Chapter 10 #3
My heart is definitely beating faster now.
But the anger sitting in my chest hasn’t cooled off even a little.
A minute later the door opens again, and the man who walks out looks exactly like the picture Riot showed us back at the bar. Thick neck, expensive watch, cheap eyes.
Lyle Voss.
He stops a few feet away from me and studies my face slowly, like he’s trying to decide whether I’m brave or just incredibly stupid.
“Well,” he says after a moment. “This is interesting.”
I don’t bother with small talk.
“You trashed The Rust Nail.”
His eyebrow lifts slightly.
“And you are?”
“Rae,” I say. “I work there.”
Recognition flickers across his face, and then his mouth curves in a slow smile.
“Ah,” he says. “The bartender.”
I lean forward with both hands planted on the edge of his desk, close enough now that I can see the faint scar cutting through the stubble along Voss’s jaw.
The office suddenly feels smaller than it did when I walked in, the air heavier somehow, like everyone in the room is waiting to see what happens next.
“You know what your problem is?” I say.
His brow lifts slightly.
“I’m fascinated to hear it.”
“You walked into The Rust Nail and thought you were scaring the right people,” I tell him. “You smashed Wayne’s windows, kicked in his back door, and left a note like you expected him to start writing you checks.”
The two men standing near the back wall shift slightly, but Voss doesn’t move. He just watches me like I’m something mildly entertaining he found on his desk.
“And who exactly are the right people?” he asks calmly.
Instead of answering, I glance at the framed certificate hanging crooked beside him on the wall, reach up, and rip it down. The glass explodes when I slam it against the corner of his desk, shards scattering across the surface and onto the floor.
The crack echoes through the office like a gunshot.
For a moment nobody moves.
One of the men swears under his breath.
Voss slowly lowers his gaze to the broken frame on his desk before lifting his eyes back to mine.
“You’ve got some nerve,” he says quietly.
“You break Wayne’s bar,” I reply, shoving the bent frame aside so it clatters to the floor, “I break your office. Seems fair.”
One of the guys behind him moves immediately.
Before I can react, a hand clamps around my arm and jerks me sideways. My shoulder twists painfully as he yanks it behind my back.
“Hey.”
The second guy grabs my other arm and shoves me forward hard enough that my hip slams into the desk. Pain shoots up my side and knocks the breath out of me.
“Let go of me,” I snap, trying to wrench free.
The man holding my arm tightens his grip and forces it higher behind my back until my shoulder screams.
Voss doesn’t rush.
He just walks slowly around the desk while I struggle against the two men holding me in place.
“Well,” he says calmly, “that escalated quickly.”
“Go to hell,” I shoot back.
He stops right in front of me. For a moment he just studies my face like he’s deciding something. Then he reaches out and grabs a fistful of my hair. Hard. My head jerks backward, forcing me to look up at him. “You’ve got a mouth on you,” he says quietly.
I glare at him. “And you’ve got a crowbar fetish.”
His expression changes instantly. The backhand comes so fast I barely see it. His hand cracks across my face, snapping my head sideways. The impact rings in my ears and sends a burst of white light across my vision.
For a second the room tilts. The guy behind me tightens his grip to keep me upright. Voss watches my reaction closely. Then, surprisingly, the corner of his mouth lifts. “Still standing,” he says.
I taste blood where my teeth cut the inside of my cheek. “You hit like a bitch,” I mutter.
Voss grabs my hair again and yanks my head back so I’m forced to look straight at him. “You know what I like about you?” he says conversationally before punching me in the gut.
“My charming personality?” I gasp.
“Your spirit,” he replies. “Most people in this town are already scared of me before they walk through that door.”
“Maybe they’ve got better survival instincts.”
He chuckles. “Maybe.” He releases my hair and steps back, looking me over like he’s evaluating a piece of equipment. “You’ve got guts, loyalty, and a complete lack of self-preservation,” he says. “That’s a rare combination.”
I straighten as much as the guys holding my arms will allow.
“What did you expect?”
“What I expected,” he says calmly, “was Wayne calling to negotiate.”
“That’s not happening.”
He tilts his head slightly. “Maybe not.”
Then he folds his arms. “Tell me something,” he says. “Wayne pay you well?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Humor me.”
I roll my eyes. “I make enough.”
He smiles faintly. “I’d pay you three times what he does.”
For a second I just stare at him. “You’re kidding.”
“Not even a little,” Voss says. “Come work for me. Someone with your backbone could be useful.”
I laugh. “You’re offering me a job?”
“I’m offering you an opportunity.”
“You’re offering me bullshit.”
He sighs like I’ve disappointed him. “Three times your pay,” he repeats calmly. “And you’d never have to worry about broken windows again.”
I lean forward despite the grip on my arms. “You want my answer?” I say.
“I think I already know it.”
“Good.”
I spit blood onto the floor beside his desk. “Take your job,” I tell him quietly, “and shove it up your ass.”
For a second the room goes silent. Then Voss smiles. “Shame,” he says.
“And why’s that?”
“Because I like your spirit,” he replies calmly. “And people with spirit can be very useful.” He looks at the men holding me. “Take her back.”
My stomach drops. “What.”
Voss waves a hand dismissively. “Deliver her to The Rust Nail,” he says. “I want Wayne to understand something.”
The man holding my arm tightens his grip.
“And what’s that?” I ask.
Voss looks directly at me. “That the price just went up.”