Chapter 20 FightFlee
Fight or Flee
The bar was a busy hive of writhing limbs, relentless chatter, and robust laughter.
I threw my bag in the back room and got straight into serving.
Grace popped her head up and flashed a quick smile in my direction and then went straight back to work.
About an hour into my shift, I glanced up to see a group of five heavily muscled, tattooed men walk in.
I frowned. It wasn’t their appearance that was the cause of my displeasure.
I’d served many customers in Ohio who looked every bit as rough as these men but were nice people.
It was the energy that preceded them—it floated across the room and landed like a bad smell.
I looked over at Grace, but if she noticed their arrival, she didn’t seem concerned. She was busy pouring drinks and flirting with a tall blond at the other end of the bar. The men headed straight toward me.
“Five beers, love,” one said. His voice was deep and ragged, like a guy who’d inhaled too many cigarettes. His head was shaved, and he had a large scar crossing the right side of his cheek. The stench of beer and sweat rolled up my nose, thick enough to smother a raccoon.
“No problem.”
He leaned massive forearms on the countertop; on his left arm there was a tattoo of a Nazi symbol.
Disgust flared dark wings across my chest. Half-cocked thin lips revealed tar-stained teeth.
His eyes traveled down my body and then shifted to my face, filling with an arrogant, sickening lasciviousness.
I gritted my teeth and concentrated on pouring the beers, sliding one at a time across.
“Twenty-five dollars, thank you.”
He handed me a fifty-dollar bill. Hate was scrawled across his knuckles. It wasn’t a professional job.
“You can keep the change.” His eyes shifted deliberately, suggestively, to my breasts. “Come join us after you knock off, babe.”
I bristled, grabbed the change, thumped it on the counter, and held his sleazy gaze. “Don’t call me babe.”
He grinned. “What would you prefer I call you . . . babe?”
Laughter rose from the group.
“Listen, you piece—”
“Amy,” Shelley interrupted sharply. “Grace needs your help down the other end.”
I’m not sure where she came from, but she seemed to have an innate ability to turn up at just the right time—or in this case, the wrong time. Reluctantly, I relented and moved away, the abuse I wanted to hurl at him tucked behind my clenched lips.
The group headed to the pool table. It was clear they did weights, but all were covered with more fat than anyone who bothered to keep themselves fit.
The smallest and slightest of the group was the only exception; his carved muscles strained under a black T-shirt, and there was not an ounce of fat on him.
Shelley called Clint over. “Serve them at the table—keep them away from the bar.”
“No worries, Shell,” he said, not in the least concerned.
“We’ll need to keep an eye on them.” She regarded them warily. “They look like trouble.”
“Are they from around here?”
“No, I’ve never seen them before. Matt said a group just booked rooms down the road. Some security company, apparently. I guess that’s them. I’ll call Karson in case there’s any problems.”
Karson and Ethan arrived a few minutes later.
They strode through the bar, their eyes analyzing the men.
A few girls threw them seductive smiles, but both men ignored them.
Ethan headed to his usual seat, and Grace handed him a whiskey.
Karson made his way over. His black shirt was unbuttoned enough that I could just see the beginnings of his hard, muscle-laden chest, and I caught the dark edge of a tattoo.
His gaze was intense, tingling my skin. “Is everything alright, Amelia?”
“So far.” I looked across. They all stood around an old whiskey barrel, the loser of whatever game they were playing having to chug his beer.
“Chug, chug, chug!” they chanted, behaving like high school boys, not grown men. Scar-face shot down the beer in a couple of huge gulps, slamming the empty glass back onto the barrel top with a tremendous sigh of satisfaction. The rest roared with laughter.
I turned my attention back to Karson. “Thank you for returning my car, and for the globe—I love it.”
“My pleasure.” He gave a small, pleased smile. He opened his mouth like he was going to speak but paused, then closed it again.
The silence probably went on for a couple of seconds, but it felt like a good half hour of awkward, teenage-variety silence.
Both of us stared at each other. Words evaded me, and it seemed like they evaded him too.
I thought about mentioning his late-night visit, but it didn’t matter; it wasn’t a big deal.
Just say something.
“You came in,” I blurted.
“Because, you left your door unlocked,” Karson growled, “anyone could have come in and done . . . He shuddered. My tough violent boss, shuddered. “Something terrible to you. I knocked, and when you didn’t answer, I became concerned. I heard you snoring, and I popped the box down and left immediately.”
Oh god, no . . . Mortification climbed to my cheeks. “I don’t snore.”
His lips twisted as if he was trying not to smile. “Either that or a new train line has gone in.”
I laughed. “Stop it.”
He stilled, his eyes fixed on my lips as if in a spell.
Did I have a drag strip of lipstick on my teeth? This was just going from dire to disaster. “What,” I questioned, my fingers wiping automatically across my mouth.
His eyes locked with mine with a softness that landed on my heart like a feather. “Nothing, you just have a beautiful laugh.”
He just stared at me, and I stared right back for a moment too long not to be awkward, and yet nowhere near long enough. A woman nearby shrieked with laughter, bringing me back to the room.
I cleared my throat. “Would you like a drink?”
A single nod. “Whiskey, thank you.”
Not “Now get me a drink, will you, sweetheart?” Gone was any trace of the arrogance I’d seen last week. It was as if the Karson before me was a different man.
I poured the whiskey, aware of his gaze still on my face, and placed it on the counter. “It’s on the house.”
His lips hooked up in the corner, and I longed to see him smile again. “You must have a very generous boss.”
“Shelley seems nice, but the other guy I’m not sure of yet. I’m still working him out,” I teased.
This amused him, I think. It was hard to tell. “I’ll be at the bar if you need me.” His tone had changed again to something more serious—calm and comforting.
I nodded and went to serve an impatient brunette drumming her fingers on the bar.
“It’s about time,” she snapped.
“Sorry, what can I get you?”
“Champagne, two glasses!”
No “Thank you,” no “Please.” I would’ve liked to have poured those glasses over her head. But instead I smiled, albeit through slightly gritted teeth. I handed the drinks to the impatient brunette and watched Karson out of the corner of my eye as he strode toward the end of the bar.
“Fifteen dollars, thank you.”
She yanked open her purse, all but threw the money on the bar, gave me one last dirty look, and went back to a waiting friend. I hoped she choked on the champagne.
Despite their noise over the next few hours, the group of security men were reasonably well behaved. Clint was efficient at his job and kept taking the drinks up to them, keeping them away from the bar.
“Hey, Aims.” I looked up to see BJ at the bar, smiling widely. Georgie and Jodie appeared through the crowd like dolls being directed in the grasp of a child’s hands.
Georgie clasped the bar with both hands like it was stopping her from teetering over. Her eyes were bloodshot, and the pupils bobbled around in her head like a buoy on water. “Are you going to the annual ball on Saturday night?”
The smell of weed rolled up my nose. BJ had mentioned the ball last week. I hated wearing dresses as much as I hated formal functions.
I screwed up my face. “I don’t think so. I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Oh, Amy, come on, it’ll be fun,” she wheedled. “There’s drinking and dancing, and I can take you shopping on Monday. Plus, it’s for a good cause. They raise money for underprivileged students.” She batted her eyelashes dramatically.
“I’m not a guy, and those eyes don’t work on me, Georgie.”
“Please, I know you don’t have to work.”
“Come on, Aims. It will be sooo much fun,” Jodie slurred.
BJ was nodding in agreement and grinning stupidly.
I did have the night off. Apparently everyone went to the party that night, and they only needed a skeleton crew. I could choose between sitting at home alone or going. I wondered if Karson would be going. I couldn’t ask him, of course, and I doubted any of them were going to give up easily.
“Alright, I’ll think about it.”
Georgie grinned. “Great, I’ll pick you up Monday at ten. We’re going shopping!”
“I said I’ll think about it.”
BJ shifted his gaze between Jodie and Georgie. “I heard alright. Did you hear alright?”
Jodie giggled. “Yep, she definitely said alright, which means yes.”
“What can I get you?” I drawled.
“Shots,” Jodie answered.
“What kind of shots?”
“Tequila slammers!” Excitement rose Georgie’s voice an octave.
“You’re in for a big one then!”
“Well, if you’re going to have one, it might as well be big,” Jodie said, with a wicked grin.
“Exactly what I say.” BJ winked at her. “You know what they say about black—you never go back. Big, huuugggeee.” He threw out his hands melodramatically, losing his balance and swaying back a step. “Cocks. It’s all true.”
I laughed. “You are going to be all kinds of embarrassed tomorrow.”
I poured the shots, then handed the salt and lemon over. And never mind the responsible service code. I watched as they slammed them down, screwed up their faces, and laughed hysterically. Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” filled the room.