Chapter 8 #2
I point the broom at him. “Don’t encourage him.”
“You’re encouraging yourself just fine,” Wayne mutters.
I sweep another small pile of glass into the dustpan before straightening again. “So this Voss guy,” I say, looking back at Cole. “Let me guess. Charming personality. Great with customer service.”
One of the bikers chuckles.
Cole shakes his head slightly. “Something like that.”
“He does this a lot?” I ask. “Or did we just win some kind of terrible lottery?”
Wayne answers before Cole can. “He’s been leaning on bars down south for a while now. Places that don’t want trouble and can’t afford to fight back.”
I glance around The Rust Nail again.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “He picked the wrong bar.”
Cole watches me for another second, then nods slowly.
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
Behind me Wayne groans again.
“Rae,” he says.
“What?”
“You are not helping.”
I look down at the broom in my hand and then back at him. “I am literally cleaning,” I point out.
“You are provoking a situation.”
“Same thing,” I say.
Wayne mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a prayer for patience.
Cole looks between the two of us again. Then he says quietly, “She’s not going anywhere, is she?”
Wayne sighs. “No,” he says. “She absolutely is not.”
Then I promptly ignore him and turn back to the biker boys.
Now that the initial shock has worn off, I take a second to really look at who just rolled into my bar.
Cole is closest, leaning one hand on the counter like he belongs there. Behind him a handful of Iron Reapers have spread out across the room, quietly looking over the damage like this is just another problem they plan to solve before lunch.
I recognize two of them.
Mason is near the door talking with Wayne, calm as ever like smashed windows and extortion notes are just another item on his daily agenda.
Dagger is already moving around the room, studying the damage with the kind of focus that says he’s filing every broken chair and splintered board away for later.
Cole, obviously, is right in front of me.
The rest of them I don’t know.
One big guy with a shaved head is standing by the boarded window with his arms folded, looking at the damage like he’s personally offended by it.
Another one is crouched near the hallway inspecting the busted doorframe.
A tall guy leaning against the wall has a toothpick in his mouth and the kind of relaxed posture that somehow still looks dangerous.
I glance back at Cole.
“Well,” I say, gesturing around the room, “I know Mason and Dagger.”
Then I motion toward the rest of the bikers.
“But who are the rest of you?” I ask. “You gonna introduce me or should I just start assigning nicknames?”
The guy with the toothpick chuckles under his breath.
Cole exhales slowly like he knew this was coming.
He gestures toward the big guy near the window first. “Tank.”
Tank nods once in my direction.
Cole tilts his head toward the guy crouched by the hallway. “Riot.”
Riot glances up from the busted doorframe and gives me a quick two-finger salute before going back to studying the damage.
Finally Cole nods toward the tall guy leaning against the wall.
“Blade.”
Blade pushes the toothpick to the other side of his mouth and gives me a brief nod.
“Bartender,” he says.
I grin. “That’s me, but most people just call me Rae.”
Behind the bar Wayne groans again. “For the love of God, Rae.”
I glance back at him. “What now?”
“You’re supposed to be leaving,” he says, gesturing toward the door.
I wave a hand dismissively. “Relax. I’m just getting acquainted with the cavalry.”
Wayne drags a hand down his face. “You are unbelievable.”
Cole watches the exchange for a second, something almost amused flickering in his expression.
Mason, Dagger, and Riot walk over together from the back of the bar, their expressions telling me whatever they just confirmed didn’t improve anyone’s mood.
Mason looks especially pissed, the kind of tight, controlled anger that settles into his shoulders and makes the whole room feel heavier.
He stops at the bar and rests both hands on the edge of the counter, glancing once at Wayne before his gaze moves to me.
“Voss and his guys have been pulling this in other towns for the last six months,” he says. “Small places. Family businesses. Bars, shops, liquor stores. Anywhere locally owned that can’t afford to pay him but also can’t afford not to.”
Dagger leans one shoulder against the bar beside him, arms folding across his chest as he looks around the damaged room again. Riot stands a little behind them, his phone still in his hand like he’s been digging through information since they walked in.
“It’s extortion,” Mason continues, his voice calm but edged with anger. “They break some windows, rough the place up, leave a message, and wait for the owner to get scared enough to pay for ‘security.’ Once the money starts moving, the problems suddenly stop.”
Wayne exhales slowly. “Funny how that works.”
Mason’s jaw tightens slightly. “And the local cops aren’t doing a damn thing about it. Either they’re too lazy to deal with it, or Voss slipped them enough cash to make sure they look the other way.”
I glance around The Rust Nail again, at the broken glass and the boards covering the windows.
“Well,” I say, “that’s comforting.”
Riot finally speaks up from behind Mason, lifting his phone slightly. “He’s been smart about it,” he says. “No direct threats on record, nothing written down except notes like the one he left here. Most owners just quietly start paying and keep their mouths shut.”
My fingers tighten on the edge of the counter.
“And if they don’t?” I ask.
Dagger answers that one, his voice flat.
“Then the damage gets worse.”
My fingers tighten on the edge of the bar as I look between them. The anger that’s been simmering in my chest since I walked in starts pushing its way to the surface.
“Well what the hell are we going to do about it?” I ask, my voice sharper now. “Because I’m telling you right now, we are not paying that motherfucker.”
Wayne sighs behind the bar like he knew that sentence was coming the second I walked through the door.
“Rae.”
I hold up a hand without even looking at him. “Don’t ‘Rae’ me right now,” I say, shaking my head. “You know I’m right, Wayne. You can’t bow to him. The second you do, he owns this place.”
Wayne drags a hand down his face. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“It’s exactly what you’re saying,” I shoot back. “Some random guy breaks your windows, kicks in the door, and suddenly we’re supposed to start writing him checks like it’s part of the monthly budget? That’s not happening.”
I look back at the bikers.
“Someone got this guy’s address?”
Riot huffs a quiet laugh under his breath.
Mason doesn’t laugh at all. He studies me for a second, the corners of his mouth flattening slightly like he’s deciding whether I’m serious or just angry.
Cole shifts beside me, resting one hand on the bar again. His expression hasn’t changed much, but there’s something heavier sitting behind his eyes now.
“That’s not how this works,” Mason says.
I tilt my head. “Really? Because it seems pretty straightforward to me. Guy breaks your stuff, you go have a conversation with him about it.”
Dagger snorts quietly.
“Trust me,” he says, “we’re already planning that conversation.”
Wayne groans behind the bar. “Please stop encouraging her.”
Mason glances at Wayne, then back at me.
“We’re not paying him,” he says. “That part you’ve got right.”
Something tight in my chest loosens just a little.
“But running straight at him, guns blazing isn’t the move either,” he continues. “Voss runs this like a business. He’s got guys, connections, and enough sense to stay just far enough away from the damage that nobody can pin it on him.”
Cole finally speaks up beside me.
“We’ll deal with him,” he says quietly.
I glance over at him. “How?”
He looks down at the note on the bar for a second before meeting my eyes again.
“Carefully.”
From the look on his face, that word doesn’t mean what it usually means.