I whip around, slightly off balance. The guy pulls me hard and I’m not ready for it. The coffee pot comes around and splashes across his chest, which really isn’t my intention. For all my rage at idiots like these guys, I truly don’t need the hassle of getting rung up on assault charges.
For a split second, the bald asshole stares at me with wide eyes, his black shirt with a sparkly skull drenched in scalding hot coffee.
Then he howls in pain.
“You fucking kitchen bitch!” He yanks my arm again, this time tossing me sideways. I’m not a big girl and even though I can handle myself just fine, the bald asshole is easily twice my size. The coffee pot goes flying, smashes on the floor, and spills all over the place, glass glittering on the floor. I hit a freestanding table and almost knock over a chair, steadying myself as I go down to my knees hard enough to rattle my teeth.
“Harry!” Pam screams, rushing to the kitchen window. “Harry, help! You useless fuck! Hey, take your earbuds out, you big stupid egg fucker!”
I drag myself to my feet, gripping a chair like a weapon. Everyone’s staring at us. There are maybe six other people here, one more group, and a couple random stragglers in Pam’s section. Nobody moves or says a word.
For a beat, the bald asshole looks like he’s not sure what to do. He’s wet, hurting, drunk, and very angry. But he must also be aware that he just attacked a waitress in public. Up to this point, he could conceivably argue that he was only reacting to getting scalding liquid splashed on him.
But that fades the second he steps up to me, whips his hand back, and cracks his palm straight across my face.
My chin snaps sideways. The noise of his hand on my skin is shocking and sharp. The pain comes next. It’s intense, a flood of warmth and stinging. I don’t move, touching myself in pure surprise and fear.
I haven’t been hit like that in a very long time, and for a brief moment, I can hear my mother’s sneering hate. An old memory dredged up, a mirror to this pain.
You’re the fucking useless one, you little worthless bitch, can’t even earn a paycheck yet.
Blood trickles from my nose down between my fingers.
The bald asshole advances closer. He rears his hand back, readying himself for another blow. “Stupid slut, you never should have?—”
But someone grabs him from behind. Bald asshole twists, already in a fighting mood, his boulder-sized fists flailing out wildly at the newcomer.
The man ducks, twists, and the bald asshole is suddenly on the floor. I catch a glimpse of a tall man, dark suit, sandy brown hair, maybe handsome but it’s really hard to tell as he kicks the bald asshole right in the teeth as hard as he can.
Blood splashes from the bald asshole’s face. He groans, curling up, as the newcomer kicks again, hitting the bald asshole hard in the ribs. By now, the asshole’s friends are coming, both scrambling from the booth.
The newcomer dances back. He’s tall and athletic. His shoes shine with droplets of the bald asshole’s blood. A gold watch glitters on his wrist as one of the friends lunges at him awkwardly, off balance and clearly too wasted for this. The newcomer easily knees him right in the throat and throws him sideways, tossing the friend onto the floor. The last attacker punches wildly, hands flashing but poorly aimed, and the newcomer easily weaves sideways, smashes a fist into the last attacker’s stomach, grabs him by the back of the head, and slams his face straight into a table. More blood, more crunching bone.
And it’s over. Three bleeding, groaning men lie at his feet. Harry finally appears, lumbering from behind the counter armed with a rolling pin. He stares in awe as the newcomer fixes his cuffs and nudges the bald asshole with his toe.
“You can either call the cops,” he says, nose wrinkled in disgust, “or I can have them dragged out of here in a few minutes. Your choice.”
That sits all wrong. Another flashback to my father’s wedding and all the men in their black suits and serious faces and the constant low-level threat of violence hanging around them like a fog. This newcomer feels so much like them.
“Call the cops,” I snap at Harry.
The newcomer seems almost disappointed, but only shrugs like it doesn’t matter to him either way.
“Right, I’m on it.” Harry hurries off. “Quit fucking staring, people. This isn’t some goddamn show.”
“God, Kira, your nose.” Pam hurries over with napkins.
I take them. “I’m fine. Honestly.” I shove the napkins against my face to stem the bleeding.
“That fucker hit you. I honestly can’t believe it.”
“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have antagonized him.”
The newcomer pulls out a chair and sits. He watches the three downed men with a strange casual air about him, like he does this all the time. “You ask me, no woman ever asks to be hit by a stranger. No matter what she says or does.”
“Didn’t ask you, though.” I blow my nose. More blood. Great, just great. I’m going to have to explain this to Gem, and she’s going to feel even more guilty. She already begs me to quit this job and threatens to drop out so she can help around the house more, but I swear on my life, I’ll kill her if she ever does it. I haven’t ground myself down to a fine powder since she was fourteen just to watch her throw it all away thanks to these bastards.
The newcomer seems amused by that. “You’re Kira. My name’s Stellan. You’re welcome, by the way.”
