He drops them and backs up until he bumps Connor. “I…we…”
“Stop muttering,” I snap. “You sound like an idiot.”
Connor, taller and more muscular than Mike, puts himself front and center. Respectable. Stupid, but admirable. “Look, man, Mike’s drunk. He always acts like a dick when he drinks.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “You understand.”
I laugh too. “Yeah.” Then deadass. “No, I don’t.”
Connor’s swallow is loud enough to be heard over Metallica’s “Battery.” “Mike’s the worst when he drinks. I didn’t even want to come tonight, but he wants to impress...” He lets his sentence trail off. “He’s an asshole. I’ll take him home. You’ll never see us again. You have my word.”
“You’ll take him home.” I clap him on the shoulder. “It’s just a shame you’ll do it after he spends the night in the hospital.”
The color drains from Connor’s face. But he’s not a bitch, and I’m impressed. “I can’t let you hurt him.”
I suck my teeth. “Hate to break it to you, Connor, but you’re a long way from home. This is Unholy territory, and your friend ran his mouth and talked the wrong shit about the wrong people to the wrong person. What would it say about me if I let him leave with all those pretty teeth still in his mouth?”
Connor glances at Mike, then back at me. “It’s two against one, dude.”
I tuck my thumbs in the pockets of my jeans and rock back on my heels. “I’ll try not to do too much damage, but I make no promises.”
“Jester, are you bothering these paying customers?”
I shift my attention to Trish, who’s as much of a draw to Talon as the establishment’s famous house brew. The stunning and awesomely lippy forty-something-year-old bartender has repeatedly shot me down. Goddamn, if she would let me, I’d introduce her to the joys of cougarhood. “In my defense, they bothered me first.”
“That right, boys? You tugged this tiger’s tail?”
“He’s lying,” Mike insists.
I bark out a laugh. “It wasn’t you saying the Unholy aren’t shit?”
Trish cringes. “Oh, honey, you fucked up.” She motions to the far end of the bar. “Girls, move down over there.”
Samantha scowls at Trish with an adamant shake of her head. She slides closer to Connor. “No, thank you.”
Annabelle grabs her friend’s arm. “Don’t be stupid, Sam. Move.”
“Yeah, go with Annabelle.” I give her a lazy, crooked grin. “Wouldn’t want you to get caught in the tussle.”
Samantha tugs her arm out of Annabelle’s grip and shoves her way to the front of her friends. “Are all Unholy assholes, or just you?”
“All of us, I’m afraid.” I toss my hoodie on the bar before snaking my arm around Samantha’s waist. Her disgusted cry rings out over the music when I drag her against my body. “But I’m better at it than most.”
Connor tries to pull her away from me. “Let her go.”
My glare stops him cold. “We don’t like heroes here.”
And I especially don’t like people from Brighton since they remind me of Faith. Putting her in my head is like throwing gasoline on a flame. Makes me remember the day I didn’t just break my ex-girlfriend’s heart. Nah, that would have been too easy. Fixable. I went and ripped it right out of her chest—and made sure she heard my laughter as she walked away from the wreckage of our relationship with her pride wrapped around her like armor.
“I’m not a hero,” Conner rasps.
“Enough with the chitchat.” I release Samantha, then grab a fistful of Mike’s shirt. “Come on. Let’s get this done.”
“What? No.” Mike slaps at me in a sad attempt to dislodge my hold. “Get off me. I’m sorry.”
“Shut up, Mike,” I snap.
Connor is behind us, yelling at me to release his friend. How Mike didn’t mean it. Jack, Talon’s owner, is laughing from his usual place perched on the last stool at the bar, the one closest to his office. His half-hearted warning not to hurt the guy falls on deaf ears. Trish and Annabelle are doing their level best to calm a hysterical Samantha. Jesus, you’d think she never saw someone get beaten up before. And the rest of the fine folks inside Talon are cheering me on as I drag the whining prick out the door. As well they should since they’re the ones Tweedledick and Tweedledork had the audacity to insult.
“Don’t kill him, Jester,” Alfie yells. “God forbid we gotta bother the sheriff on a Wednesday night.”
