Page 11 of Bram

The tall one said, “Hey. I’m talking to you.”

She said nothing. That’s what I liked about her: stubborn silence was a weapon, and she’d learned to aim it well. The room stretched out, waiting for what came next.

The tall one slid off his stool, closed the gap in a smooth side-step. “Don’t be a bitch. You know who we are?”

Julie turned then. Her voice was cool as rainwater: “I know exactly who you are. And I know your boss is going to be picking his teeth out of the sand by morning.”

I almost laughed. But the tall one didn’t. He reached for her arm, and when she didn’t pull away, he squeezed hard, enough to leave marks. The thin one grinned, the broad one flexed his hands. They wanted an audience, and I wasn’t going to give them one.

“Bet that pussy hasn’t been spread in months,” one of them said. He grabbed his crotch and made a thrusting motion at Julie. “Guess I’ll break that loneliness for you.”

“You aren’t breaking shit,” Julie said. “Now back the fuck up or I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” The two-neck guy said. “Hit me with a paperclip?”

Much to my surprise, Julie took a swing at the asshole. Asshole ducked at the telegraphed swing, and the three men burst out laughing. Those in the room pretended not to watch. The bartender went to wash glasses.

“We like our women spunky,” the thin guy said. He ran his hand up Julie’s thigh and grabbed her crotch.

Julie yelped and looked at me. I stared back but kept my ass in the seat.

“It’s time, boys,” one of them said.

I let them haul her off the stool and watched her stumble, then regain her balance. The tall one jerked his chin at the back door, the one that led out to the dumpster and the loading dock. Julie gave him nothing, just walked where they pointed her, head high. I waited for the bartender to look away, then stood and followed.

It was pretty fucked up how doing the right thing could get you fucked up. It had been a minute since I’d been in a hand-to-hand fight. I guessed that minute was coming to an end.

The night air hit like a wall. The lot was empty except for a garbage bin and a single yellow security light. The Scorpions had her backed against the wall, tall one talking low and close, thin one circling, broad one guarding the alley.

I walked up, didn’t bother with stealth. The broad one turned, saw me, and smiled. “Wrong party, old man.”

“That’s Bram Jackson,” the thin guy said. “Fuck.”

I closed the distance. My hand was steady. “She’s with me.”

The thin guy thought better of what they were doing. “We need to cut bait,” he said.

The tall one laughed. “Looks like you got a daddy, sweetheart.”

That made me chuckle. It was the second time in the last twenty-four hours I thought about being her Daddy. No matter. I was fit, hung, and my dick worked just fine. Daddy, I would be.

Julie didn’t look at me. She kept her eyes on the tall one. That’s when I saw her right hand: she’d slipped the small pepper spray from her bag and was palming it like a trigger.

The broad one stepped up, arms wide. “You want to go home, man, you just do it. This ain’t your fight.”

I said, “Every fight is my fight. Especially when I see a man mistreating a woman. My woman.”

Julie cringed, and I raised an eyebrow, suggesting she just go with my plan.

He lunged. I let him close, then dropped low and hit him at the hip. He went over backward, head catching the edge of the bin. Bone made a good, wet sound. The thin one screamed and charged, knife out. I grabbed his wrist, twisted, and drove his face into the steel of the bin. Cartilage split. He crumpled, out cold.

Tall one still had Julie by the wrist. He jerked her in front of him, knife pressed to her neck. “Back the fuck up,” he said.

Julie pressed the trigger. The spray hit his eyes, and he howled. She drove her elbow into his gut, and he folded. I closed, caught his knife hand, and broke his thumb with a turn. The blade dropped, and I put my knee into his sternum. He stopped moving.

My heart was going a mile a minute. Julie pressed herself against the wall, shaking but not crying. The blood was starting to pool at the broad one’s head. Thin one’s face was mashed and flat. Tall one was still trying to see, rubbing his eyes and cursing.

I said, “You okay?”