The easy way out was the path of the weak. In our world, the weak ended up dead or indebted to the strong. I’d have vengeance, justice on my own terms against a worthy opponent at the top of her game. Victory against a weak opponent tasted like ashes.
My target’s eyes darted to the door as it opened. She’d put her phone away and held her eyes wider than before. Her chest rose and fell with quicker breaths. Something had her excited.
A war raged in my head. Rush out and stop the shrimp from drugging the target and risk her escaping in the scene that came next, or bide my time, let it happen and take him out afterwards, easily securing the target? I’d just decided, a second from jolting out of my chair when she did the unexpected.
Her posture and bearings slipped back to its rigid pre-intoxication state when the boy reached the table. He set the drink down and took her hand. The kiss he planted on the back had me tensed to bolt out the door. It looked like I’d be too late when she picked the glass up. My chair slid back and banged against the wall as I stood, but then she sneezed and spilled the laced drink.
Oh, she was a worthy opponent. Victory would taste even sweeter.
The door creaked open and the attempted rapist sauntered in. With a shake of his head and a mumble in Italian too quiet for my middling skills to pick up, he approached the bar. I followed.
“That dumb bitch spilled her drink,” he said to the bartender in Italian, pointing toward the door. His eyes flashed to mine and he stiffened for a moment before turning back to the bartender. “I could use another beer too.”
The bartender poured a shot of clear liquor for the man before hurrying down the bar to the refrigerator. The would-be rapist glanced both ways before hunching over the drink. Persistence would provide no reward for him today.
The bartended returned with the man’s beer and quickly turned to serve another patron. My hand slapped onto my irritant’s shoulder, holding him in place. He flinched at the unexpected arm around his back, but no amount of jerking freed him.
“Hey, what the hell!” His head swung to face me. Lips quivered. Eyes widened. “Wha… what do you want?”
“I want you to drink that,” I said in English with a low, calm voice, then pointed to the doctored drink.
“But that’s not for me,” he replied.
“It is now.” The tip of my thumb pressed into his neck. “Drink up or we’ll see if I can dislocate your shoulder with one hand. Don’t worry. If that doesn’t work, I’ll just use my other hand too. I’ve done that enough, it’s like riding a bike. Now drink up.”
He frowned at the drink. A little powder still floated on top. He glanced my way and that frown only grew. I offered no quarter though. My fingers provided encouragement, squeezing until the man sucked in a breath.
A resigned sigh later, he lifted the drink. His eyes turned to mine again, a tacit beg for mercy. I offered none, spoken or not. He shuddered but downed the glass in one gulp.
“Was that so hard?” I inched back and held my arms out, freeing him.
His hands pushed against the bar. He stumbled back and ran into another patron. Without even acknowledging them, he sprinted to the back of the bar and disappeared into the men’s room. At least he’d made up for his rudeness by offering me his beer.
I snatched it off the bar and focused on my next prey. Gianna remained at her outdoor table, slight frown marring her face, probably plotting her next move with the chemist. With her defenses up, she’d make an even more worthy adversary… and prize.
3
Gianna
The minutes ticked by. My eyes darted to the bar door more than once, expecting Marco with a replacement drink for the one I’d intentionally spilled. For all I knew, he was trying to get into my pants the old fashioned way. Paranoia sometimes had me seeing threats where there were none, but I wasn’t about to even sip the next drink.
I should just go. Katie must have found an interesting guy inside. She’d be fine, she always was. Last thing she needed was a third wheel. I owed Marco nothing. The best way to turn down his next drink was to not be here at all when he came out with it.
For some reason, despite deciding on retreat as the best option, I remained in my chair, unmoving. His reaction when I ignored the drink would tell me all I needed to know. With the audience of other patrons, even if he wanted to try something, we were in a public place. Even if my most paranoid fantasies came true, I was safe.
The bar door opened. I took a deep breath to ready myself. Instead of Marco, a larger man stepped through. Broad shouldered and taller than my attempted suitor, he was a welcome distraction, a man instead of a boy. No facial hair covered his tanned face, another plus. It’d be a crime to cover up a jaw that strong.
His pale blue eyes met mine when my assessment finally ascended that far. He hadn’t looked anywhere else. The corners of his closed lips curled in the slightest of smiles, moving millimeters but enough that I noticed. He had targeted me and only me.
Never breaking eye contact, he stalked closer. My pulse thudded in my neck, ears rang. My father kept me separate from his business, for the most part. Still, I’d met some of the men who worked under him. Dangerous people, predators like the man sauntering closer.
His size alone had me thinking thug; a leg breaker brought in for the second warning when someone’s payment came late. The obvious quality of his dark suit and even the way he held himself told a contradictory tale. A thug in a suit was still a thug. They menaced and little else. Most didn’t have a second gear, they were simple men who performed simple, brutish tasks, often with destructive efficiency. This man exuded power. Head high, he owned the sidewalk he strode – and my table when he stopped in front of it.
Without asking, he dropped into the chair both Katie and Marco had vacated. His fingers drummed against the beer in his hand as he rolled his shoulders, taking a relaxed posture. At no time did he even attempt to speak or look away.
Intense as his eyes were, I didn’t back down from an obvious challenge. Why the hot, but dangerous and obviously incredibly full of himself man started an impromptu silent staring contest, I didn’t know but I wasn’t going to let him win. That might have been the grappa talking, though I felt sober as a straight edger sitting this close to trouble.
The seconds slipped by, each stretching an eternity, our faces unmoving stone. Suddenly, his lips twisted into a smile. It even reached his eyes. He shook his head, offered a rumbling chuckle and took a gulp of beer.
