YOU KISS YOUR MAMA WITH THAT MOUTH?
Istood by the bar, spine straight, the quiet authority I’d forged over years at The Oily Cat settling over my shoulders.
One hand rested on a glass of deep amber whiskey.
Around me, the room pulsed with movement and music, conversations layering over one another, while I watched it all with a focus that came from experience .
. . and the knowledge that everything in a room eventually revealed its truth.
Maeve was already draped across some poor bastard’s lap, laughing just a little too loud at something he thought was clever.
Violet prowled near the back booth, lifting something shiny from a drunk’s pocket without breaking her smile.
Elona held her post by the stairs, eyes sweeping the room.
At the end of the bar, Nell poured a drink with one hand and scooped ice into another glass with the other, moving fast but never rushed.
Emil stood by the door in his usual spot, arms crossed over his chest, tracking every shift in the room.
The door creaked open, letting in the chill of early night, as well as a familiar face: Victor. He cut through the crowd with a charming grin on his face, and as he reached the bar, his hand briefly brushed mine before he ordered a drink.
“Evening, Birdie,” Victor said, giving me a once-over that was more appreciative than lustful, his smile as easy as ever.
There was a steadiness in him, something solid in the way he carried himself.
He never pushed too far. He didn’t need the reminder that everything here had its boundary. And I appreciated him for that.
“Evening, Victor,” I replied, voice smooth but edged in playful challenge. My fingers tapped a quiet rhythm against the bar. “What’s your poison tonight?”
“Whiskey,” he said easily, leaning in just enough to lower his voice, to make the space between us feel intentional. “And maybe some company if the night permits.”
Before I could answer, the door swung open again and a new group of men spilled in, their laughter slicing through the calm.
Loud and unruly, they dragged in a kind of invasive energy with them.
It crawled under my skin, and for a split second, I felt something close to violent.
I didn’t need to see their faces to know the type.
The arrogance they wore was unmistakable, the way they’d look around, sizing up the girls without a hint of respect.
They didn’t come here to be entertained, they came to take, to demand, and to disrupt.
I let out a slow breath, setting my glass down on the bar with a deliberate clink.
I could already feel the shift in the room, the way the energy had changed. These men were trouble.
The group made their way to the bar, clearly enjoying the attention they were getting from the few patrons who were too intimidated to ignore them.
One of the men in the group, tall, with dark hair and a scar that ran along his cheek like a permanent reminder of a past mistake, stopped just short of me.
His eyes gleamed with predatory curiosity, a look that immediately set me on edge.
His lips curled into a grin that didn't belong on any decent face, a wicked slice of satisfaction that would send a proper, uncorrupted soul reaching for holy water. . . or at the very least, a stiff drink. He moved in just a bit. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?”
“I’m exactly where I’m meant to be,” I said, my voice cold as steel, “which is more than I can say for you.”
He laughed. “Feisty. You always talk to your customers like that?”
“I talk that way to dogs who piss on my doorstep,” I replied smoothly, “especially when they mistake themselves for guests.” That wiped the smirk off his face.
Then someone else from the group joined him, a broad slab of a man with a mess of greasy hair and the kind of pungent, stinky breath that made me want to take a step back. But I held my ground.
“Now, that’s no way to speak to a gentleman.” He spat, slurring his words.
I turned my gaze on him. “I haven’t seen a gentleman all night.”
Scarface let out a harsh laugh. “You got a sharp tongue on you for someone running a whorehouse.”
“And you’ve got a death wish for someone with no backup.
” I said, leaning in just enough for him to feel the unmistakable certainty of it.
“Let me guess, you came in here thinking the rules didn’t apply to you.
Thought maybe the girls would fall all over themselves because you’ve got a few coins and a scar you didn’t earn.
” He bristled, but I didn’t give him space to speak.
“I’ve seen your kind before: mouthy, sloppy, and too stupid to be scared.
” I took a slow sip of whiskey, holding his stare as the burn slid down my throat.
“You walk in like you own the room, and five minutes later you’re crawling out with your tail between your legs.
That’s the cycle, sweetheart. That’s your story. ”
The man with ass breath stepped closer, chest puffed, fists half clenched. “You think you’re untouchable sitting here at the bar?”
I tilted my head slightly, like I was considering the question. “No,” I said, “I think I’m untouchable because no one stupid enough to break my rules has ever walked out whole.”
His mouth opened, then snapped shut. No words came.
The confident smirk disappeared, overtaken by a momentary trace of doubt.
Scarface’s jaw twitched, a subtle but telling sign of the anger simmering beneath the surface.
Victor shifted beside me and I didn’t need to look to know his eyes were locked on them.
“You need a hand, Birdie?” He asked.
I gave him a sidelong glance, the corner of my mouth twitching in an almost smile.
There was an unspoken understanding between us, a silent acknowledgment that I wasn’t about to let things spiral out of control.
“I’ve got it.” I said, calmly. Victor gave a tight nod as he stepped back, giving me space, but keeping close enough if I needed him.
The music stuttered, then faded into the background like a warning as the girls moved with keen precision.
Nell’s fingers hovered near the drawer beneath the bar, ready to draw if needed, while Maeve straightened from her perch, eyes narrowing.
Elona dropped down a step and Violet slipped silently away from the far booth, every movement alert and watchful.
The Oily Cat didn’t rattle easily, but when it did, it closed in tight.
Just as the tension reached its peak, Emil appeared from behind the men.
His large frame cast a long shadow over the group, and the room seemed to shrink with his presence.
His mere existence turned the tension into something far more dangerous.
“You need to move on,” Emil said, his voice firm.
“This isn’t the place for your kind of behavior. ”
Scarface laughed, clearly thinking Emil was joking.
“Oh, and what will you do about it, big guy?” He sneered, looking Emil up and down with disdain.
Emil’s eyes quickly shifted to the man’s companion, who was reaching for his coat, but the decision had already been made.
Before the man could even register what was happening, Emil’s hand shot out in a blur of motion, grabbing the scarred man by the collar and lifting him off the floor with the ease of lifting a child.
The man’s eyes widened in shock, his breath catching in his throat.
“I’ll show you,” Emil muttered, his grip tightening, his expression a stone wall of fury. The other man froze, unsure of what to do, his bravado crumbling under Emil’s overt threat.
With a single, swift motion, Emil hauled the man across the room and shoved him through the door. The other scrambled after him, their pride bruised and egos deflated. Emil’s deep voice followed them out. “Next time, remember where the fuck you are.”
The door slammed shut behind them, leaving the room in a buzzing silence. The intensity of Emil’s actions lingered in the air, a subtle but undeniable shift in the room’s dynamic. The Oily Cat had again been tested, and it had again emerged victorious.
Maeve broke the quiet first. “Another one bites the dust,” she said with a grin, turning back to the other customers as if nothing had happened. “It’s never a dull night around here.”
I laughed softly before taking a slow sip of my whiskey, the rhythm of the room slowly returning to normal. Though the disturbance had passed, my mind was elsewhere. My pulse was still running high from the confrontation, urging me to do something to release the tension.
I glanced toward Victor, standing a little further down the bar.
His casual presence was comforting, but tonight I needed more than comfort.
I needed release. “Hey, Victor,” I called out.
He turned toward me, his eyes instantly locking on to mine.
“Why don’t you take me upstairs and make me come until I can’t walk straight? ” I asked.
A slow grin spread across his face as his eyes traveled down my body, pausing just long enough to make sure I was serious. “With pleasure, Birdie.” He replied, the heat in his tone leaving little room for doubt.