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“Scarlett,” Emily breathes, thick tears in her eyes. She looks roughed up, but at first glance, there’s nothing too concerning.
“Come any closer and I kill her,” Hartman bites, waving a gun in the air as I shake my head at him.
“That’s not how it works, remember? This is neutral ground, isn’t it? Axel can take his shot out there, but in here, everything changes,” I say sweetly, dropping down into the booth beside Emily.
I want to reach out to her, bundle her in my arms and squeeze her tight, but that can only happen once the threat is taken care of.
Hartman snarls as the little bell over the door chimes.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Hartman, I can’t for the life of me figure out how you piece together in all of this,” I muse, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind my ear like my entire head isn’t a fucking mess of unruly ends.
“That’s none of your business,” he grunts, body tense as if he’s ready to pounce across the table at me.
Tilting my head to the side, I smile. “Was it drugs? Gambling? What…... what debt did you have to repay?”
His eyes widen as I mention gambling, giving this motherfucker away. As long as it’s only a debt owed, then there’s definitely no further use for him. Local law enforcement or not, he’s done.
“Shut the fuck up, you stupid whore,” he grinds out, pissing me off even more. I hate the use of that word as a slur. If I want to be a whore, I fucking will be.
When I slip out the handgun from my waistband, he can’t see what I’m doing but the movement makes him skittish. The man's an idiot. He may be wielding a weapon, but it’s still got the safety on so his reaction won’t be fast enough. Smiling, I poise the gun in my hand.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“What, me? I’m just a whore, right? Nothing to worry about.”
His mouth opens. A response on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t get a chance to say it as I pull the trigger. The shot rings out, his eyes widening and skin paling as Emily jumps in surprise beside me. His gun clatters to the table, his hands dropping beneath the table as he glances down in surprise.
“The thing about us whores, Hartman, is we’re excellent at locating cock. We don’t even need to look, we just find it.” I grin, loving the glare on his face as he looks back at me. I commit it to memory as I lift my gun above the table and take a second shot, hitting him square in the chest. His body goes lax, and as expected, chaos kicks off around us.
Throwing myself at Emily, I push her down on the red leather seat beneath us, lying on top of her as a shield as the sound of guns firing, glass shattering, and disaster echoes around us. When a good ten seconds pass and no more shots ring out, I push up just enough to see across the room.
Blood paints the walls, the floor, everything, right down to the sundae glasses on the far wall. One man stands in the middle of the room, shoulders rising harshly with every breath until his gaze settles on mine.
“Are you okay, Sweet Cheeks?”
I nod. “Are you?”
“Yeah.” I smile at him, when a bang sounds from outside. “For the love of all mercy, Scarlett. Sit your ass in that booth with Emily and don’t come out. Okay?”
I don’t even bother to look at the chaos, trusting him and giving him what he needs right now. “Go,” I breathe, nodding in agreement. “I’ll be right here waiting for you.”
The bell above the door chimes again and he’s gone. Glancing down at Emily, I startle when I see tears streaking down her face as she silently sobs.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
She shakes her head quickly, swiping at her wet cheeks. “Thank you.” Her voice cracks, and I hug her tight.
Her hands squeeze around my neck, clinging to me as she cries and I hold her firm, like this is all that matters in the world, like there isn’t a riot happening outside. When her cries turn to hiccups, I slowly lean back and she releases her hold.
“You girls want a drink?” Delia asks from behind the messy counter like it’s not a freaking bloodbath in here.
I look down at Emily, and she nods. Shuffling out of the booth, I offer her my hand and lift her so she’s sitting again. “Can I have a hot chocolate please, Delia?” she asks, and our savior for the night nods, getting to work.
“You look like a coffee kind of girl. Extra strong or extra sweet?”
“Can I go for both?”
She grins and gets the coffee machine going. It’s a miracle how it’s survived the hail of gunfire, but the coffee Gods would allow nothing else.
