Page 8 of The Lair

“What’s wrong?” I smile tightly once more, trying to summon Charlie with my mind to no avail. He’s only a few feet away, and I’m definitely in his line of vision, but chances are he can’t hear anything over the loud throng, including this old man’s yells.

He smacks the glass on the bar again, making my pulse go all the way up to my throat, and I catch it just in time before it topples to the ground. “Are you even old enough to serve me a fucking drink? This is bullshit.”

“Excuse me—” I start, bits of subdued rage swirling in my stomach, but he doesn’t give me a chance to finish.

“Where’s my fucking orange peel?” he sneers.

I blink.

“You forgot the orange peel,” he points out, looking at the now-half-empty glass as if I’d filled it with poison.

He’s being rude, dramatic, and scary because of anorange peel? Is this a joke?

“I can get you another?—”

I don’t miss his cheek twitching as he leans in and points a crooked finger at me. “You shouldn’t be here. Get me a man to make me a fucking drink or get out of my face.”

Wow. Okay.

Taking a deep breath, I tell myself he’s drunk and won’t really hurt me. We’re in the middle of a crowded bar, and there’s a huge wooden barrier between us I’m not planning to jump over.

My mother’s voice echoes in my head before I can stop it, making everything else turn dark.

Damn it, Allison. You can never do anything right. Do you even care about your family?

I shut my eyes, but the memory assaults me just the same.

Go away, go away, go away.

It takes me an embarrassingly long number of seconds to realize I’ve zoned out, and David/Danny is staring at me like I’ve grown a second head.

“I can get you another one,” I say, fighting the strong grip the not-too-old memories have on my heart.

“I want nothing from you.” The sneer is back in full force. “And I’m not paying for shit tonight. I’m not taking drinks from you.”

I ignore the jab because I’ve got bigger fish to fry, as I’m pretty sure boss man will have my head if I let a customer leave the bar without paying their tab.

“We don’t offer free drinks.”

My tight smile is gone, replaced by what I can only hope is a serious expression.

“Bulls—”

David/Danny doesn’t finish his sentence.

A huge hand that is at least twice the size of mine maneuvers around me and gently grabs the old-fashioned from my trembling fingers, placing it somewhere behind me.

I would recognize those calloused fingers anywhere—not like they are easily mistakable. His presence at my back is warm, yet I know the look on his face I would find if I turned around won’t be.

Travis doesn’t shout, doesn’t raise his voice at all. He never needs to.

“Out.”

That deep, authoritative one-word rumble travels all the way down my spine and settles at its base, where a tingling sensation remains.

“Give this old man a break, Ward.” He tries to play it cool, but he fails.

A single sentence from my boss and David/Danny doesn’t appear to be so drunk anymore.Huh.

---