Yep.
Might be the last meal, indeed.
* * *
Somehow, as I pulled into Southwest Dine with Connor, I stayed away from my past in my head well enough. It was a fucking miracle, all things considered. For something that had happened so long ago, I sure did a shit job of keeping it away from me.
When we pulled into the diner, the place had mostly cleared out. Recent events had made going out in public for citizens a rather risky one—at best, Sheriff Davis would be nearby and the guns would stand down, though there was always the nagging feeling that it would only take one inciting comment or smirk to set shit off. At worst, well, one only needed to stay awake at night and hear gunfire on the east side of town to know what the worst-case scenario could look like.
There was one patron sitting in a booth at the far end, an older lady. She did a double take when she saw us, but we sat at the far end of the countertop, making sure we kept sight of the entrance. The lone waitress on shift nervously approached us, trying her best to be professional as she smiled and said hello.
“Just get us both burgers with grilled onions on ‘em,” I said. “And give us each some Blue Moons, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
I harrumphed in a sort of grunted thanks. The waitress hurried back. She looked new—but then again, it wasn’t like I came here as often as some of the other guys did.
“Rachel fucking Reid,” Connor said, though not really to anyone in particular.
“She looked tougher than I thought,” I said.
“Yeah.”
A tense silence fell over us. I just wanted my beer. Connor was the one dealing with what had just happened more.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
The reality was I thought she was fucking beautiful. At the risk of sounding like a pussy, she wasn’t just beautiful physically, but in the way that she had overcome everything that had happened in her past just to be here. And I was pretty sure…
No, that much I could not allow. To think a woman in her spot would want me, even if true, would be asking me to get into some emotional shit I had no fucking desire to handle.
“Two Blue Moons,” the waitress said, placing the open bottles in front of us.
“Cheers to that,” I said.
Connor didn’t say a word. It was telling that I knew, even by his introverted standards, it wasn’t because he didn’t feel like talking.
We didn’t even clink bottles. We just drank.
And that’s when a pickup truck pulled up, and I could see three people inside.
Call it gut instinct or call it years of darkness, but I always had a sort of sixth sense for when trouble was coming. And there was just something about the direction of the faces, the way the truck pulled up, and much more that made me think this was about to be a hairy situation.
“Don’t let the booze go to your head too quick,” I said. “We got company.”
“Bandit company, or drunken shithead company?”
I wasn’t sure.
And then the three got out of the car. I immediately recognized one as Eduardo. The last Bandit responsible for the gangrape that night.
“Bandit company,” I growled.
I reached for my gun but didn’t draw it. Even by Bandit standards, having a shootout in the middle of a restaurant we all frequented would have been stupid. There was no place to take cover, and the Bandits knew that the town would take our side.
Still…three of them, two of us…
They entered. Eduardo looked right at me. He smiled. And he and the two Bandits came forward.
