Chapter 11 #2
Luci gasps as a wave of cold amber beer splashes across the front of her shirt.
Petra materializes at my elbow holding an empty serving tray and an expression of wide-eyed innocence that could get a woman convicted in three counties. “Oh, damn. My hand slipped.”
“Your hand slipped three feet horizontally?” Luci snaps, jumping up.
Petra inspects the puddle on the floorboards. “There’s an uneven board right there. Might want to pick a safer seat next time. Like out in the parking lot.”
I press my lips together to keep the laugh inside.
Luci shoves past the table and storms toward the restrooms, dripping beer and fury.
Petra watches her retreat. “You think it chafes when she stomps that fast in painted-on denim? I sure hope so.”
“Petra,” I say, though I can't keep the smirk off my face. It’s the first real smile I’ve had in days.
Then the front door swings open, and Brooks walks in.
My smile dies instantly.
His gaze finds me through the crowded room, his expression tightening.
He looks completely wrecked. Luci claimed nobody could understand what Brooks carries.
But I know every line on that man's face, and one glance tells me he hasn't slept in days.
I almost hate that I can still read him that clearly, but years of tracking him across the Plains aren't something I can just switch off.
He takes two strides toward my table.
Before he can close the distance, Tony drops into the chair Luci just vacated.
“Hey,” Tony says, keeping his voice dropped low.
I blink, thrown off. “Hey.”
He leans forward. Too close. Tony has always had a casual disregard for personal space that I previously wrote off as harmless bravado.
“We need to talk,” he says under his breath.
“About what?”
“Not in here.” His eyes flick toward Brooks, then dart back to me. “Come out to the lot with me.”
“No.”
His easy smile fractures. “Just for two minutes, Sam.”
“I said no, Tony.”
He reaches out and clamps his hand around my wrist.
Every muscle in my body locks.
“Tony,” I say, the warning razor-sharp. “Take your hand off me.”
His grip tightens instead of letting go. “Sam, please. You don’t understand what went down?—”
I wrench backward. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
A chair screeches violently against the floorboards behind me.
Brooks is already there.
One second Tony’s fingers are locked around my arm; the next, Brooks has stepped directly between us, tall and menacing, towering over both myself and Tony.
“She told you no,” Brooks rasps.
Tony stumbles back hard into a table as Brooks shoves him clear of me. “Back off, Brooks! I just need to talk to her?—”
“Touch her again and see what’s left of you.”
The room detonates.
Tony throws a right hook.
Brooks takes the blow to the jaw, barely flinches, and counters with a vicious right cross that sends Tony crashing into the bar stools.
Someone screams. Glass shatters. Petra bellows both their names with murder in her voice as Hershel charges across the room, cursing loud enough to rattle the neon signs.
“Enough!” Hershel roars, grabbing Brooks by the jacket collar and shoving him back.
Tony drags the back of his hand across a bloody mouth, breathing heavily from the floor. Brooks’s lip is split and swelling, but his eyes never leave mine, scanning me in a frantic, desperate sweep.
Luci bursts out of the restroom, a wet towel pressed against her shirt. “Brooks!”
She rushes toward him, hands reaching up for his face. “Are you okay? Let me see?—”
Brooks catches both of her wrists in midair and shoves them firmly down, stepping back out of her reach. “Don’t touch me.”
The entire bar goes dead quiet, until the only sound left is the low thrum of the exterior generator.
Brooks turns his back on Luci without another word and steps toward me.
“Did he hurt you?” his voice drops, rough and tight.
I look down at my arm. It wasn’t that the grip caused physical damage; it was the violation of him putting hands on me to force a conversation. My skin still burns where his fingers clamped down. I shake my head once, not trusting my vocal cords to hold.
Petra plants herself between Tony and Luci, her arm extended toward the exit. “Both of you. Get the hell out of my bar.”
Luci recoils, looking offended. “I didn’t even do anything?—”
“You’re under the mistaken impression that I care. Out.”
Tony looks over at Luci. She stares straight ahead, completely refusing to meet his eyes.
A flash of sharp resentment cuts across Tony’s bruised face. He wipes his mouth, gives Petra a curt nod, and shoves his way through the door.
Luci follows a step behind him, soaked in stale beer.
Petra turns her glare on Brooks. “That goes for you, too.”
Brooks doesn’t offer an excuse. He accepts the dismissal, his jaw clenched, and gives me one last lingering, shattered look before turning toward the exit.
“Wait,” I call out.
He freezes in his tracks.
I catch Petra’s eye, then look back at him. “We need every available hand for the search grid.”
Brooks turns slowly, his chest rising and falling as he gives me a quiet nod. There is an ocean of unspoken grief and anger between us, but this isn't the place to bleed out. And I’ve had enough public drama for one day.
“Whatever you need, Sam,” he says softly. “I’m here.”
He nods, then makes his way out of the bar, leaving me wondering what in the hell just happened.