Chaos erupts.
Demi forcefully tugs Ashley’s swinging arms out of the way. “YOU WANT TO TALK SHIT?”
Ashley shrieks, stumbling back as Demi grabs two fistfuls of her hair. “LET’S TALK SHIT, BARBIE!”
Glasses clatter. Chairs scrape. People whip around to watch.
Ashley flails, trying to shake Demi off, but Demi is in it. She’s got the strength of someone who has been waiting for this moment, and I’m so stunned, I can’t even move.
Then, in a blur of movement, the bartender swoops in. He rips Demi off with an ease that suggests he’s done this before. Demi thrashes in his grip, still trying to claw her way back toward Ashley, a rabid squirrel hell-bent on reclaiming her stolen nut.
Hex’s voice cuts through the commotion, sharp and commanding. “GET HER OUT OF HERE!”
I whip around to see him grab Ashley. It’s not rough, but with enough authority that she stops screeching and stiffens. His grip is firm as he steers her to the front door while the bartender hauls Demi toward the back.
I stand there, chest rising and falling, feeling the eyes of the entire bar on me.
The space where Ashley stood buzzes with tension.
Demi, mid-removal, shouts over the bartender’s shoulder, “I REGRET NOTHING!”
The back door slams shut.
My skin crawls. My breath shaky. And as I glance at the front entrance, my gut tells me this isn’t over. Not even close.
I exit out the back after my friend.
The alley behind the bar reeks of fried food, stale beer, and a lifetime of bad decisions. Dim streetlights buzz overhead, illuminating the collection of cigarette butts, shattered glass, and a dumpster that is convincing me it’s hiding something illegal. Or dead.
And right in the middle of all that glory, Demi’s clinging to the bartender with the tenacity of a rabid koala. Her legs cinch tight around his waist, arms windmilling, and cursing loud enough to paint the air with so much color it could be sold as abstract art.
“You motherfucker! You cockless, soulless, fun-sucking—”
“Jesus Christ, would you stop?” The bartender—built as if he personally lifts kegs for fun—plants his feet and peels off the stubborn leech in human form.
Demi lands on her feet with the grace of a drunk cat, her hair disheveled and breathing hard, but still glaring up at him with undiminished fire. “Do you have no shame throwing out a woman defending her friend’s honor, or are you just an asshole?”
He straightens his jeans and twisted shirt and steps back. “You throw a punch at a barely-legal blonde, and suddenly I’m the asshole?”
“She deserved it. And barely-legal? Do men even look at girl’s faces anymore, or is it just straight to the tits?”
“She definitely deserved it,” I chime in. My heels click against the cracked pavement as I stop just short of the two of them. “My friend simply enforced some basic street justice.”
He crosses his arms, unimpressed. “Justice doesn’t usually involve pulling out extensions.”
Demi rakes her fingers through that fiery red hair, not a hint of guilt in sight. “They were fucking clip-ins. Bitch can’t even afford to get them professionally installed.”
The bartender exhales through his nose and presses his fingers to his temple. “Yeah, well, it’s a shame you wasted your takedown on someone who didn’t deserve that kind of energy. You’re banned. Forever.”
Demi snorts. “Oh,forever? What is this, the fucking Roman Empire?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “No, but I am the fucking justice system in this establishment, and you”—he pokes her in the forehead, pushing her back a step—“are a goddamn liability.”
Demi lets out a gasp so offended you’d think he just smacked her grandma. I pinch my lips together and clear my throat to keep myself from laughing.
Then he turns to me, his expression softening as if my obvious mortification still lingers on my face. “You, on the other hand, can come back whenever. But you might wanna consider picking less homicidal friends.”
I fold my arms. “Not a chance.”
