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“Sorry, buddy. I’m not interested. But here’s your beer. That’ll be 12.99,” I say, holding my hand after setting down his beers.
“Come on,” his buddy says, grabbing my wrist tightly.
“There is no come on about this,” I say through clenched teeth, trying to reign in my anger. “But if you don’t let my hand go, we’ll have some serious problems.” I raise a brow when he sneers at my words and tightens his grip on me, attempting to pull me closer.
“Whatcha gonna do?” he teases, trying to pull at me again.
“This,” I hiss, whipping out my knife and flicking it open in one move. The man’s eyes widen when I hold the tip against his precious fingers, dreaming of cutting them off one by one.
“Get your hands the fuck off her,” Kieran’s deep, growly voice comes through the microphone, sending chills down my spine.
Every eye in the bar swings in my direction, widening at the sight of my knife digging into grabby-man’s fingers. At the sound of Kieran’s second growl, every man in the bar takes their hands off whatever woman they showed up with. Screams erupt for the asshole to take his hands off me, and some even attempt to take him away from the bar, but it does nothing but encourage him to cling to me harder. He sneers in my direction, not deterred by Bert screaming from the front door, unable to make it through the crowd standing shoulder to shoulder, watching the entire situation unfold.
“I’m coming!” Bert growls over the roar of the crowd.
“Don’t worry!” I shout to Bert, who grunts his disapproval at my nonchalant attitude. Bringing my attention back to the man of the hour, I focus on the digit suffering beneath my blade. “I can cut your fingers off one by one.” I’m challenging him. Would I cut off his fingers for funsies? Uh, yeah. Just for the simple fact, he’s touching me. Fuck the cops. This is self-defense. He won’t let go and keeps leering at me like I’m his favorite Sunday brunch. I’m no biscuit and gravy meal, pal. So, fuck off.
He smirks again until I dig the top further into his finger, drawing blood and watching with glee as it pools on the wooden bar top. Movement catches my attention out of the corner of my eye, and I smirk as two overbearing figures come into view with deep scowls and clenched fists. My heart gallops in my chest as they inch closer and closer, pushing through the crowd of people and shoving them aside with a possessive vibe wafting off every inch of them.
“You bitch,” he hisses, but before he gets a chance to do anything else, he’s yanked back by the very possessive assholes I’ve come to enjoy.
“I believe she said no fucking touchy,” Asher growls, pulling the scumbags' face into his. “You tell him no, Little Brat?” Holy hotness, Batman. Asher looks at me with a kindling fire sparkling in his eyes, ready to pummel this douche into the ground.
I say, bury him.
“Definitely said don’t fucking touch me,” I hiss, climbing over the bar and grabbing our beat-up wooden baseball bat for more protection. I can’t go around stabbing everyone who touches me, but a friendly knock to the teeth will help.
“Sometimes guys like this just need a little reminder.” Before my eyes, my panties melt when Asher connects his forehead to the yellow-toothed offender and knocks him back a step.
Asher grins, rubbing his forehead as his opponent stumbles around. Fuck! As hot as this is, I can’t let them fight in my damn bar.
“Back off,” I say, putting a hand on Asher’s chest, forcing him to stand still.
“This is where you say thank you, Asher,” he snaps, staring daggers at me with a heaving chest. His wild eyes glare at the offenders with pure hate, and he’s ready to lung at them again to finish the job.
“Asher, Daddy, ” I murmur half-jokingly, running my fingers down his jaw and drawing his attention to me. “I appreciate what you did.” I swallow hard when his fingers wrap around my wrist, holding my fingers against his jaw. “They scared the shit out of me,” I breathe my confession with careful words. “So, thank you.” Every ounce of vulnerability leaks from my voice, and he nods. “But I can’t let you fight in here.” No matter how hot it was. I swear those images will bleed into my dreams forever. The way his forehead smashed into that fucker’s face, knocking him back.
“I told you, Little Brat. No one touches what’s ours.” He gives me a firm nod, squeezing my wrist with reassurance. “Whoever you need me to beat, I’ll fucking end them.”
Be still my beating heart.
“You good?” Kieran asks through several heaved breaths, peering around the circle that formed around us.
“I’m fine. Let me deal with these idiots,” I grumble, nodding at the idiots squaring up for another fight. “All right, boys. Because that’s what you are. You’re not fucking men. Men don’t touch things they’re not supposed to. Now, get the fuck out. You’re not welcome here ever again.” I raise a brow when they square up again, eyeing the bat in my hand with a cocky expression until it falls.
“I got ‘em, Riv. We’ll take their picture and everything,” Bert wheezes out of breath, finally making it to the bar after it’s all said and done. Sometimes, I wonder why I still keep him around. Fuckery keeps happening on his watch when he’s nowhere to be found. Maybe the bar needs more changes than I initially thought.
“Thank fuck.” Once Bert has the two troublemakers kicked to the curb, the boys jump back up on stage but keep their eyes on me, and they continue their set list with more enthusiasm than before.
Leaning on the bar, I eye the boys on stage, rocking the shit out of the crowd. A strange feeling settles over me, thinking back to the two dumb fucks from earlier who were escorted out and thrown on the street. Something about them has anxiety rolling up my arms and prickling my skin. It’s like they had a mission marching here to touch and egg me on. There was something dead in their beady eyes, like they never took no for an answer.
As time passes, I make my rounds through the bar, ensuring everything runs smoothly. The rest of the crowd remains respectful, albeit fucking messy, but still. They rock out to the hour-long set, chanting the guys’ names and going ballistic when they offer the crowd an encore.
“Thank you, Dead End! It’s been fucking great!” Kieran shouts into the microphone breathlessly, trying to catch his breath. Running a hand over his forehead, he swipes the sweat away and smiles at the cheering crowd. “We’ll see you next time!” The boys each stand at the edge of the stage, taking their last bow. Reaching down, they shake their fans’ hands before waving and disappearing backstage to cool down before they pack everything away.
“Another good show, bossy lady,” Ode says over the loud chatter of the crowd, slowly making their way toward the door. Only a few will stay and continue to drink.
“Once everyone’s out, I’m going to clean up and take the trash out,” I say, squeezing her shoulder.
