5. Bram #2
She didn’t look like herself. Her hair was down, not in the usual bun, and she wore jeans with a black blazer over a tee, the kind of outfit that was supposed to say I’m off the clock but never really meant it.
She walked straight to the bar, head up, every step measured and deliberate.
The bartender nodded, poured her a vodka soda without asking.
She sipped, face turned to the mirror behind the bottles, not seeing me or not wanting to.
Five minutes after that, the Desert Scorpions arrived.
There were three: tall, thin, and broad.
The tall one had a face full of cartilage and a nose like someone had hammered it flat at birth.
The thin one wore his cut over a stained dress shirt and had hands that never stopped moving.
The broad one was two necks and a bald scalp that reflected the light like a beacon.
They walked in as a unit, boots scuffing the tile, eyes lazy but never unseeing.
The tall one spotted Julie first. His smile was pure instinct. He led the others to the bar, took a stool three down from her, and let his body turn just enough to pin her in the angle of his gaze. The bartender clocked the move, poured their whiskeys, and retreated.
The first comment was low. “Thought only lawyers drank that shit.” The second, louder: “Or maybe you’re not a lawyer tonight, sweetheart.”
Julie didn’t move, didn’t blink. She stared at the mirror. The thin one watched her drink, his tongue working his teeth.
The tall one said, “Hey. I’m talking to you.”
She said nothing. That’s what I liked about her: stubborn silence was a weapon, and she’d learned to aim it well. The room stretched out, waiting for what came next.
The tall one slid off his stool, closed the gap in a smooth side-step. “Don’t be a bitch. You know who we are?”
Julie turned then. Her voice was cool as rainwater: “I know exactly who you are. And I know your boss is going to be picking his teeth out of the sand by morning.”
I almost laughed. But the tall one didn’t. He reached for her arm, and when she didn’t pull away, he squeezed hard, enough to leave marks. The thin one grinned, the broad one flexed his hands. They wanted an audience, and I wasn’t going to give them one.
“Bet that pussy hasn’t been spread in months,” one of them said. He grabbed his crotch and made a thrusting motion at Julie. “Guess I’ll break that loneliness for you.”
“You aren’t breaking shit,” Julie said. “Now back the fuck up or I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” The two-neck guy said. “Hit me with a paperclip?”
Much to my surprise, Julie took a swing at the asshole. Asshole ducked at the telegraphed swing, and the three men burst out laughing. Those in the room pretended not to watch. The bartender went to wash glasses.
“We like our women spunky,” the thin guy said. He ran his hand up Julie’s thigh and grabbed her crotch.
Julie yelped and looked at me. I stared back but kept my ass in the seat.
“It’s time, boys,” one of them said.
I let them haul her off the stool and watched her stumble, then regain her balance.
The tall one jerked his chin at the back door, the one that led out to the dumpster and the loading dock.
Julie gave him nothing, just walked where they pointed her, head high.
I waited for the bartender to look away, then stood and followed.
It was pretty fucked up how doing the right thing could get you fucked up. It had been a minute since I’d been in a hand-to-hand fight. I guessed that minute was coming to an end.
The night air hit like a wall. The lot was empty except for a garbage bin and a single yellow security light. The Scorpions had her backed against the wall, tall one talking low and close, thin one circling, broad one guarding the alley.
I walked up, didn’t bother with stealth. The broad one turned, saw me, and smiled. “Wrong party, old man.”
“That’s Bram Jackson,” the thin guy said. “Fuck.”
I closed the distance. My hand was steady. “She’s with me.”
The thin guy thought better of what they were doing. “We need to cut bait,” he said.
The tall one laughed. “Looks like you got a daddy, sweetheart.”
That made me chuckle. It was the second time in the last twenty-four hours I thought about being her Daddy. No matter. I was fit, hung, and my dick worked just fine. Daddy, I would be.
Julie didn’t look at me. She kept her eyes on the tall one. That’s when I saw her right hand: she’d slipped the small pepper spray from her bag and was palming it like a trigger.
The broad one stepped up, arms wide. “You want to go home, man, you just do it. This ain’t your fight.”
I said, “Every fight is my fight. Especially when I see a man mistreating a woman. My woman.”
Julie cringed, and I raised an eyebrow, suggesting she just go with my plan.
He lunged. I let him close, then dropped low and hit him at the hip.
He went over backward, head catching the edge of the bin.
Bone made a good, wet sound. The thin one screamed and charged, knife out.
I grabbed his wrist, twisted, and drove his face into the steel of the bin. Cartilage split. He crumpled, out cold.
Tall one still had Julie by the wrist. He jerked her in front of him, knife pressed to her neck. “Back the fuck up,” he said.
Julie pressed the trigger. The spray hit his eyes, and he howled. She drove her elbow into his gut, and he folded. I closed, caught his knife hand, and broke his thumb with a turn. The blade dropped, and I put my knee into his sternum. He stopped moving.
My heart was going a mile a minute. Julie pressed herself against the wall, shaking but not crying. The blood was starting to pool at the broad one’s head. Thin one’s face was mashed and flat. Tall one was still trying to see, rubbing his eyes and cursing.
I said, “You okay?”
She nodded, still breathing hard. “You’re bleeding,” she said.
I looked down. The thin one had gotten me in the side, just below the rib. Not deep, but enough.
“I’m fine.”
She shook her head. “That is not fine, Bram. You need a fucking doctor.”
I pressed my hand to the wound. The blood was warm and sticky, already soaking the shirt.
“We should go,” I said.
She moved close, her hand on my arm, guiding me back toward the bikes. “Give me your keys.”
“I can ride.”
She looked up at me, green eyes wild and alive. “Don’t be an asshole. I’m driving.”
I didn’t argue. I let her take the keys. She got me into her car, climbed in, and we headed out.
The lot behind the Slaughterhouse glowed orange in the dark, three bodies cooling in the dirt, the air sharp with the taste of blood and exhaust. We left them there, no hurry. The ride back was slow, the hum of the road just enough to keep my mind from slipping away.
At the edge of town, she pulled over. She pressed her palm to my side, holding the wound closed. The blood ran over her fingers. I called the club for two prospects to go get my bike. I didn’t tell them why.
“You need a hospital,” she said.
“No hospitals,” I said. “Just get me back to the compound.”
She gave me a look, equal parts rage and worry. “Stubborn bastard.”
I smiled, or tried to. “That’s why you like me.”
She pressed harder and made me wince. “You have no idea if I like you. In fact, I’m pretty sure I hate you.”
“You don’t.” I smiled and felt like the young punk in high school I once was, trying to pick up the most popular girl in school, failing miserably. I’d lost my fucking touch.
She wrapped her jacket around my ribs and tied it tight. We rode the rest of the way in silence, her hand on my side, blood soaking into the denim. I’d killed at least two men for her and saved her life. Fuck no, I wasn’t losing my touch. This was just a bump in the road.