7. Griffin #2
“Worth it,” I mumble, watching Anika as she pulls the tap handles. My head’s already fuzzy from the first two, but whatever. I’m not playing tomorrow, and these guys are actually pretty fun when they’re taking my money.
The door bangs open, letting in a blast of cold air along with two guys who look like they stepped out of a 90s grunge band. The taller one’s got a leather jacket with too many zippers, while his buddy’s sporting a patchy beard. They swagger up to the bar, reeking of cigarettes.
“Hey! Two beers!” The tall one slaps his hand on the bar.
Anika doesn’t even look up from wiping glasses. “We’re closing soon. One round only.”
“Come on, sweetie, don’t be like that.” The shorter one leans on the bar, grinning.
The way they’re leering at her makes my jaw clench. I start to rise, but Lars catches my eye and gives a tiny head shake.
She sets down her cloth, fixing them with a look that would freeze hell. “One round. And don’t call me sweetie.”
The guys grab their beers and drop into chairs at the next table, shooting smug looks our way. The tall one props his feet up on an empty chair. My attention keeps drifting to their table, muscles tensing every time they snicker or whisper to each other.
“Your turn again,” Evan says pointedly.
Right. Cards.
But I can’t stop watching the two newcomers out of the corner of my eye. They’re laughing too loudly and staring at Anika with predatory grins every time she walks by. One of them makes a comment that causes the other to laugh and elbow him, both turning to watch her as she moves behind the bar.
Lars looks between me and the two guys, then shakes his head slightly. “Ignore them. They’re just drunk idiots.”
“Yeah, they’ll finish their beers and leave,” Colin adds, sounding unconcerned. “Focus on the game.”
“I am,” I lie, stealing another glance at the two men. The taller one is now openly staring at Anika, making a comment to his friend that produces more laughter.
Evan leans in, voice low. “She can handle herself. Trust me.”
I reluctantly turn back to the game, trying to concentrate on the cards in my hand. But every laugh from the next table sets my teeth on edge. Maybe I should just call it a night. My head’s already swimming from the beer.
Anika begins making her way around, collecting empty glasses. She passes their table, and my blood freezes as the tall one suddenly lunges forward, grabbing her arm.
“Let go,” Anika says sharply, trying to pull away.
The guy just laughs, his grip tightening. “Come on, just one drink with us.”
Anika yanks her arm free. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
My back stiffens as the shorter one grabs Anika around the waist and pulls her onto his lap.
“Don’t be like that,” he says.
She struggles, clearly furious, but he’s got his arms around her waist.
“Hey!” I’m on my feet before I even realize what I’m doing. My chair flies backward. “She asked you not to touch her.”
The guys look at me, then exchange amused glances. The taller one says something that makes his buddy laugh.
“The lady asked not to be touched,” I growl, crossing the space between our tables in two strides. My voice comes out low and dangerous.
The guy holding Anika smirks at me. “Mind your business, American.”
“Canadian,” I correct automatically. “And I’m making it my business.”
“Griffin,” Lars warns from behind me.
I ignore him. “Let her go. Now.”
Lars, Colin, and Evan are on their feet now too, moving around the table but not jumping into the fray.
The tall one stands up, sizing me up. He’s a few inches shorter than me but built like a tank. His breath reeks of cigarettes and beer. “Or what?”
The next moment happens in a blur. He throws a punch that catches my eyebrow, sending me staggering backward until my back hits the wall. Pain explodes above my eye, warm blood immediately trickling down.
“Griffin!” I hear Anika shout.
I push off the wall, ready to charge back, but the guy holding Anika suddenly yelps in pain as Anika’s heel crashes down on his foot.
She twists in his grip, her elbow connecting with his solar plexus. In one fluid motion, she’s out of his lap, spinning to deliver a palm strike to his nose that makes a sickening crunch. He howls, hands flying to his face.
The taller one roars and barrels toward her. Anika doesn’t even flinch. She drops low, her leg sweeping out in a perfect arc, catching him behind the knees. He crashes to the floor like a felled tree.
The shorter one, blood streaming from his nose, makes another grab for her. As he lunges for her, she pivots, using his momentum against him. One moment he’s charging, the next he’s flying through the air, crashing onto an empty table.
My jaw drops.
The taller guy staggers to his feet, face contorted with rage. He pulls a small knife from his jacket, and my heart stops.
“Anika!” I yell, pushing off the wall.
Anika is already moving, her stance low and balanced. She blocks his arm with her forearm, delivers a palm strike to his chest, an elbow to his temple, and suddenly his face is to the floor, arm bent at an angle.
“I said, keep your hands to yourself,” she says calmly, releasing him with a little shove that makes his head thunk against the floorboards.
The entire bar has gone silent. I’m standing there with my mouth hanging open, my own injury forgotten, and completely sober. The entire exchange takes maybe fifteen seconds. Both men are groaning on the floor while Anika stands over them, barely breathing hard, smoothing her hair back into place.
“Get out,” she says coldly. “Now.”
They stumble to their feet, shooting venomous glares at her (and me) before limping toward the door.
“You crazy witch,” the shorter one mumbles through his hands, his nose is still gushing blood.
But Anika just stares them down until they disappear into the night.
The bar is silent for a beat, then, like a dam breaking, the Jass players erupt into cheers and applause.
Lars is whistling through his fingers, and Colin is doubled over laughing.
“Did you see their faces?” Evan howls, slapping his knee. “Priceless!”
I’m still frozen in place, blood dripping down the side of my face, completely shell-shocked by what I just witnessed.
Anika brushes her hands together like she’s just taken out the trash, then turns her attention to me. “Sit,” she commands, pointing to a chair. “Don’t move.”
I obey without question, sinking into the nearest seat.
“You’re bleeding on my floor,” she says matter-of-factly, then disappears behind the bar.
“What…What just happened?” I finally manage to ask no one in particular.
Lars claps me on the shoulder. “Meet Anika Gisler, three-time regional champion in Wing Chun kung fu.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope.” Colin grins. “Those idiots picked the wrong bartender to mess with.”
Evan is collecting our cards and stacking them neatly. “And you, my friend, are an idiot for thinking she needed your help.”
“I…” My cheek feels hot, and it’s not just from the punch. “I didn’t know.”
“Obviously,” Lars says, gathering his winnings from the table. “But it was still nice of you to try.”
Anika returns with a first aid kit, setting it on the table with a deliberate thunk. She opens the kit and pulls out an antiseptic wipe. Without warning, she leans in and dabs at the cut above my eye. I hiss at the sting.
“Such a baby,” she mutters, but there’s no real bite to it.
The Jass players are collecting their things, still chuckling among themselves.
“We’ll leave you to your nursing duties,” Colin says with an exaggerated wink that earns him a glare from Anika.
“Thanks for the cash, McGregor,” Lars adds, patting his pocket where my money now resides.
They head for the door, leaving a stack of bills on the table as a tip that’s suspiciously close to what they won from me tonight.
“ Tschüss !” they call in unison, and then they’re gone, their off-key singing fading as they head down the street.
I’m alone with Anika, who’s still gently cleaning the cut on my eyebrow, her face inches from mine. Up close, I can see flecks of gold in her blue eyes that I never noticed before.
“That was…” I shake my head, searching for words. “Amazing. Terrifying. Incredibly hot.”
The corner of Anika’s mouth quirks up. “Are you drunk?”
“No,” I say, then reconsider. “Maybe a little. But I’d think that was hot sober too.”
She applies a butterfly bandage to my cut, her fingers surprisingly gentle for someone who just took down two men twice her size.
She steps back, examining her work. “This will bruise, but you’ll live.”
“Thanks,” I say, reaching up to touch the bandage. Our eyes meet, and there’s a charged moment of silence.
“That was stupid, you know,” she finally says. “Getting involved.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “But I’d do it again.”
Anika studies me, her expression unreadable. Then she starts packing up the first aid kit. “You hockey players.” She huffs. “Always looking for a fight.”
“I still have all my original teeth,” I say with a big grin.
She doesn’t seem impressed.
The bar suddenly feels too warm as Anika finishes packing up the first aid kit. I resist the urge to touch the butterfly bandage she’s placed on my forehead.
“Did you walk all the way from your cabin again?” she asks, studying me for a moment, seemingly weighing her options. “I can give you a ride home. Just this once,” she adds quickly. “Since you’re injured and…” She gestures at the glasses. “Probably shouldn’t drive anyway.”
“Thanks, but my car’s parked at the edge of the pedestrian zone.” I nod toward the door. “I’m fine to drive, I swear. That little…” I gesture vaguely at my face. “…situation sobered me right up.”
She doesn’t look entirely convinced but nods slowly. “I’ll walk you to your car after I close up.”
I’m about to tell her that’s not necessary, that I can manage just fine, but the words die in my throat. Five more minutes with Anika? Yeah, I’m not turning that down.
“Thanks,” I say instead. “I’d appreciate that.”