“Alright, boys. It’s time to pack it up.” I announced to the two men sitting at the bar.
They’ve been here for the past two and a half hours and are surely intoxicated. I don’t question how they plan on leaving, nor do I care. All I care about is getting home and going to bed after I shower the day off.
The guy on the left trails his dark brown eyes up my body. Well, what he is able to see of it from behind the bar anyway. He’s not the usual white-headed, bearded grandpas that frequent this place. He’s young, maybe late twenties, and his hair is disheveled, which is a stark contrast to his sharp three-piece suit. I can only assume it was a bad day in the office.
His Cartier watch sparkles under the dim bar lighting as he rubs his chin, a smirk that makes my skin crawl lifts one side of his lips. “Did you hear that, Clay? She’s ending the party early.”
Swallowing, I lean into the bar and reach for the wooden bat I keep on the top shelf under the counter. After working heresince I was sixteen, I’ve learned to read people, and I can tell these two are about to be a problem. Howly normally handles this kind of guy, but tonight he had to get home to his sick wife, so I’ll have to do it myself.
I give him a toothy smile, “Nope, just time for you two to leave.”
He licks his lips as if he’s devouring me in his disgusting mind, “I say the party was just getting started, Sweetheart.”
My stomach turns at his nickname, but I refrain from showing any hints of how his words affect me. “I say you get out before I call the cops.”
He nods silently, then taps the counter with his palm, “You heard her. Let’s go.” He speaks to his friend, Clay, but his eyes remain on mine.
I walk around the counter, ready to follow and lock the door behind them. The men stand from their stools and make their way to the exit. He nods at me over his shoulder, and my chin lifts.
My platform leather boots crunch broken peanut shells scattered across the floor as I hurry to the door and turn the lock. I pull on the door, ensuring it is locked, and turn, pressing my back against the cold glass door. My cheeks puff out as I exhale, taking in the mess of a bar that I have to scrub before I can finally go home.
“Just Like You,” by Three Days Grace plays at full volume on my phone as I finish my last task, which is scrubbing this sticky, beer-coated counter. Sweat beads along my forehead. Without Howly here to help, it took me twice as long to clean tonight.
Now that the bar is spotless, I walk through the back, where akitchen would normally be, but Howly made it a break room. I flip the light switches on the wall, turning off the lights, and have to use my phone flashlight to find my car keys and jacket. It’s still summer, so it’s not cold, but I like the comfort of a jacket or hoodie any time of year.
Locking the back door behind me, I whistle on my way to my old Camry. My phone flashlight is the only light source out here. I’ve begged Howly to put some street lights out here, or at the very least, flood lights.
Gravel crunching behind me snags my attention and has me pausing to listen harder. Shining my light around me, I spin in a circle, only seeing the empty lot around me. It must be my imagination playing tricks on me since I’m alone. My hand grips the car door handle, but I freeze at the reflection in my window.
“What do you want?” My voice is level, although my heart is pounding in my chest.
“This night could be a lot more fun, you know.”
Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply through my nose, trying to calm my nerves to think more clearly. He obviously isn’t going to leave me alone—willingly.
“You need to leave. I meant it when I said I would call the cops.”
His hand presses against my hip, and I whip around to face him. “Don’t fucking touch me!” I scream.
He must think that is funny, because he laughs, and the sound sends a chill down my spine. This guy is a psycho.
Popping my right hip out and placing my hand there to prevent him from grabbing it again, I ask, “Where’s your littlefriend?” Since I don’t see him anywhere, but I didn’t see this bastard earlier either.
“Around. Why? Want him to join us?”
“I won’t be joining anything.”
He reaches for my arm, and I smack it away. “Stop!” I turn to open my car door, but he slams it shut from behind me, wrapping his other arm around my waist to pull me away. I bring my right leg up, and with all the force in my small body, I kick him in the knee. The crack is loud and makes me nauseous. He drops me, and I hit the gravel on my hands and knees.
“Shit,” I hiss at the sting. That’s gonna leave a bruise, no doubt.
“Stupid bitch!”
Pushing myself up to my feet, I kick him in the ribs while he’s still down on the ground. He falls to his side, holding his ribs, and I take the opportunity to run to my car. When I turn and bolt, I slam into a hard body and stumble backwards. The man catches me by my upper arm and grips me painfully.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re?—”
Swinging my fist as hard as I can, I punch him in the throat. He releases my arm, shoving me to the side, and I take off to my car. The sounds of Clay choking and his friend grunting on the ground are the last thing I hear before shutting the door and hauling ass to get home.
