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“We will be in touch.” He turns and starts to walk away.
Kenzo pushes off the wall, pocketing his dice. “Don’t be a stranger at the tables.”
I laugh harder as Garrett releases Rob’s neck, tapping his cheek with the blade, all friendly like. Me? I get in the man’s face again, wanting him to look into the eyes of the man who’s going to wreck his daughter. When I’m done with her, there won’t even be enough to bury. “I’m going to make her scream, I might even record it for you.”
“Diesel,” Ryder calls from the doorway of the shitty little two-story house we’re in.
Leaning forward, I press my lips near the man’s ear. “I’ll let you know if she comes before or after I slice her neck,” I whisper, before lunging forward and biting off his earlobe.
He screams as I howl with laughter, spitting the flesh and blood across his chest as I turn to leave, whistling to myself as the copper tang fills my mouth and drips down my chin.
“You’re a crazy bastard,” Garrett grumbles.
“You too, brother, now let’s go get our new toy!” I declare, suddenly in a good mood with the prospect of torture on the horizon.
Rob should have known better, the whole city should…
When you fuck with Vipers, you get fangs.
That poor little girl has no idea what’s coming her way…
Chapter Two
ROXY
“Alright, alright, I get it. You’re the prettiest butterfly in the butterfly farm.” I nod seriously as I grip Henry’s shoulder and press him down, helping him into the cab. “See you tomorrow, Henry. Try not to choke on your own vomit.” I chuckle as I slam the door shut. Heading to the front, I pass the driver some money and tell him Henry’s address.
As a regular, he’s here every night. I asked him once why he drank. Honestly, I didn’t expect an answer. The poor bastard’s daughter died a few years back. Murdered. Ever since, he drowns his sorrows, and I make sure he gets home okay. He might be a drunk, but I have a soft spot for him. I can see the pain in his eyes, and any father who cares that much about his daughter is a good man. But maybe that’s my own daddy complex talking.
Turning back to my bar, I grin at the exterior. She ain’t much to look at, but she’s all mine. “Roxers,” written in bright red LED letters, hangs above the door which has seen better days. She’s rundown for sure, a dive, but she’s one hell of a place to drink. The outside looks like an old cabin of some kind. Made from wood and mismatched brick. She has a porch wrapped all the way around where the patrons all smoke, with bike spaces in front of her. The two swinging doors are unlocked at the moment, and the filthy windows leave you unable to look inside.
We get all types here—truckers, bikers, criminals. Everyone is welcome. There’s only one rule—don’t break the fucking furniture. It’s an old rule, put into place before I even owned it, I just carried on the tradition. The sandy parking lot is empty, apart from my beat-up muscle car that I won in a bet, so I head back inside, flicking off the sign as I go so everyone knows we’re closed.
It’s early, almost time for the sun to come up. I guess owning a bar makes me a nocturnal creature, I did always prefer the night and all the fun that comes with it. Sighing, I brush back my silver hair and put it in a quick ponytail as I start to close up. I sent Travis home earlier, his grandma is sick and needed his help, so clean up is on me now. Picking up one of the mismatched chairs, I lay it on the table before collecting the glasses, as many as I can.
I head towards the back, past the pool tables and dartboards, and march up the stairs to the left. I push open the kitchen door with my hip and rinse the glasses before running them through the washer. Flicking off the kitchen light, I walk back into the bar area to mop the floor, not that it stops it from being a sticky mess you wouldn’t want to walk on with bare feet, but it’s a habit.
To my left is the old bar, the top made from beer tops set in resin, a gift. It’s clear of bottles at the moment, the differing stools empty before it. The old, wooden shelves hold every type of liquor you can imagine and the kegs waiting to be filled.
I already sorted the bar and cash register while Henry was pretending to be a butterfly, so not much more to do now before I can collapse into bed. Fuck, I need to find a new bartender. It’s hard finding one with experience who will last here though. They either speak too freely or fall in with the bad crowd. Yeah, you can’t look on a job website for this one, folks.
The last one we had was sent to jail for murder. Yeah, that’s the kind of place it is. Although, I gotta say, I miss the old bastard, he played a mean hand of poker. I stop when I pass the door, and it swings shut behind me.
There, in my bar, are four massive men. Tattoos cover their knuckles and necks, one even has his head shaved. Unsavoury sorts, of course, but that ain’t different from the usual around here. Their clothing is all black, and I narrow my eyes, assessing them quickly. “We’re closed,” I tell them, hoping they will take a hint.
Fucking sloppy, I didn’t lock the door. That’s what pulling pints and breaking up fights for fourteen days straight will do to you. I’m in desperate need of a day off, and now these assholes waltz in here like they own the joint.
One cracks his knuckles as they all smirk at me. If they think that will scare me, they should think again. I drink beer with men who would make these guys piss themselves, and I usually drink them under the table.
Everyone knows Roxers, and everyone knows me…and not to fuck with me. There’s a reason they all call me Swinger, and it ain’t ’cause I go to sex parties. Sliding closer to the bar, I slip my hand behind it, connecting with the smooth wood of my trusty bat, the bitch smacker. “I said we’re closed. Better get out, boys.”
“Or what?” one of them challenges as he steps forward. The fucker has a scar right across his eyelid. “Going to cry for help?” He laughs, and the others join in.
Rolling my eyes, I pull out my bat and rest it on my shoulder. “No, I’ll break your fucking kneecaps and toss you outside like the garbage you are. Now, one more warning—we’re closed.”
They share looks again. “Is this broad serious?”
“Broad?” I snap, low and deadly as I step closer. “Did you just call me a broad?”
