Lorelai gave a broad smile. Something almost like mischief sparked in those bewitching green eyes. “Coming up.” Without looking away, she called out to one of the other bartenders. “Oy, toss me the Plymouth!”
I chuckled despite myself. Definitely not being subtle with figuring out the drink by scent. It was the exact liquor brand as my first drink. “Heads up!” The man tossed the bottle, her hand plucking it from the air with apparent ease.
She was cocky and flashy. On anyone else, it would be a major turnoff. But something about that self-assuredness drew me in just as much as her enticing scent did. “Do you live in the area?”
Great, like that didn’t sound creepy at all. Talking with live people is so difficult.
Fortunately, Lorelai didn’t seem to think I was being too nosy. “Not super close, but most of my haunts are in this area. You?”
“I’m here for business, but thought I’d venture out tonight.”
An easy smile curled her full lips, but it didn’t quite make it to her eyes. Those had a much more calculating look to them. “Yeah? Well, enjoy your drink,” she nodded to the glass. “Put the next one on me. As a token of our chance encounter.”
And with a flourished bow, she moved back down to cover her side of the bar. I couldn’t hold back the amused grin that broke through my restraint. Even pressing the drink to my lips didn’t quite get rid of it. That warm, fuzzy feeling was quickly doused, though, with a surprised shout from the front of the club.
A shout shortly followed by the unmistakable sound of an automatic rifle spraying its bullets. Deafening crashes followed by water splashing on the ground filled the air alongside frantic screams and yells to get out of the club. Bodies of unfortunate guests who hadn’t ducked quickly enough began to hit the floor, blood pooling and making the polished concrete too slick to run across without falling.
“The fuck?” The bartender who served me first leaned over the bar to get a better look before quickly ducking down behind it. “Hey, gear up!” he shouted to the other two, who were doing the same.
Total chaos had broken out on the floor, with patrons hiding behind chairs and shoving over the tables to hide themselves. Everyone at the bar scattered as well, screaming and throwing glasses in their scramble to find cover. I didn’t bring my gun in—assuming they were going to pat me down at the door anyway—but I had a switchblade I managed to sneak in up my jacket sleeve that I pulled out to snap open. Using the stool I sat on, I boosted myself over the bar top and crouched with the other bartenders.
I realized now what the first one meant by 'gearing up.'
All three had donned bulletproof vests, two holding handguns in a ready position. Lorelai was the first to vault herself back over the counter… and she was the only one not armed. At least, not with a gun.
“Shit!” The other man hissed, looking over at the two of us. “Girl is batshit crazy! Will, message Taylor and tell him to get a fucking team here now!”
Will, the man closest to me, yanked his phone from the back pocket of his slacks and rapidly typed on the screen. “Done! You cover Lore, and I’ll make my way up to the balcony.”
I chanced a peek over the bar to get my bearings and take note of where the shooters were spreading throughout the club. Lorelai had ducked behind the closest table with another terrified couple, and I realized belatedly she was, in fact, armed. With a fucking tire iron. She was crouched on a knee and braced on her left arm, the other gripping the iron as she took a quick look around the overturned table. I could only watch in shocked horror as she sprang up and stepped behind one of the gunmen that passed by, a gun pressed to his shoulder and his attention sighted down the barrel. Rookie move on his part.
Lorelai whipped the iron around with her full body, slamming it against the side of his skull hard enough to crush it on impact. He dropped to the ground, lifeless, totally missed by his teammates among the rest of the chaos and gunfire. She had the advantage of approaching the remaining hit team from behind as they moved through the room to the stairs leading up to the office I met the club owner in.
The bartender, still hiding with me, cursed again and glanced over at me, then down at his phone. “You stay back here and try not to get shot. Police and backup are on their way. Hopefully, the backup gets here first. Just keep your head down.”
I didn’t have a chance to respond. He already vaulted the bar and crouch-ran to the table Lorelai had previously hid behind, placing a hand on the shoulder of the other man there and speaking into his ear. The patron nodded and drew his date closer with his eyes set on the bartender as if waiting for a sign. He moved around to their other side to allow a clear shot to the front of the club, back pressed to the heavy table, and a hand up in the universal hold sign.
In the brief lull between a barrage of bullets, muffled yells came from the direction Lorelai had stalked to. It seemed like she was moving to secure the stairs up to the office.
The bartender gestured to the couple to run for the door, sliding around the edge of the table in the opposite direction with his gun raised to fire off some well-placed shots at another gunman. Following his sight, I caught the tail end of Lorelai laying into a prone body sprawled on the floor. Watching her swing that tire iron so mercilessly, even watching from behind, sent a disturbed chill down my spine. It was… brutal. And I’ve seen some twisted shit.
Then her torso jerked twice.
“Shit! Why didn’t she shift and get the fuck outta here? God damn it!” The bartender sprang from his cover and moved, shooting at her attacker running from the dance floor. He had already made it halfway up the spiral staircase.
Lorelai was faster.
How she managed to recover so damn quickly after being shot twice—even with a vest—was unreal. That shit knocks the breath from someone, and she was already sprinting across the floor in a serpentine pattern while avoiding the wild spray of bullets. If Ididn’t come to the conclusion before now, it was obvious she was fucking insane. The woman had no sense of self-preservation, bringing a literal tire iron to a gunfight. I wasn’t much better with a switchblade half the length of my hand, but at least I wasn’t running headlong into gunfire with it.
The gunner on the stairs began to visibly panic, watching Lorelai gain ground despite his desperate attempt to shoot her down. Frankly, he looked very untried, and not for the first time, I wondered who the hell hired this hit crew. Looking at the other four bodies lying motionless on the club floor, it was obvious they were not very experienced. Who sent in rookie hitmen to a club with a known association with a mob?
An emergency exit door in the back of the room, painted a bright red to stand out from the dark mural, slammed open, and more men poured through. Every one of them had a semi-auto braced against their shoulders and masks with vivid red-stitched smiles covering the lower part of their faces, all donned in bulletproof vests as they spread out in an organized formation to assess the scene. One in particular broke free from the back of the group and headed directly for the staircase as if he knew the club’s layout. The gunner on the stair, clearly startled, hardly had the time to turn and aim his gun before he was completely annihilated. His limp body clattered down the metal steps and landed in a heap at the bottom.
Lorelai skidded to a stop to avoid tripping on his corpse. “Really? What the actual fuck, Taylor? I almost had him!” She even had the audacity to toss the tire iron to the ground like a child having a fit.
Her words didn’t register in my brain at first. Was she… upset at being helped?
The apparent leader, Taylor, ripped the mask off his face to reveal a particularly deep scowl. “You’re tellingmewhat the fuck? I should be telling you that! Where’s your gun?” It took amoment for my shocked brain to catch up with the rest of what was going on, but I realized he was the same biker who talked to Jimmy when we were pulled over by the Red Riot. Just another confirmation of their connection to this place. “You told me you had it behind the bar!”
