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“Oh yeah. The guy he described would have knocked Drunk Ken onto his keister right there.”

Chuckling, I finish wiping down the bar, then start in on the dirty dishes.

‘Yeah, well, wouldn’t really be a fair fight, would it?”

“Would it be one if he were sober?” he questions, brow raised.

I laugh. Once an Army Ranger, always an Army Ranger. “No, I don’t suppose it would be.”

“I didn’t think so. You have a good night, Mav. See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” I say as he offers me a wave, then heads for the door.

The rest of the night is quiet enough. I finish washing dishes, swap out any bottles that ran empty, wipe down the bar, and put chairs on top of the tables so the little vacuum robot I bought for the bar last month can do its job.

Then I collect all trash and do a quick walk-through of the area to make sure there’s nothing big on the floor before finally tying off the tops of the bags.

I really should hire some help, but trusting someone enough to let them work for me is a mountain I haven’t quite climbed yet. Any waitresses I’ve brought in have fallen into the trap of getting hammered right alongside the clientele, giggling whenever some strapping man wants to buy them a drink.

The guys all tend to be hotheads, and the one bouncer I did have for a while ended up leaving so he could work private security.

Now, it’s just me, myself, and sometimes—Old Man Whitaker.

Honestly, though? The quiet is nice.

After retrieving the trash from both bathrooms, I head out the back door and into the alleyway. I leave the door propped open with a brick so it doesn’t close and lock me out, then cross the alley toward the dumpster.

I’m barely three steps when a shadow catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. Instead of letting them know that I see them, I keep moving, going as far as putting the trash into the dumpster and turning like I’m headed back toward the bar.

My heart pounds.

Adrenaline is already pulsing through my system as I prep for a fight.

Is it that Josh guy? Back for that fight he was gearing up to start?

Or someone who wants to take what’s mine?

As I walk, I reach behind me and withdraw my knife, keeping it hidden at my side as I get closer to where I’d seen the shadow.

Then, right before I get to the door, I rapidly change direction, reach down between the boxes, and rip the assailant out. I pin them against the wall with an arm across their throat, my blade at the ready. In the shadows, I can’t see much more than a human shape, though the person does seem to be smaller than I would have expected.

“I’m not going to be an easy guy to rob,” I snarl.

“I’m sorry! I wasn’t trying to rob you! I promise!” A terrified female voice has me dropping my arm and stepping back so fast I nearly bump into the chain link fence that separates my alley from the one next door.

My shock dies quickly, though, because I know all too well, women can be just as deadly as men. Time overseas and a knife to the gut taught me that. “Come out. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

After a brief moment, a petite woman steps out wearing torn jeans and a black sweatshirt, a hoodie covering her hair.

She meets my gaze, and I find myself staring into wide, terrified eyes. It’s too dark to note the color, but not so dark that I can’t see a healing cut on her bottom lip, or the nasty bruising on her left cheekbone.

Anger surges in my system, a new type of fury that has nothing to do with my own security and everything to do with me wanting to destroy whoever did this to her.

“I’m sorry. I just needed somewhere quiet to sit for a minute. I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.” She reaches down and retrieves a small backpack, then straightens. “I’ll just be going.”

“Who hurt you?” I demand, taking a slight step closer.

She shrinks back into the shadows, not making eye contact. “No one, I just... I’m tired.”