Page 75 of Micah

It's just me now.

And Patrick.

And those four men.

Something about that realization prickles along the back of my neck.

I start toward the register.

“I think it's time you guys head?—”

The crash explodes through the empty bar.

Glass shatters against hardwood.

The sound is deafening in the sudden quiet.

I whirl around.

“Oh, my God!”

Patrick is bent double.

No.

Not bent.

He’s being held upright.

Two enormous men have him by the arms, practically suspending him off the floor while another stands in front of him.

The fourth man blocks the only clear path to the front door.

My heart lurches.

“Patrick!”

He lifts his head.

Blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth.

His eyes are glazed.

Drunk.

Or worse.

“S-Sloane...” he slurs.

His voice barely sounds like his.

“Just... go...”

Before he can finish, the biggest of the men drives a fist into his stomach.

Hard.

Patrick folds around the punch with a strangled grunt.