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I hadn’t killed Mudflap.
I hadn’t killed anyone since leaving the Devil’s Dragons, not even on the job as an enforcer. Intimidation was doing the trick for me. I sure as shit wasn’t going to break this little winning streak for anyone – certainly not a miserable fuck like this prick.
I was about to regret that decision when it came to my old Lafayette friend…
Kate
Things started falling apart the moment that the brutish thug in black leathers walked into my bar.
He smelled like danger from the get-go, but it was early enough in the evening that he was one of my only two customers. I didn’t have an excuse to not immediately strike up a drink order.
So, I reluctantly walked over and put the biggest smile on my face that I could.
“Welcome to Bayou Spirits,” I chirpily greeted him as he pulled a seat up at my counter. “Want a menu?”
The thug sneered as his eyes slid over the shelves of liquor behind the bar, resting on the draft beer taps.
“Shock Top,” he growled.
“Sixteen or twenty-one?”
“Twenty-one.”
I smiled bravely and dug out a large, chilled draft mug. It was white with frozen condensation as I tilted it under the tap, pouring just the right amount of head into the ice-cold glass. A slice of orange completed the look.
“Here you are,” I told him as I whipped a napkin square in front, just in time for the glass to set down on top.
The thug took the drink without a word of thanks and tilted it back. While he was preoccupied, I saw the emblem on his leathers, and my heart turned colder than that mug could ever get.
Bayou Boys.
I froze in place, quickly stifling a minor panic attack as he downed a third of the mug and set it down. What the hell are they doing here?!
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” the thug smiled, showing off a few missing teeth. The gesture only scared me more.
“I… just realized that I forgot to make a call for my boss,” I stammered. “To one of our beer reps.”
“Oh.” The stranger smiled evilly, “Well, little missy, better get to that then.”
“You’re right,” I agreed, turning away.
Suddenly, his hand was around my wrist. I jumped, startling the other customer, who was reading a newspaper at the other end of the bar and staring strangely at us.
“What are you–”
“That menu,” the stranger sneered. “I’ll take one. You’ve got food in this raggedy joint, yeah?”
I glanced down at his hand, fingers coiled around my wrist. His grip was punishingly tight.
“We do,” I answered. “Mostly burgers.”
“Then bring me a menu.”
Brazenly, I summoned my courage, feeling it weakly simmer deep down. It was barely a boil, but it would have to do.
“Let go, and I will.”
He instantly released his fingers, holding them near my wrist before slowly drawing back across the counter. I reached down a few inches and slapped a menu on the counter in front of him.
“Here. I’ll be back to take your order in a minute.”
“Of course,” he toothily smiled.
I grabbed my phone off the charger and checked on my other guest before slipping into the back. The biker thug kept his eyes on me the entire time, and I shivered once he was out of sight.
I dialed in Grizz’s number.
After a few rings, he didn’t pick up.
“C’mon, baby,” I hissed impatiently.
Tried again. Nothing. I knew he was supposed to be meeting someone tonight, but it wasn’t like him to ignore my call…
My phone didn’t have texts, so I left him a voicemail and reluctantly stepped back out into the bar front.
The thug was waiting cruelly.
“How’s your guy?”
“Sorry?”
Shit, did he hear that?
“Beer guy. For your boss.”
Relief washed over me. I was in the clear… but I’d have to be more careful around this guy. “No, couldn’t reach him. Had to leave a voicemail.”
“Shame, that.” He pushed the closed menu forward towards me. “Cheeseburger. Well done, tomato, pickle, mustard. Fuck it up and it goes back.”
I made a show of writing it down, just to make him happy.
By the time I walked back out with the other customer’s club sandwich, the Bayou Boy biker had shifted his attention over to a football game on the television. He was on his better behavior, although I’d hear him swear at the top of his lungs and snap at the screen every third or fourth play.
I learned quickly that every time he smacked his hand down on the bar twice, my new friend here wanted another beer. Between the beers and the game, he was distracted.
That was easy enough to deal with.
His burger came out charred to the core. I checked for the ingredients he wanted, and then brought it out to him with a bed of fries and a bottle of ketchup.
Sparing it only a quick glance, he took a bite with his eyes glued to the screen. When he didn’t immediately lose his shit at me, I figured he was okay.
The other customer had grown tired of his bullshit and asked for the check. The guy got the hell out of dodge, and that meant it was just the Bayou Boy thug here and me.
Alone.
By the time his fourth draft beer was dropped off, the game was mostly over and he was started to focus on me again. His team must have lost, because he was in a filthy fucking mood. I was cutting an orange to replace the slices that went onto his draft beers when he finally spoke up again.
“What’s your name?”
I quickly ran through a number of fake names in my head. “Summer.”
“Summer?” He smiled devilishly.
“Yeah. You?” I turned.
“Rampage.”
“Huh,” I nodded.
“Wasn’t born with it. I earned it,” he proclaimed loudly, his eyes still locked onto me. “On account of how I get going when I get angry.”
It didn’t feel like staying quiet was the right choice here, so I played along.
“Do you get angry much?”
“Not unless I got to.”
Well-spoken, I sarcastically thought.
“How long you been here, Summer?”
I hid my pause by making another careful slice into the orange. “Few years,” I told him. “Came here for school.”
“Lookin’ for someone.”
“No, for school.”
“No, I am,” he sneered evilly.
“Are you?”
“Yeah. All of us are… me, and the boys.”
Didn’t like where this was going. “Boys?”
“The Bayou Boys,” he proudly told me, pointing at the faded patch on his jacket. “Figured you might’ve recognized me.”
I really didn’t like where this was going.
“Sorry, I don’t… I don’t follow.”
“We’re the law out here,” Rampage told me. “At least, in Lafayette. We don’t come all the way out here less we have a good damn reason.”
“But you’re looking for someone.”
“That’s right,” he took another big bite of his half-eaten burger. “Another biker who’s done us wrong. And some stuck-up bitch.”
“Can’t say I know them.”
He paused, looking at me quietly.
“Haven’t told you what they look like yet.”
I panicked inside.
“I mean… I don’t see a lot of bikers here,” I tried to cover my tracks. “Don’t see a lot of anyone. But go on. Tell me about them. Help me jog my memory.”
He narrowed his eyes, setting the burger down and slowly wiping his greasy fingers clean with a bar napkin.
