Chapter Three
EMMA
Legends is packed tonight.
I’ve been on my feet, running back and forth, fulfilling my duties since I got in.
It’s nearly enough to get the thoughts of Griffin out of my head.
Nearly. In the few quiet moments I get, thoughts of my father’s best friend consume me.
There’s just enough to it to have my heart fluttering in my chest and my cheeks deepening in rosy pink.
At least no one here is going to notice. The six members of staff on the main floor will think I’m flustered from work. Hot and bothered because I’m running nonstop, trying to greet new guests, checking in on diners, and, where necessary, fulfilling orders.
“It’s crazy here tonight,” Mitch O’Donnel says, pressing his elbows into the side of the bar as he looks over the scores of people enjoying their evening out. Mitch is a regular, who comes around most nights, and he has become a dear friend in my time at Legends.
At first, I thought he was trying to get in my pants, but I later learned that he swung the other way. It’s so much better this way. Between my crazy thoughts about Griffin and the constant stream of horny drunks, I wouldn’t be able to deal with it.
“Saturday nights are always chaotic,” I say.
Mitch runs a hand through his thick mat of black hair, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. “Don’t know how you do it, Em. Running a place like this. I think I’d go nuts.” He raises his beer bottle in the air towards one of the barmen. He gets a thumbs up in acknowledgment of the order.
“It gets easier the more you do it,” I say. “Like riding a bike.”
“Yeah, but bikes don’t want to screw you,” his brutal honesty makes me laugh. “That guy down there hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he got into the place. I know fuck-me eyes when I see them.”
“Which one?” I scan the crowd. Easier to avoid the table if I know who he’s talking about.
Mitch doesn’t outright point in the guy’s direction. He stretches his back and shoulders, somewhere in the movement, he flicks his wrist toward the guy watching me. “The tall, spindly one with dark hair and olive skin.” He whispers as if someone might overhear him.
And as he says it, I catch the eyes of the man staring at me.
My observer’s sitting a couple tables over, in front of a raised platform of booth seats.
I can’t tell his height, but Mitch is right about his gangliness.
Long, thin arms hold steepled fingers in front of his face.
He’s wearing a black suit, no tie and a wicked grin as his eyes dance up and down my body.
He’s joined by four more who sit around the table.
One of his companions is puffing on what looks like a vape pen.
I’m sure if I got closer, I’d smell more than fruity-flavored smoke.
Folks have had an affinity towards THC-fueled vaporizers lately, and my boss mostly lets it slide, as long as no one’s getting in trouble.
“Don’t stare, Em,” Mitch says. He’s older than most of the patrons, somewhere closer to my dad’s age I’d guess. “You’re inviting trouble.”
As if those words were a bad omen, the stranger across the bar gets up from his chair. He pats one of the guys at his table on the shoulder, leans in close, and says something in his ear.
He’s going to the restroom. He has to be. I don’t see why he’d have any reason to—
“You’ve done it now,” Mitch says.
Lucas, one of the barmen on shift, brings Mitch his beer. He cracks the top, removes the empty, and speaks. “Anything else?”
“Keep an eye out on this guy,” Mitch gestures towards the stranger slinking towards us, or towards the bar. “Don’t want anything happening to our lovely lady here.”
“Got it, boss,” Lucas says, but he still goes about his business preparing drinks for his next order.
The stranger stands at least three heads taller than me. The closer he comes, the more I can see the musculature he carries on his thin frame. He doesn’t stop walking until he’s right in front of me; so close I can smell his musky cologne.
“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a shithole like this?” he asks, as he crosses his arms in front of his chest.
“Working.” No need to elaborate. I don’t want to be a part of this conversation in the first place.
“Give the girl some space, will ya?” Mitch says.
“Shut up, old man,” the stranger replies. “I’m here to speak with the beautiful lady.”
His deep voice sends a shiver down my spine. His pale-green eyes form a pit of fear in my belly. My throat dries and tightens to the point where I can hardly speak, hardly breathe.
Not one of these. The night was going so well.
“I’d love to chat but I’m really busy right now,” I say. I sound scared, timid… This isn’t my voice. Sloppy drunks catcalling isn’t anything unusual to me, so why is this guy making me feel so uncomfortable?
“A couple minutes of your time, babe.” The stranger steps forward until his body is practically pressed against mine. He slides a hand around my hip, resting it on the small of my back. “Let me buy you a drink, grab your number, we can have some fun after your shift.”
Run. Get as far from this guy as I possibly can, and hide away in the manager’s office until the air settles.
But I can’t find my feet. Every part of me seizes in terror, and I’m trapped in this creep’s clutches.
I’m staring at his chest, where tufts of hair escape the unbuttoned top, because I can’t face his cold green stare.
Mitch stands up, driving a flat palm into the guy’s chest. The creep takes two steps back, and the twisted grin he carried over here shifts into a scowl.
“I think you’ve had enough. How about you start to fuck off?” Mitch says, waggling his thick finger in the guy’s face.
The stranger slaps the hand away, and clutches Mitch’s shirt in two locked fists. “You want to dance, pretty boy?” he spits.
He drives Mitch backward into the bar counter, never breaking his grip. The three men at the stranger’s table rise from their seats, but don’t make their way over yet.
They’re watching. If things go south, they’ll come help their buddy. I hope it doesn’t get that far.
I fumble my hands across the bar towards the beer bottle that Lucas set down for Mitch. It’s icy to the touch. I can’t let this guy hurt a valued customer. A valued friend.
Violent thoughts flash through my mind. Shatter the bottle and jam it into this prick’s neck.
Leave him lying on the floor, weak and vulnerable, the same way he makes me feel.
The longer he keeps his hold on Mitch, the harder it becomes to stay still.
The thought of watching him crumpled and cowering on the floor fills me with determination.
I can end this now, bring this piece of shit to justice and leave him crying for his mother…
What am I thinking? Where are these thoughts coming from? I’m not some crusader with an affinity for violence; I’m not like the vigilante. I’m a girl from Whitefish who’s never gotten in a fight in her life.
I let go of the beer bottle, just as Lucas returns to our section of the bar.
“Is there a problem here?” Lucas asks, slamming a sawn-off double-barrel shotgun onto the counter. It’s empty, as per the orders of the owner, but it’s kept under the bar top for problems just like this.
The stranger releases Mitch’s shirt on seeing the gun. He raises his hands in fake surrender.
“No problem. None at all.” He takes a few steps backward, turning towards me while he walks. “I’ll be seeing you soon, sexy little thing.”
Before I know it, the whole ordeal is over.
“Thanks for the save,” Mitch says.
“All in a day’s work,” Lucas hides the gun again before anyone else sees it.
“Are you alright, Em?” Mitch asks, patting down the front of his shirt.
“I need to get out of here.” My heart’s thundering in my chest. The adrenaline hasn’t worn off, nor have the dark thoughts of causing incredible pain to the piece of shit retreating to his table with his tail tucked between his legs.
“I can close up tonight if you’d like,” Lucas says. He’s too calm for a man who just threatened another with a shotgun.
I nod because words won’t come. I want to leave. Get back to the safety of my home. Dad will know what to do. Maybe Griffin’s still there, too. Seeing him will fix this.
Mitch walks me to my car, trying to cheer me up with a lighthearted conversation and terrible one-liner jokes. None of it penetrates the dark void that was created in that moment of absolute panic. Mitch constantly scans the street while we walk, ensuring that no one is following us.
“I’ma tell Lucas to keep this between us. No one needs to hear about what happened tonight,” Mitch says. He opens the driver’s side door for me.
“Thanks, Mitch.” Without thinking, I give him a hug. He returns it as gently as possible.
“You take it easy out there, and keep your eyes open on the road. We don’t want anything bad happening.”
The drive settles my nerves and eases my mind. It was a dangerous situation; I reason with myself. Of course, I was going to think of the easiest solution out of the problem. But killing the guy? Relishing his agony? Those are the thoughts that are going to leave me awake tonight.
Of that, I’m damned sure.