Chapter 2 #2
Bruce’s top lip twitched. “You think you’re so smart, don’t ya?”
He charged before I could answer, swinging punches wild and recklessly. I sidestepped and brought the cue down hard across his forearm.
"For Christ’s sake, stop it!" Pete shouted from behind the bar.
"Keep going," someone countered, and I felt like I'd fallen into a time warp that had yanked me back to the Wild West days.
The brother with broad shoulders circled me, his gaze calculating and less reckless than the other two. He feinted left, then lunged right. I caught him across his neck. The impact sent a shudder up my arms. A thick red stripe flared where the cue had landed.
He grabbed for the cue. When I yanked it back, his momentum took him past me. I jabbed the cue’s thick end into his spine, and he grunted as he staggered sideways.
"You're dead, asshole!" Bruce yelled, clenching his fists.
He swung wildly. I blocked with the cue, then snapped it across his thigh. He howled, limping back and clutching the pool table.
The crowd roared, cheering and laughing. Someone threw a beer can, and it spewed foam as it clattered to the floor near my feet.
The scrawny brother rushed me again. I caught him across the collarbone. He yelped and fell to the ground so hard the floorboards shook.
"Enough!" Pete yelled. "I'm calling the cops!"
"Shut up, Pete!" Bruce spat.
"It'll be over before the cops even get here," someone yelled.
"Or someone will be dead," the man beneath the dartboard said with a smile.
I looked for the woman in the cowboy hat, wondering if she was enjoying the show, too, but she was gone.
The scrawny one picked up a barstool.
"Lyle!" the bartender yelled. "Put that down."
"I'd do what he says, Lyle," I said, shaking my head.
Lyle swung the stool so hard that when I jumped back, he stumbled forward and smashed it into the windowsill behind me. Splinters flew, and Lyle collapsed onto the shattered mess.
The crowd cheered, and it took all my might not to smile. These brothers were making this easy for me.
Again, I raised my free hand. "Guys, I think you've had enough."
"We're just getting started, you stupid bastard." Bruce balled his fists and gave the slightest nod to his standing brother. To my left, Lyle climbed to his feet, holding a splintered chair leg in his hand like a sword.
"Watch out, Yank, they've finished playing games," the man at the dartboard yelled across the bar.
Bruce and the broad one came at me together. I whipped the cue in a wide arc, catching Bruce across the ribs. I spun and cracked the broad one across his kneecap. He stumbled into the barrel table, and glasses smashed onto the floor.
"Goddammit!" Pete yelled across the bar.
My breath came hard and fast as I adjusted my stance, ready for the next attack.
Lyle swung the broken chair leg. I blocked with the cue, and the impact jarred my arms. I ducked his second swing and drove the cue into his stomach. He doubled over, wheezing.
The three brothers paused, panting like rabid dogs, expressions mean and damn angry.
The crowd surged closer, a ring of grinning faces and hungry eyes.
The broad one picked up a broken glass, aiming the jagged ends at me. Lyle clenched the broken chair leg so hard his knuckles bulged white.
I glanced at the doorway, thinking it was time to run. However, between me and that door were three pissed-off brothers and a crowd hungry for blood—my blood.
"Listen—" I said.
Bruce roared like a beast and charged at me. His brothers did, too.
I swung the pool cue. It cracked across the broad one's bicep and split in two.
Bruce's shoulder hit my chest like a freight train, lifting me into the air and slamming me onto the pool table.
I kicked out and connected with one of them.
I swung the broken cue, scraping it over Lyle's face. He screamed.
A punch rammed into my ribs, and I howled in pain.
I was outnumbered and in fucking trouble.
The broad one grabbed my wrists, yanking my arms up behind me. Bruce’s fist clipped my jaw, and I tasted blood.
The fight went from controlled to completely ugly.
"You're dead now," Bruce yelled.
A bottle smashed over his head with a sickening crack, showering me in glass, and Bruce went down, hitting the floor like a cadaver.
A woman barreled into the fray like a force of nature.
Cowboy hat. Denim. Pure fury.
What the hell! I yanked my arms free.
The woman punched Lyle's nose with a brutal crunch. As Lyle screamed, she kicked the broad one in the groin. A groan came out of him that sounded like pure agony. He clutched his balls and fell face-first to the floor.
She grabbed my arm with bruising strength. "Run!"
I rolled off the pool table, jumped over Bruce, and chased her through the mob, heading away from the front door.
The crowd's roar exploded behind us as we ran through the building, passing restrooms, the kitchen, and a set of stairs. I hoped she knew where she was going. We went through three sets of doors before we burst out into the night.
She shoved me hard. "Move!" she yelled.
We ran side by side around the Rusty Swagman, and as my pulse roared in my ears, two thoughts crashed through my head louder than all the rest.
Who the hell was this woman?
And, did I just make one hell of a mistake?