Page 27 of Sacrifice
Still infuriated, I burst back through the door, not any more leveled than when I went in.
I look down the hallway towards the front. The chimes ring as the two punks from outside walk in. They glance around the room, trying to look natural.
It’s anything but.
They walk to the bar, the one on the right setting down a brown paper bag. They look around, talking to one another in whispers. Jordyn talks to them a minute but doesn’t approach the bar with the same swagger that she normally does.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
The air has changed. The vibe in the room is completely different. I can hear a tick of a bomb that doesn’t exist.
Something’s off.
Dane and Adam are sitting at a table by the door. As I start towards the bar, they catch my eye, sensing the same thing I am. They start to stand but I motion with my eyes for them to sit back down.
“How ya doin’?” I level up to the bar beside one of the guys. He tries to brush me off, his eyes on Jordyn. “I’ve seen you around, haven’t I? Didn’t we drink together last weekend?”
He ignores me and whispers something to his buddy. I act like I lose my balance and fall against the bar, bumping him enough to make him hit the brown bag. He turns to face me, scowling, and the bag opens enough so the nickel-plating inside catches the light.
Pistol. Just like I thought.
Fuck.
I find Jordyn watching us. I shoot her a look and realization washes over her face. I nod subtly and she backs away, fear written all over her.
“Get lost, you drunk-ass bitch.” The guy next to me pops his shoulder, trying to toss me off him like he’s gonna intimidate me. I want to laugh so damn bad, but I don’t.
Not yet.
“Ah, come on, man,” I murmur, watching them both. Quickly, I scan the area around me, spot a heavy beer mug to my right, and drag it to me.
“GDFR” by Flo Rida begins to play across the speakers and I chuckle at the irony.
It’s going down for real, all right.
The paper bag crinkles as his hand begins to draw the pistol out. His eyes are still fixed on Jordyn.
“Get the money outta the register,” his friend says, the words cold.
The guy beside me removes the gun from the bag. He turns it towardme.
I raise the beer mug and smash it against his wrist. The sound of bones crunching rips through the room. The gun slams against the bar, skids across it, and topples over the change collector, clanking against the floor.
He screams and tries to pull back. His hand is limp, the bones that normally hold it straight now disjointed.
My left arm flies up under his chin. I take a fistful of his sweatshirt and jerk him across my body. His green sneakers pass by my eyes as he flies a good five feet in the air, slamming into a pub table against the other wall. The weight of his body causes the table to disintegrate and he crashes through it, napkin dispensers and advertisements caving in on top of him. Movement from his friend catches my attention. His eyes are wide, badass to scared-shitless in an instant. He’s moving backwards slowly, glancing around for an exit.
The mug still in my hand, I set it down, then watch my next opponent back against a stool. As his legs touch the fabric, his eyes go even wider, realizing that there is no escape. Not tonight. Not without being royally fucked up, anyway.
I pull back like I’m gonna punch him in the face and he does what every guy does that’s watched too much fighting on TV. He hunkers to his right. Instead of punching him, I yank him towards me. His face is met with my elbow. It slams against him, driving his nose into this skull. I feel the bones cave and splinter under the force.
His head knocks to the side, and whole teeth and pieces of others fly from his mouth, rattling down the bar like someone just rolled dice.
I release his shirt, his eyes about ready to bulge out of his head. He stumbles against the stool. His hands are shaking as they grasp at his already-swelling and bloodied mouth.
My senses come back in full force, the silence in the room deafening. I can smell the fear on the guy across from me, the panic in the air as the scattered patrons watch with bated breath. I’ve been in this position dozens of times and there’s nothing like it.
I do a quick scan of the room. Jordyn is standing in the doorway to the kitchen with her hand over her mouth. Various people are standing around, mouths open. Will is still sitting in his chair, calmly sipping his beer. Our eyes meet and he chuckles, completely amused.
