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It’s less than twenty minutes later when they start making trouble again. I should have known better. The very first time Lucy has to walk by them, one of them lands a resounding smack on her ass. Now, I’m pissed. I shake my head, finally grabbing Betty. Derek, my regular from earlier, quickly moves his drink out of the way and gestures to the bartop in front of him. I smirk, as I climb up, bat in hand. Reggie gives his nod of approval, and begins to make his way to the table as well.
“Hey!” I shout, and everyone in the upper part of the club freezes. Even the pit slows down as eyes turn our way. Sasha, who is currently on the stage, slows in her routine as even she turns to watch me, a smirk on her face. I use Betty to point to the fucker who dared to lay a hand on one of my girls. “I thought I made myself clear. I’d love to give you assholes a second chance, but unfortunately for you, Betty here disagrees.” I toss the bat back and forth in my hands and several people chuckle, familiar with my girl already. I point to the door. “Get the fuck out of my bar before Betty wins and I start swinging.”
“Don’t be a bitch!” The drunk asshole who slapped Lucy shouts back. “I ain’t leaving.”
I don’t need a mirror to know my smile turns feral as I hop off the bartop. Derek makes the sign of the cross over his chest as I walk past him. “Don’t cross a bitch with a bat. It’s so easy,” he mutters.
“Big mistake, buddy,” I say as I reach their table. “You have ’til the count of three to clear the fuck out before I start breaking bones. Starting with your fucking hand.”
He starts to stand up in an attempt to use his size over me as an intimidation tactic when I feel Reggie’s presence behind me. He backs down real quick. That’s too bad. I really would have loved to crush the fucking hand he used against Lucy.
The friend that promised to keep the others in line slaps his hand over the fucker’s mouth, profusely apologizing again, a red flush rising on his face.
“I don’t care,” I cut off his rambling excuses. There’s nothing he could say that would make me change my mind. Betty rests on my shoulder and my knuckles tighten around the base, just wishing I could swing. “Get them out. Now.” His face turns white, but he begins nodding quickly. “Don’t let them come back until they learn to respect my girls.”
There’s a lot of shared muttering as the group makes quick work of gathering their shit and clearing out, but of course, they aren’t happy with just that. The last one to get up has an obnoxious look in his eye and a slick smirk. I sigh as he throws his arms out over the table, swiping all the glasses from their most recent round and sending them to the floor. Glass shatters against the concrete floors and gasps ring in the following silence.
“Fucking bitch,” he hisses as he straightens, proud of his little act of rebellion.
I chuckle. “Don’t you forget it.” It’s the only warning he gets before I step back, lifting Betty off my shoulder and coming back in a full swing until the bat meets his stomach, knocking the wind from him. Maybe bruising a rib or two. Give him a little something to remind him of me.
He collapses to his knees, wheezing with tears already springing to his eyes. I scoff. It’s not like I hit him as hard as I could. Just enough to make sure they never step foot in this bar again.
One of his dumbass friends steps in front of him, screaming that I can’t assault a patron. I check my nails as he rages on. It might be time to change up the color again. Maybe I’ll do black with some sparkles to match Betty. “We’re going to report you for assault with a deadly weapon,” he threatens.
“Oh, pretty boy,” I scold lightly. “You shouldn’t have come to this side of town if you didn’t know the rules.”
He huffs in anger. “Laws still apply to you even if you’re a fucking gutter whore.”
“Officer Derek?” I call out and grin when I hear his grumbling before he stands from the bar and walks over. “Would you say throwing glasses at me would be enough to justify my use of a bat in fear?”
He rubs his chin, hiding his smirk behind his hand. “Looked like a classic case of self defense to me, Miss Torryn.”
“That is not what happened!” one of the other drunk pretty boys yells.
I tilt my head and stare at the disheveled group of boys so far out of their league. They must be newly twenty-one, if that. “Isn’t it?”
Rounds of agreements sound throughout the bar, making my smile grow wider. “Do you need another warning, or are you going to carry him out of here now?”
They don’t have much to say after that, finally realizing they’re outmatched and outnumbered. We might be from the gutter, as they so eloquently put it, but we know how to have each other’s backs.
Lucy rushes over to help me clean up the glass as everyone else wanders back to their seats. As soon as Reggie escorts the last of the pretty boys out, he’s shooing us both off the floor and takes over cleaning up the mess.
I pat Lucy on the shoulder. “Why don’t you take off early? I’ll close down tonight.”
Tears well in her eyes. “Thanks, Tor.” She’s rightfully worn down after her shift here. Girl needs a break. I pat her shoulder once more and fall back behind the bar, place Betty in her rightful spot, and find my rhythm. I had hoped the restless feeling would subside with that table gone, but it stays with me.
The club also falls back into the routine quickly as the scene disperses and everyone is quick to forget the drunken idiots and their mess. The music is turned up and Sasha picks up her dance routine as if she never stopped. A few minutes later a new patron takes the seat in front of me. He’s not someone I recognize, but has been here most of the night.
“That happen often here?” he asks, gesturing to where Reggie and one of the busboys are just now finishing cleaning up the mess.
“Not very,” I answer, wiping down a glass. “Can I get you anything?”
He eyes me warily before ordering an old fashioned. Something about him pricks at the back of my mind, but I can’t lay a finger on it. “Often enough for you to name your bat,” he remarks, lifting his eyebrow as I make his drink.
I shrug as I set it down in front of him. “A girl’s best friend deserves a name.”
His disapproval wafts off him in waves, but I don’t give him the chance to say more, moving down the bar to help the next person waiting. The prickling sensation of his presence follows me. Something about him needling me in a way that says I should recognize the stranger even though I am almost positive he hasn’t been here before.
