AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I intensify the pressure on his neck again, drilling my thumb in deep, one flick away from blocking half the blood flow to his brain.
Between the Army and years of acting, I’ve played many roles. Right now, though, I’m thinking this woman and the old man need a little chaotic good.
“I’m the dude you’ll answer to if you ever touch her again,” I bite off.
“W-what? You don’t even know—”
The next sound out of his mouth is more like a wild hog stuck in the mud. My thumb stabs into his neck, deeper, until he’s twitching again, unable to speak.
“You have no fucking idea who I am, or who I know, Dickless Pete. So let’s not pretend you do.” This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I can feel the adrenaline rush kicking in. “For all you know, I could be her husband. Imagine how much I’d love to kick your ass straight into a snowdrift then.”
“S-she’s not—”
“Married?” I give him another quick pinch, watching his eyes roll back with delight. “Not yet. We haven’t set a date.”
There’s a loud, grinding sound behind me. I don’t even need to turn around to see.
It’s Tobin, clearing his throat—utterly mortified at the load of bull I’m improvising by the second.
Whatever, fine. I guess my valet doesn’t deserve a heart attack tonight, so I ease off Pete’s shoulder the tiniest bit, heeding Tobin’s warning.
The scumbag gasps for air, shuddering as real feeling comes back into his upper body, chasing away the numbing dance of a thousand needles.
I know what he’s experiencing. It’s like being stabbed with a flurry of white-hot pins by a mad scientist trained in evil acupuncture.
“This is getting old. I’m ready to call it a night. Time for you to leave,” I say, giving Pete a helpful shove away from the table.
Too much. He topples right over and almost falls on his face, but his knees catch him in this stricken, crouching position.
Wiggling, shrugging, it takes him two tiresome attempts before he gets to his feet.
Not in any mood to wait longer, I grab his arm and drag him to the door.
“You idiot, you’ll be sorry!” Dickless Pete grumbles, seething.
“I already am sorry to ruin my evening with a face as ugly as yours,” I tell him as I throw the door open.
“You don’t get it. Those deadbeat assholes owe us, and now they’re trying to skip. We had an agreement!” he hisses.
I don’t even lift an eyebrow.
Whatever this agreement is—if it exists—can’t be legal. Even the most aggressive debt collectors are bound by consumer protections. And I’m pretty sure there isn’t a loophole that involves stalking your borrowers into a goddamned bar and getting grabby with a lady in public.
“Then go ahead and look me up. I’ll tell you where you can shove your agreement, little man.”
I push him, flinging his bulky body through the door so hard he struggles to catch his footing.
And fails.
I watch the bully go spinning and plant facedown in the snow, waving his arms helplessly to get up. When he finally peels himself out of it, he hightails it to a black SUV he’d left running. I also notice an old Ford with a horse trailer hitched to it not that far away, plus a few older beat-up trucks belonging to the oil guys.
The one with the trailer must be the old man and woman’s vehicle. I shut the door, and as I turn around, I tell Tobin. “Keep an eye on him. Tell Grady, too.”
Tobin nods, moving to the window near the door and looking out over the frost line on the glass.
A second later, I see there’s no need to clue Grady in. My friend was watching the whole time from behind the bar, his jaw set, ready for a fight.
He lifts his chin, as if he’s just waiting for me to say the word.
I flash him a thumbs-up. No need to involve the minuscule Dallas police force if everything’s under control. Not on a night like this when they should be helping people broken down on the road before they turn into popsicles.
I walk back to the table. “Where you folks headed?”
“Montana,” the old man says. “Miles City.”
The woman stares into her coffee cup. Can’t tell if it’s the run-in with Pete that’s left her shaken or something else.
No way in hell can I let them go to Montana like this. It’d take hours just to hit the state line in this storm, let alone chugging on to Miles City. That’s not even weighing the fact that Pete would be hot on their tail, first chance he gets.
Between the storm, their old truck, and that sorry sack of thug, they wouldn’t make it ten miles up the road before something horrific happened.
“There’s a motel in Dallas,” I say. “About five miles west of here. You can follow me there, if you’d like.”
