20. Chapter 20
Grace
“Please be here.” I pulled into the parking lot quickly, letting my shoulders relax when I saw Connor’s car parked off to the side. The tension I felt knocking on his front door and getting no answer started to fade when I put my car in park.
I nearly tripped over myself climbing out of the car and skipping over every uneven cobblestone step on the way to the front of the bar.
The green awning showed its age, and when I heaved, tugging the solid wood door open, I could smell years of stale beer.
My shadow stretched in the light the sun cast over the dimly lit floors, and I stepped inside.
It was quiet, with exception of my boots and the heavy breaths that strained beneath the judgmental stare of the bartender watching me.
I leaned casually against the bar, resting my elbows on the countertop, waiting while he finished wiping the glass in his hand.
He wiped it a second time, and then a third, before he finally set it down.
Without taking his eyes from me, he reached down and grabbed another glass, running his cloth over the surface.
He sniffed and scrunched his nose, pursing his lips slightly before straightening his face back out, but his unwelcoming eyes didn’t leave me. The smile on my face fell when he held the glass up and looked at it before he returned his glare to me, wiping it again.
“Is Connor here?” I finally asked when it was clear he wasn’t going to say anything. I tried using the same tone that used to get me the best tips when I worked at a café in college—the one that resulted in old ladies telling me what a sweet thing I was.
The man shook his head curtly and set the glass down. “Who’s asking?” He picked up another glass.
“I’m his girlfriend.” It felt strange saying it out loud, and a stale queasiness filled me when the bartender lifted a single brow. When he gave me a slow once over, I felt his eyes crawl over my skin.
“How come I’ve never heard of you?” This time, when he set the glass down, he didn’t pick up another one. He twisted the towel loosely before folding it in half once and tossing it on the counter. Then, he planted his hands next to it.
I narrowed my eyes. Who did this guy think he was? I scanned the room quickly for a sign of Connor before I leaned forward, suddenly remembering the bravery I had left in my mom’s dining room earlier.
“I don’t know. Why have I never heard of you?” I cocked my head to the side with the same attitude that usually got me in trouble.
The bartender rolled his hands into fists against the wood, his heavy breath carrying growing frustration in each exhale. Then, he looked up when there were footsteps behind us. I turned around, and where I hoped to see Connor standing, I saw Mickey and Luca Cassidy instead.
“What are you doing here, Grace?” Mickey asked. Behind him, Luca stood with his arms folded over his chest.
“I’m looking for Connor.” I glanced past them both, like Connor would come from the same hallway at any moment.
Mickey uncrossed his arms and took a step back, starting to end the conversation before he gave me his short answer. “He’s not here.” My stomach sank until I remembered his car in the parking lot.
“His car is parked out there. I saw it.”
The bartender laughed, and Mickey shrugged. “Don’t know what to tell you. He’s not here.”
“Can I wait for him?” I pointed to one of the barstools in front of the obviously-not-willing-to-serve-me-a-damn-thing bartender, pursing my lips when Mickey shook his head again.
“No.” Mickey turned to walk away, and Luca half-scoffed, half-laughed. Embarrassment clunked heavily in my stomach while he took the first step, leaving me in front of the bar with an implied get the fuck out.
I gritted my teeth and straightened my spine. “Seriously?” Mickey didn’t stop walking, and Luca turned to join him. “I’m not my brothers. You shouldn’t feel threatened by me.”
That stopped them both, and when they turned around, the look on Mickey’s face was enough to drop the temperature ten degrees.
“Threatened by you? You think we’re threatened by you?
” He came back toward me. Maybe I made a mistake.
“Do you think we’re threatened by some Italian trash who couldn’t do a damn thing without her brothers to clean up after her? ”
“I didn’t… That’s not what I meant.” If I back pedaled any faster, I’d trip over my heels.
“Then what did you mean?” Mickey was close enough that I could smell the beer and the cigarette he’d smoked sometime that afternoon.
I sighed. “I’m just looking for Connor. You can trust me.”
“Trust you?” He widened his eyes. “Oh, that’s much better. Did you hear that, Luca? She says we can trust her.”
Luca threw his head back and laughed in a way that sent a chill down my spine. “Can we though?” He drew the words out, stepping around to the other side of me so they cornered me against the bar.
“Yes.” I clenched my jaw, consciously trying to keep my breathing even.
In, hold. Out, hold.
“Okay,” Mickey said, shrugging and pulling out one of the barstools. “Prove it.”
I gulped, watching Luca from the corner of my eye while I looked at Mickey. The hairs on the back of my neck were acutely aware of every movement anyone made. “How?”
“Let’s play a game.” Mickey pointed to the barstool next to me, kicking it slightly with his foot like a demand I sit down. The stool hit my hip and wobbled for a second before it evened out. When Luca dragged another stool across the floor, it made me jump.
I slowly pulled the stool Mickey kicked closer to me and slid onto it, hooking the heels of my boots over the support rungs. “What kind of game?” I asked cautiously. I knew better than to agree to anything before I knew the rules.
Mickey pulled his gun from behind him and placed it on the counter. Luca accompanied the clap of metal on wood with a quiet but sharp inhale. “What are you doing?” he asked, suddenly taken aback by his brother.
“I told you. We’re going to play a game.” He picked up the gun and turned off the safety. The whole time he talked to Luca, his attention was on me. “You know how to play this one, Moretti?”
“Mickey, you can’t be serious.” So Luca was the voice of reason. Interesting.
“She’ll be fine,” Mickey said, paying no heed to his warning. Luca sighed, giving in to the argument. I’ll be fine.
Mickey handed me the gun, and Luca put his hand out. “Mickey…”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, finding my spine in a burst of confidence and sitting up straighter. I reached for the gun before I could second guess what I was doing. I should stop.
“See?” A devious smirk tugged at Mickey’s cheek. “She’ll be fine. You’re up, Moretti.”
The gun shook in my hands while I passed it from my left to my right hand. It was heavier than it looked. When was the last time I’d even shot a gun? My mouth dried out, and I couldn’t swallow the nervous lump that lodged its way into my throat. I tried to take a deep breath around it.
“Fine. I’ll even go first.” Mickey took the gun from me, lifting it to his head. There was a cold confidence in his stare when he pulled the trigger. The click was quiet, but I jumped at the sound anyway. Then, he handed the gun back to me.
Clearly, he had played this game before. And since he was sitting across from me, he’d won. I grabbed the gun, bringing it to my head and holding my breath. The metal was heavy against my temple, reminding me of all the Sundays I didn’t go to church but probably should have.
When the door behind me flew open, I jumped. Even knowing I hadn’t pulled the trigger, I expected the worst when the wood clapped against the wall with a loud bang. “We got him!” a man yelled, walking into the bar. Behind him, Connor quickly surveyed the situation.
“What the fuck is going on here?” he asked, ending his partner’s celebration and storming into the bar.
He tore the gun out of my hand before anyone gave him an answer.
His eyes flooded with concern masked with anger while Connor thrusted the gun at Mickey, turning his anger in his direction.
“I said, what the fuck is going on here?”
“We were just playing a little game while we waited for you,” Mickey said, standing from his stool to ensure he stood taller than the rest of the room. “Weren’t we, Moretti?”
I tried to gulp, wishing I had something to drink—anything. “It was nothing,” I said as the words scraped along my throat. Connor stared at me in stunned disbelief.
“Yeah, Murphy. No big deal.” Then, Mickey grinned and pointed the gun at the ceiling. “Shall we see if you would’ve lost?” Connor glared at him, and before I could shake my head, Mickey pulled the trigger.
Click.
A heavy exhale rushed from my lungs, and I was thankful for the stool when all feeling in my legs inevitably went with it.
“I guess you would’ve been lucky,” Mickey said, locking the safety on the gun and tucking it back behind him.
“Don’t let that luck run out. I don’t want to see you here again. Understood?”
“Yes,” I said.
“She won’t be back,” Connor said at the same time, putting his arm around my waist and roughly pulling me from the chair. “What are you doing here?” he asked as he led me toward the door and away from entertained stares.
I choked, remembering why I’d been looking for him in the first place.
“I needed you. The whole family is mad at me. They’re so pissed.
I didn’t know what to do.” My throat tightened again, and my eyes started to burn, but I refused to let these men see me cry.
They might think they did the honors of causing it.
“That doesn’t mean you can come here. You can never come here.” He threw the door open. “Come on. I’m taking you home.”
“Are you going to be mad at me all night?” I whispered when Connor slammed the door behind us a little too hard. The wood clapping against the half-metal frame sent my heart into my throat.