said, and when she placed the shot glass in front of a young man, the recipient jumped to his feet, tackling the jerk who’d ordered the drink.

Shaking my head, I muttered, “Every fucking time.”

Mouth leaned against the bar and asked, “You done this shit before?”

“Yeah. It’s easy when you learn the drinks. Mainly, guys prefer beer or whiskey. Girls are the only ones who ask for fancy shit. But it’s jerks like those idiots that make shit interesting,” I replied, watching the idiots roll around on the floor, no one moving to stop them.

“IVY!”

Looking up, I smiled, and ran around the bar into my best friend’s arms. Hugging me tightly, he spun me around before placing me back on my feet. “You fucking made it, girl. About damn time. And damn, girl... you look fucking good.”

“Not so bad yourself, Mikie.”

Wrapping his meaty arm around my shoulder, Mikie walked me back over to the bar. “What do you think of my girl, Mouth?”

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