Page 38 of Catcher

He leans back in his chair, settling in, completely ignoring the weight behind my words. “Relax,” he says, voice thick with arrogance. “We’re just getting started.” His hand slides over the woman like I’m not even there. Then he looks down at her and smirks. “Go on,” he mutters, loud enough for me to hear. “Show him how we do it.”

She shifts, sliding off his lap, dropping down in front of him like this is just another part of their night, her hands moving toward his belt…

That’s as far as it gets.

I don’t warn him again. My hand shoots out, grabbing a fistful of his hair, and before he can even process what’s happening, I drive his face straight down into the table. The crack of impact cuts through the music. The table shudders under the force, glasses rattling, one tipping over and shattering as his nose meets wood with a sickening sound.

The room jumps back in a scrape of chairs and boots, space opening around us. His boys are on their feet just as fast, hands moving, chairs kicking back behind them. But they don’t get two steps before Wick is there, weapon up. Kiwi and Fender flank him, steel and intent showing in the blink of an eye.

“Think real hard about your next move,” Wick warns the other men, voice calm but carrying an edge that cuts deeper than shouting ever could. “Because you won’t get another one.”

The room holds its breath as I haul the biker upright, his face already a mess of blood, eyes glassy, and trying to catch up.

The woman is still on her knees beside him.

A sharp sting bites my ass. I look down and see the blade in her hand—thin, narrow, meant to slip in and disappear.

Tequila moves in smoothly and fast, pressing cold metal against the side of the woman’s head. “Drop it,” she says, voice low and deadly.

The woman freezes, then the tiny knife clatters to the floor.

I tighten my hold on the biker and start moving, dragging him through the parted crowd, straight for the door.

The music kicks back up behind me as if nothing happened, but the tension sticks to the air. I shove the door open and haul him out into the street, the humid night slamming into us. Then I toss the motherfucker down. He hits, rolls, and lands in a fresh pile of horse shit.

His boys spill out behind him, but they stop short when they see what’s waiting a few feet away.

Mounted police, horses shifting under them, watching the scene with practiced calm. One of them looks at me. “Catcher,” he calls. “We got a problem?”

I don’t take my eyes off the man in the street as his buddies haul him up, covered in blood and filth. “Not tonight, boss,” I say evenly.

That seems to be enough of an answer. The officer nods once, reins shifting as they move the horses forward just enough to make it clear this is done.

I step closer to the group, my voice dropping low enough that it doesn’t carry past them. “Show your faces here again…” I say, each word measured, cold, “… and you won’t walk out next time.” I turn and head back inside.

Kiwi is already grinning when I get back. “You really just got stabbed in the ass by a chick, mate.”

I glare at him.

He laughs.

Wick steps in, already checking the spot as though it’s nothing more than a scrape.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not bleeding enough for me to argue,” he shoots back.

I start to protest because the last thing I need is to be alone with my thoughts, but he cuts me off with a look. “Clean up, get some sleep. You’ve got a flight in the morning.” I’d already told Riggs earlier that I was flying home, mostly because he needed to know I’d be out of pocket for at least twenty-four hours and where I was headed.

A weight settles back in my chest, but I keep my mouth shut and do as I’m told. The truth is, between tonight and the way Ruby is still sitting somewhere in the back of my head, I’m running on fumes.

The bar doesn’t quiet down when I go upstairs. The music is still there, muted through the floorboards, bass thumping low and steady like a second heartbeat under my feet, laughter and voices bleeding through in waves as the night carries on without me, because places like this don’t stop just because one man reaches his limit.

I shut my door behind me, lean back against it for a second, and let out a slow breath. My body is tired, but my head is worse.

The dull sting in my ass cheek reminds me of the blade, but it’s nothing compared to the pressure sitting in my chest and the weight that’s been building all day, stacking piece by piece until it feels like I’m carrying something I can’t set down.

Ruby.