Page 12 of Bartender Mate

“Crrrrap,” I croaked, trying to peel my cheek off the sticky floor behind the counter. Then I muttered, “Dan, where’s my gun?”

Ortriedto mutter, at any rate.

My speech came out all slurred, instead. Probably from that hit I’d taken when crashing against the bar. These fuckers clearly didn’t give a shit about honor. The Prez must have set someone up to take me out from the side while I was focused on the revelation that Dan’s older brother was riding with the very people who were trying to shake me down.

“Dan,” I tried again. “Where’s Berty?”

But Dan didn’t answer. All I could hear was the sound of someone going to town on a sack of meat laying on the floor nearby. Only we weren’t in a butcher’s shop, we were in Last Chance Bar. And if I wasn’t the one being whaled on then…

Fear washed over me.

“No.” My denial was somewhere between a sob and a curse. “Fucktards.” Needed to get these eyelids open, stat, but the damned things had been hammered shut. “Leave ‘im ‘lone.”

My fingers twitched in victory as I finally cracked my eyelids open. Now all I could see were a pair of riding boots and fists pummeling the poor, bloody mess of my employee who’d been dragged a few yards away so that he was only half-visible from behind the end of the bar.

No, not just an employee. A friend. Somewhere along the line, Dan had become a friend. A friend who would soon be dead if I didn’t do something to interrupt this senseless brutality.

“She’s awake, Prez.”

“Good,” Axle replied. “Set her up on the bar so she has a view of what’s mine.”

A couple of leather boots stalked over toward me. Two scarred-up hands grabbed me roughly under the armpits and hoisted me over their leather-clad shoulder. I groaned and worked double time not to lose my last meal down their back. Fucker would’ve deserved it, though.

The biker stomped around the bar, and set me heavily down on top of the counter, as the Prez stood his ground. Eyes glittering with good-natured menace as he watched over the proceedings.

“See, Tess,” Axle began in a reasonable sounding voice, picking some dirt out from under his cracked nails with a knife before casually stowing it away in its holster. “I have thisfeeling” –his eyes flicked briefly over to Dan– “that you’re gonna come round to my way of thinking. Real fast, like.”

I glared at the prick. Fucker was enjoying this.

“Get your jollies off beating up kids, do you, Axle?” I gritted out once I could catch my breath.

The goon who’d transported me stepped in, ready to give me a good punch to the ribs, but Axle held up a hand. With a familiar flick of his fingers, the strike which was set to punch my kidneys into next Sunday stopped right before it made contact.

All the same, I could feel the impact of the biker’s hand hitting what seemed to be an invisible wall cushioned between his fist and my body. Energy from the strike rippled through me while the noise of shattering bones made it clear that the wall was solid enough, despite my not being able to see it.

I winced.

The guy’s face went beetroot red then white as a sheet as he wheezed in torment.

“Now, now, Buzz,” the Prez admonished. “No need to take your frustration out on a lady. She can’t help that you caught herpes off Skank. I told you to put that sweetbutt on the back burner.” Buzz stepped back, clutching his damaged hand, and glared mutinously at me–as though I was responsible for his mangled appendage. The President’s voice turned harsh with his next command. “Get yourself off to the medic, Enforcer. I’ll handle things here.”

I narrowed my eyes on Axle who sauntered closer. He traced a finger along my jaw and I swear to god his nail felt just as cold as the kiss of a sharp blade.

“Must admit, Tess, my business partners aren’t usually so wild and appealing. You’d need to be house-broken, of course, but I can see keeping you around.” I kept my jaw shut, lest I rise to the bait, and give the Prez more ammo. “Tell you what. I’ll call Claw off his brother if you like? I usually don’t involve myself in family matters, but you seem a wee bit distracted, and I need your full attention for this next bit.” I didn’t bother answering and the Prez didn’t bother waiting on my reply. “Claw, to me.”

The sickening sound of punching abated, and I bit back a sigh of relief.

With a heartless bastard like Axle Grinder, it was much too soon for such a useless emotion.

My stomach clenched in silent agreement.

Claw stepped into view, his face a blank mask. I stared–hard–at the fucker while blinking my eyes rapidly in an attempt to banish this harsh new reality. As a bar owner, I’d mediated plenty of bar fights–of course, I had–but I’d never witnessed such lackadaisical violence. That gruesome red color was back, splattered on the Enforcer’s face as he fell in behind his Prez. The fucker left it there, too, while he casually wiped the blood from his knuckles with one of my dishcloths.

Oh, Dan,I seethed.What have they done to you?

Something about the sight of my friend’s blood on one of my own dishcloths turned my guts to fire.

In my periphery, I could just make out the wheezing lump that was my poor friend. He moaned then, deep and low and full of unspeakable pain. Logic was obliterated with the small utterance of pain. My small world was reduced down to pure, primal instincts.

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