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After taking another hit, I sigh. “Thanks.” The door to Barlow’s swings open, catching my attention. “Gotta go.”
I disconnect the call and stub out the joint on the brick wall I’m leaning against before sliding it into my cut pocket. The only reason I came outside was so I could take the call from Carnie, and my eyes have been glued to the door ever since. I didn’t want to miss the girl in the mint green sweater.
But it’s not her exiting the bar, and my shoulders slump. Three drunk chicks stumble down the sidewalk in the opposite direction, clearly having consumed more than what they can handle. Ten seconds later, the door opens again, and a man walks out with his hoodie pulled over his head, concealing himself from view. He has one hand in his pocket, and the cherry of his cigarette glows in the dark as it dangles from the other.
He stalks after them, slowly and with purpose, and the hair on my arms stands on end.
Motherfucker.
I watch the four of them carefully, my muscles coiled and my body ready to strike at the first sign of trouble. Because mark my words, there’s going to be trouble.
When the man reaches the intoxicated women, who are oblivious to their surroundings, he chucks his cigarette into the street before wrapping an arm around the waist of the girl on the left. He shoves her against the wall as he simultaneously whips a blade out of his pocket and presses it against her neck.
“Let the fun begin,” I mutter as I push off the wall and rush toward them, taking my gun out of my waistband as I go.
The girls are screaming, and another couple who’re walking across the street whip out their cell phones and start recording the scene. I know there will be backlash if my cut is caught on camera, but I can’t ignore what’s happening right in front of me. Pushing thoughts of potential consequences from my mind, I force my focus on the man with the knife. Just before I reach him, he slides his hand under the shirt of his victim.
“Scream for me, bitch,” he snarls, but when I shove my weapon into his ribs, he whirls around to fight, his target forgotten.
“How ‘bout you scream for me,” I seethe, taking my free hand and palming his face before bashing his head against the brick.
The crack of bone as it strikes the red clay reverberates through me, fueling my rage. I haul my arm back and when I strike out, connecting my fist with his nose, blood gushes over his lips. The man tries to shout, but I refuse to let his voice be heard. I deliver one punch after another, the small crowd that’s gathered cheering me on.
When the pitiful excuse of a penis owner goes limp and slumps to the ground, my chest is heaving. Before I face the spectators, I tuck my gun into the front of my waistband and pull my shirt over to cover it.
“Show’s over,” I growl as I turn around.
People start to disperse, and I pull out my cell phone to shoot off a quick text to Snow.
Me: Need cleanup outside of Barlow’s Bar… send the van
Without waiting for a response, I pocket my cell and stride to where the girl who was attacked is standing.
“You okay?” I ask.
Her friends stare at me, their makeup streaked with tears, but she doesn’t lift her head to look at me.
“Darlin’, I need to know you’re okay.”
Slowly, she peeks at me through her lashes and nods. I reach out and gently tip her head up by her chin.
“Are you sure?” Again, she nods. “Do you girls have a ride home?”
One of her friends shakes her head. “We only li-live a few blocks from he-here, so we walked.” She shrugs, but her chin wobbles. “We tried to be re-responsible and di-didn’t drive.”
“Smart thinking.”
The third girl’s face hardens. “You don’t have to mock us,” she hisses. “We know we fucked up and if we’d driven, Tina wouldn’t have been attacked and we’d be home by now and—”
“I wasn’t mocking you,” I say, ending her tirade. “You knew you were gonna be drinking so you left the wheels at home. That’s smart.”
“But if we hadn’t been walking…” She glances at Tina, who’s still shaking.
I slide my eyes from one girl to the next, ending with my focus on Tina. “Darlin’, you did nothing wrong. You should be able to walk down the street without worrying about scum like him.”
Tina holds my gaze for a second before throwing her arms around my waist and sobbing into my shirt. Eventually, she cries herself out and steps back.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, scrubbing at her face.
