Chapter 43
Sol’s Bar
JESSICA
Seven Years Ago
After talking with Dr. York, I run to my room. I throw anything within reach, but that doesn’t satisfy the anger and disappointment in myself. Seething, I run out of the room and just keep running.
Eventually, I arrive at Sol’s bar. Empty peanut shells litter the worn wooden floors. An old, worn-out pool table sits near the front entrance, and a small stage that looks ready to fall apart is nestled in the far corner of the room. The quiet bar fills with regulars.
I thought this would be a safe place to just sit, maybe get drunk, but Sol recognizes me.
I came here before to watch Charlie and his band sing.
I couldn’t talk much then. Without asking me, Sol slides me a glass bottle—a ginger ale.
Thanks a lot, Sol. I can’t complain. He doesn’t send me away.
He doesn’t even ask why I am here, sitting in my usual corner with my head down, glasses on, hat low so no one recognizes me.
I never drink alcohol, but right now, I wish I could.
My miserable existence plays over and over in my head when I hear this loud, irritating laugh. A man at a nearby table gropes Peaches, the waitress.
“Come on, baby. I know you give it up to some of the guys who walk in here. Just give me a little sample. Hell, I’ll probably rock your world better than most of those guys.”
Peaches struggles to get out of his firm grip.
She faces me and immediately recognizes me from before.
Her eyes dart from me toward Sol, who is turned away from us.
She’s asking for help. Sol is a little deaf.
He refuses to admit it, but I think years of owning a bar with its loud music desensitized his hearing.
I whistle, but he doesn’t turn around. Fucking Sol.
I whistle again when a big, meaty hand slams down in front of me.
My ginger ale bottle tips over onto me and then crashes to the ground.
Peaches leverages the distraction to leave her aggressor and promises to return with a towel to clean up the mess.
An angry asshole stares in my face. Thanks, Peaches.
“Mind your own damn business, son.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Just trying to get another drink.”
“Aren’t you a bit young to be sitting in a bar?” he asks, his rotten breath in my face.
When was the last time this guy brushed his teeth?
Trying not to gag, I reach into my pocket and pull out a piece of gum.
“Here. You need this. Might help you get lucky.” I shove the gum in his chest. His four equally fat and ugly friends all laugh.
“Some friends you have. Couldn’t tell you that your breath stinks,” I mumble, sliding off the chair to clean myself off.
I reach forward for some napkins, but the gigantic prick grabs me by my hoodie and lifts me off the floor.
I am so fucking tired of assholes thinking they can boss me around.
I want to hit this fucker so badly. Instead of a roiling rage, I feel a disturbing calm.
I hang in his grasp and let him think he has the upper hand.
“Look here, son. I’m going to let you off with a warning because I don’t think your mama would appreciate me messing up that pretty face of yours. I’m only going to say this once. Mind your business.” He leans in closer to my face.
I gag and try to cover my mouth with the back of my hand.
He shakes me. “Knock that shit off before I teach you a lesson on how to respect your elders.”
“I respect my elders, sir, but I have a problem with poor hygiene getting up in my face.” His friends hoot and holler louder at his expense, which just angers him more.
“You better watch it, boy, or your mama won’t recognize your face when you get home.”
I stare squarely into his eyes and deadpan, “Too late.” I cock my head to the side, exposing the scars on my face.
He squints. “You should have learned your lesson, then. I’m still going to let you off with a warning.” He lowers me back to my feet. “Now you better tuck those crayons in that pocket of yours and get your ass back home to your mama.”
I snort and give him a middle-finger salute.
“Sure thing, boss,” I mock him. I smile at his friends and look them up and down one by one. They are all big, like their asshole friend, but they’re clumsy. I can tell by the number of times they knocked over their drinks. As I pass, I check in with their thoughts.
Aww, too bad he let him go. Could have used some entertainment tonight.
’Bout time someone told him about his breath.
What a cocky little shit. Someone should teach that boy a lesson.
That boy is too pretty. Is he one of those “they/them” types?
Little cockblocker. That’s alright. I’m just going to sit here and wait for that pretty waitress to finish her shift. Then I’ll show her what a real cock can do for her. Maybe the boys will enjoy that pussy, too.
I immediately stop walking. Did I just hear that correctly?
He plans to rape Peaches. Well, fuck that.
I’m not going to let that happen. I spot Peaches at the bar and whistle at her, drawing the attention of the men.
I motion with my head for her to follow me.
She smirks at me, not understanding. I take her hand and spin her a couple of times before dipping her back.
Using my hat to cover our faces, I lean in and whisper, “Give me your gum, Peaches.”
She giggles, places her hand behind my head, and slips me her gum.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you, sugar.”
I stand her back up and kiss her hand. She blushes before walking away.
The men sit with their mouths hanging open. I blow out a bubble and wink at the asshole. I slowly walk backward toward the door with a crooked smile.
“That’s it, you little punk! I’m going to teach you a lesson your mama will feel by the time I’m done with you!” he yells.
As I pass the pool table, I pick up one of the cue sticks.
“That’s right, you little shit. You’re going to need all the help you can get,” he sneers.
I push up my glasses and cock my head to the side, listening for his heavy steps.
Everyone in the bar stands up and moves to the side.
What the hell? I’m a shrimp compared to him. No one’s going to step in? Not that it matters. I’m actually looking forward to this fight. I need it.
Dr. York’s voice pops into my head. “Another hit or another fall… is all it will take.”
Fuck it. At least Anders can’t accuse me of not going down without a fight. The oversized bastard’s footsteps fall just a few feet away from me. Just a little more. Right there.
I swing around with the cue, taking both of his legs out from under him.
His friends falter in their tracks. What a bunch of cheating bitches.
All five of these men are way bigger than me.
Spinning the cue in my hand, I kick the gigantic prick in the chest, knocking him onto the ground again.
I give the rest of his friends some time to gather their wits and let them surround me.
“You must be thinking, ‘Oh, shit.’ Aren’t you, kid?” the man with the foul breath shouts between wheezy laughter.
I catch a glimpse of rotting teeth. Gross. He tried to kiss poor Peaches with that mouth. I spit Peaches’s gum out. “A gift from my lady friend. It’s the closest you’ll get to her saliva tonight,” I sneer.
A man on my left lunges toward me. I hit him in the neck with the cue, followed by a quick hit to the ribs.
Another man comes up behind me so I swing the cue and pummel him in the stomach with the blunt end.
I roundhouse kick him in the head. A third man swings at me, and I nail him in the kidneys. Another lunges at me with a chair.
Seriously, what the hell is wrong with these men? I jump up on the pool table, flip over him, and kick him in the backside. He plows into his own weapon of choice, splintering it to pieces under his own weight.
The original asshole grabs my shoulders, swinging me around, and punches me in my face.
The cue falls from my hand, and my glasses fly off my face.
I guess it’s a good thing I don’t really need them to see anymore.
I bring my knee up, catching him in the hip, kick his other knee, and return the punch.
Blood gushes from his nose. I punch him again and simultaneously pummel one of his friends in the gut with an elbow jab.
I duck, avoiding beefy arms from the left. I dive for the cue and smack one of the meatheads in the kneecap, knocking him down. A kick to the face knocks him out. My ribs ache, and four more men still need a takedown before I can leave.
I twirl the cue above my head and rush at the fattest man of the group.
I strike another stinky man with the cue on my right side and block his friends on the left.
Finding my opening, I strike him on the head so hard the cue breaks in half.
I throw the remaining half at the original asshole.
The two remaining men charge me at the same time, shouting some battle cry.
From my peripheral vision, I see two tall men run toward us.
No, not men—recruits. Odyssey and Skunk rush in, taking the two men out.
I stand my ground and face the gigantic prick coming at me with the cue.
I count his steps and slowly bend my knees, angling my body to use his own momentum against him.
Everything moves around me in slow motion. Five, four, three, two… I block the cue, widen my stance, and shove my shoulder into him, lifting him in the process and throwing him over me. Turning, I roundhouse kick him in the face before he hits the ground.
Skunk lands a blow to one man, who drops to his knees, and finishes him with another punch. Odyssey kicks another man in the chest, and he crashes into a nearby table. I hold my breath, counting in my head. The man doesn’t get back up.
I release the breath I was holding. Pain rips through me, but I ignore it. My surroundings resume at a normal pace.
More footsteps race toward us. Marty, now one of the trainers for the guard program, sees me, and his eyes widen. He points to his head, and I realize I lost both my hat and glasses in the fight.
I link my mind to his. Marty, what are you doing here?
Everyone is looking for you, Princess.
I don’t want to go back. I just need some space.
He scans the room, noticing the disastrous state of the bar. “Look. We don’t want any trouble. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get the hell out of here right now.”
I straighten my stance and slowly step back.
I’ll buy you some time, but you need to leave now. Marty picks up my hat from the floor and tosses it to me.
Thank you.
You owe me one hell of an explanation, Princess. He smiles, assessing the men on the floor.
A hand grabs mine and drags me toward the back of the bar. “Go quickly. The town guards are on their way,” Peaches hisses. Once in the alleyway, I look around. Sirens approach, and I run in the opposite direction.
To my irritation a fence is erected between the two buildings on this side of the alley, but I don’t let that hold me back.
I send out feelers, and when I don’t feel vibrations of other shifters nearby, I use my magic to lift myself over the fence.
Midair, my magic falters and drops me to my knees.
Climb it is, then. I return to my feet, ignoring the throbbing in both my knees and my ribs.
Backing up, I leave enough space between myself, the fence, and the wall.
I set off in a fast-paced run and push my foot against the wall, angling myself toward the fence.
I grasp the steel bar across the fence and hoist myself up and over, gently landing on my feet.
With a quick glance over my shoulder, I jog away from the sirens, away from the chaos I just left behind.