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“For now, I want things at a smolder. But I want you and the boys ready to burn the ORB down. We’re talking about days, not weeks.”
“Understood.” He nods to himself. “And I’ll get used to the girl.”
“I thought you already were.” I turn and head back toward the main floor. “Make sure the count gets done.”
Eric’s going to be a problem. His attitude’s been bad for a while now, but things have been getting worse ever since Cora came back into my life. He’s my best friend but he’s got big dreams, and I’m not sure the state of Georgia is large enough for him, much less being the second-in-command on my crew. The fact that he’s got a spy watching over Ben means he’s got plans within plans and I’m not sure how many of those include me.
I can’t get too paranoid though. I can’t have that sort of division in the crew right now, not on the eve of war. If we’re going to beat the ORB, I need everyone following orders and working together or else things are going to get bad real fast. I can’t underestimate those bikers, not unless I want to end up with a chest filled with metal.
The main room’s beginning to fill up with customers as a pretty brunette named Flower gets up on the stage and starts shaking her tits. At this point, the girls are practically invisible to me—I haven’t been attracted to a stripper in a long while. I’ve been around this place enough to know that it’s never good to get involved with the girls, even if they get flirtatious sometimes. I keep my distance and my hands clean and everyone stays happy.
At the bar, Cora’s serving a whiskey to a guy that’s already visibly drunk. He’s older, in his fifties, with a burly back and a big beard, the type of guy that takes pride in the amount of rust on his old pickup truck. His hat’s on backwards and he’s got Oakley sunglasses on the brim, and he’s saying something to Cora that’s making her frown and shake her head.
I lean up against the bar beside the guy. “We got a problem here?”
“No, no problem,” Cora says quickly and nudges his drink closer. “Ten dollars, please.”
The guy looks at me with a deep frown and squints through what I’d bet is about two six-packs of cheap beer. “Who the fuck are you? I was just telling this pretty bartender here that I think she should get up on that stage and earn some extra cash.”
“He’s joking,” Cora says, eyes wide, but I ignore her and move closer to the guy.
“You think this girl should strip for you, huh? What makes you think you deserve it?”
“I work hard for a living and she’s in a damn titty bar. I wanna see some damn titties.”
“Flower’s on the main stage,” Cora says.
“Fuck that girl. She looks like the underside of my cousin’s asshole.”
I don’t ask how he knows what that looks like. Instead, I lean close, and smile. “Sir, I think you should leave.”
“Leave? Forget that. Bartender girl, tell this guy to go to hell, would you?” He looks at her, grinning. “I’ve got a really good tip for you if you’re nice to me.”
I grab the back of his head, palming his piece-of-shit hat and those douchebag sunglasses, and slam his face into the bar.
His nose breaks with a sickening crunch. His face rebounds and he falls backwards off his stool, shouting and pawing at his head like he’s trying to ward off angry ghosts. Several other patrons stop what they’re doing and stare, but most of the guys here this early are regulars and they know how things go around here.
“Nobody fucks with my girls,” I say, standing over the guy.
“I’m gonna kill you,” he says and tries to stand up, but I put a boot on his chest and kick him back down. “Motherfucker!”
“Nobody looks at my girl,” I say and glance back at Cora. She’s staring with a pale face and a tight jaw. “You understand me yet?”
The drunk asshole grunts his assent and starts to crawl away. I let him go and he scrambles to his feet. There’s a moment where he considers doing the stupid thing and trying to win back some shred of his dignity, but instead he turns away and stumbles out the door.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Cora says. She pours out the guy’s glass and starts cleaning it.
“There’s blood on the bar.” I point to where the guy bled. “Clean it up for me.”
“You’re such a prick, Nolan.”
“Would you rather I let him talk to you like that?”
“I would rather you not act like a fucking prick.”
I smirk at her and lean against the bar. “Maybe he’s right then. Maybe I should get you on that stage.”
