Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
She rolled hers back at me and shrugged like it was no big deal, even as a bottle flew over the top of the bar, hitting the row of hard liquor on the shelf above. I ducked as booze and glass exploded all around us, covering my face.
When I raised my head again, Peaches’ expression had changed. She’d gone from slightly exasperated to outraged. Apparently she didn’t mind a scuffle, but bottles breaking and booze on the floor pissed her off. Fair enough. Someone was going to have to clean up this mess, and the smart money was on her. She leaned over and grabbed a baseball bat, then stood up and took a swing at someone who must’ve been trying to climb over the bar.
“Holy shit!” I said to Tinker, terrified. “What the hell is going on?”
“No idea. It’s our job to stay out of the way,” she replied firmly, and I couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t freaking out. I mean, she didn’t look happy to be there, but she wasn’t in a state of raw panic, either. Me? I was getting there. Fast.
Someone shouted, and suddenly Peaches jumped up onto the bar, standing tall as she yelled at the crowd, waving the bat menacingly.
“I can’t believe this is happening!” I hissed at Tinker. The wooden bar sheltering us shuddered as a body slammed into it. Somewhere along the way, someone had turned on the bright overhead lights, and then a shotgun exploded, echoing through the building.
We all froze. The distinctive sound of the gun being cocked again rang through the room—a clear threat. I tucked my head down and huddled close to Tinker. Peaches kept her stance on the bar, which scared me. She was an easy target up there, and now someone was shooting. Why the hell wasn’t she hiding with us?
“Okay, you’ve had your fun. Time to end it!” a man shouted, his voice surprisingly calm. “Cops are coming, and the ambulance. If you were part of the fight, now’s the time to get out. You go fast enough, maybe you won’t get arrested. We know who you are, and we’ll be happy to help you find your way if you can’t remember where the door is. As for everyone else, we’ll have this cleaned up in about twenty minutes and get the band playing again. Thanks for your patience.”
Peaches glanced down at us and winked. Tinker sighed, giving me an extra squeeze.
“I guess we better make sure our men are still intact,” she said. “I so didn’t need this tonight.”
I swallowed, wondering how she knew we were really safe.
“What about the gun?”
“Oh, that’s just Gus. He owns the bar,” she said, flashing me a quick smile. “Sometimes he likes to give people a little reminder of who’s in charge—don’t worry about it. He’s never actually shot anyone. Just the ceiling.”
I swallowed, realizing that maybe I should’ve taken stories about the Starkwood Saloon a little more seriously.
“Although I have to admit this seems a little worse than usual,” Tinker added, her face thoughtful. “Honestly—the fights are mostly small, and they tend to shut them down fast.”
“You know all this and yet you still come here on purpose?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around the situation. I’d just been in a bar fight. I’d had to hide for my own safety.
On a date.
That would be the same date where I dry humped a guy against the wall, I realized. In public. Oh my God. There were whole layers of fucked-upedness going on here.
Beyond the bar, I heard the scrape of chairs and muttering as people started moving. Someone was crying, too, and I thought I heard a few moans of pain.
“The club likes to hang out here,” Tinker replied. “And we always have a good time. Honestly—this only happens a couple times a year, and usually it’s not this bad. Somehow tonight got out of control fast.”
“It’s safe now,” Peaches said, reaching down for my hand. She’d jumped off the bar without me noticing. “It was just some drunk cowboys fighting over a girl or something. All good. They’re hauling them out, and then we’ll get things cleaned up. The fight wasn’t as big as it felt. We were in the thick of it, so it seemed worse than it really was.”
I took her hand and stood up slowly, turning to look around the room, wondering what’d happened to Rome. A chaotic mess of people moved toward the exits, some of them still looking pretty pissed off. About half the tables and chairs had been knocked down in the section right in front of us, surrounded by broken glass and spilled drinks.
A clump of crying girls huddled against the back wall. Not far from where Rome had kissed me was a group of about ten men—maybe half of them bikers—surrounding something and speaking in low voices.