I tried to keep a stoic, even-keeled face on as I got in the car and turned on the engine. I followed Michael out of the restaurant’s parking lot, laughing as he gave a “peace” sign as if about to gun it out of there.
When we got on the main roads, I reminded myself that I had not agreed to anything yet, nor did I need to agree to anything tonight. This was fun, a lighthearted... hangout, I suppose you could call it, the type of night I hadn’t much experienced in Springsville. But if I fell for him after one night, then I might as well quit my job and join the Black Reapers full time.
Not going to happen.
Not going to shame Kristina’s memory like that.
We drove through downtown Springsville—a bit of a loose term, considering how the tallest building was three stories—and emerged just on the other side, perhaps a mile or two out. Michael pulled up to the kind of bar that looked like it was planted on the side of the road for those on a road trip or a seedy night out, not for working-class locals. The parking lot was more gravel and stone than paved asphalt, and there weren’t any lines or demarcations for different parking spots. The outside had a white sign with red lettering that said “Brewskis,” the kind of thing one might see in the mid-twentieth century.
At least he’d been honest with me in calling it a dive bar. He hadn’t set me up with false expectations on this one.
I looked around the gravel lot and saw two other bikes there. I didn’t recognize the bikes— they didn’t have the black scythes that defined the Black Reapers. Instead, they had a logo on them that resembled the NFL team the New Orleans Saints, albeit with blood.The Fallen Saints. The ones…
I immediately felt more than a little sketched out, like I’d accidentally wandered into the wrong neighborhood, and I had a timer in my head for getting the hell out. It was of no solace to me that Michael was with me. In fact, knowing their tensions, I had a fear he was pulling me into my worst nightmare.
An encounter with my sister’s killer.
“You sure about this?” I said as I emerged from my car. “This can’t be safe.”
“Yes, it is,” Michael said, and his smile had dropped, perhaps in recognition of my discomfort of the situation. “This place is as safe and secure as any that I’ve been to. There’s another group that comes here, but we keep our separation. I promise you I wouldn’t have taken you someplace seedy just to be a hero or prove a point.”
That wasn’t exactly the statement I’d been hoping for, but I trusted that Michael would take care of me.Even if I have no other choice.
Even though our knowledge of each other had only extended to one other in-person meetup before, I just felt that he wasn’t the kind of guy to take me somewhere and abandon me. My gut reaction was he was a good guy in a bad group.I wonder if that’s what Kristina thought about Jason...
No, stop it, you know he’s not like that.
But what if…
I followed Michael inside Brewskis. Inside, the wall was littered with neon signs, motorcycle parts, and bottles of beer. It was very clear that Michael and the Black Reapers were the bar’s target audience. Booths lined the walls, about six pool tables stood in the middle of the place—pool tables that looked surprisingly clean—and a lone bar with about three old-school TVs up top.
The bar was empty, save for three people—the bartender, a woman with a faux-hawk that had been died purple, and two bald guys sitting in a booth, wearing sleeveless jackets. They stared at Michael with a simmering anger that seemed destined to boil over at any moment, but they remained in their seats. Michael pulled a seat back for me at the bar, and we sat down.
“Jess, come meet Kaitlyn.”
“Kaitlyn, pleasure,” the bartender said, extending her hand. “Anyone who knows Michael is a friend of mine, so welcome.”
Well, at least the place is very welcoming.
The bartender is, that is. Can’t speak for the rest.
“Whatever you want, darling, we got it. Liquor, beer, some wine. No champagne.”
“That’s... fine,” I said, trying to get my bearings.
I didn’t know what I wanted. Eventually, I just looked at Michael.
“You know what’s good here.”
He snorted a laugh.
“You’re talking to the guy that drank Natural Light for a long, long time,” he said. “I just get Yuenglings when I come here.”
“Sure,” I said.
It was less about the beer and more about making sure he didn’t order something insane, like a vodka red bull. I didn’t want to deal with someone who suddenly decided to get hammered now that he had a girl he liked at a bar. That was a one-way ticket to getting me out of there.
But as I turned to him to acknowledge that I was okay with the drink choice, my eyes drifted back to the two bald dudes in the booth of the bar, still glaring at the two of us.
