What the hell? I set the mug down and leaned back against the bar. Damn, I was dizzy and tired, oh so tired.
There was movement in my vision, and I turned to see the older biker from outside sitting on my right.
He shook his head. “Are you all right, missy?”
“She doesn’t look too good. Do you think it was something she drank?” came another voice.
I turned to my left and saw the other biker from outside sitting next to me.
A third voice sounded behind me. “You’re right, she doesn’t look good. I guess that beer was too much for her. Maybe you two should take her into the office to rest.”
My vision had become double, and I had difficulty thinking. I spun weakly on the bar stool and found that the third voice belonged to the bartender.
“W-what did you?” I mumbled.
“Rohypnol, sweetheart. Don’t worry, you won’t remember a thing tomorrow.” The bartender grinned evilly and nodded toward the men on either side of me.
I felt hands beneath my arms, and I was lifted off the bar stool and placed on my feet. My legs wouldn’t hold me, but the bikers supported my weight, and we moved down the bar toward a dark hallway. I could barely keep my eyes open, and my legs wouldn’t respond at all.
I raised my right hand to my jacket, trying to reach the pocket with Rafe’s Colt 1911, but someone gripped my wrist and kept me from reaching it.
There was a door. We bumped into the doorjamb and then passed through the opening into a small room. I couldn’t see much, but then I was shoved forward onto something soft, and I realized I was on a bed.
Oh, shit! I tried for the Colt again, but someone slapped my hands away from my jacket. Then my arms were pulled over my head and held down. Other hands unzipped my jacket and then started on the buttons to my blouse.
“Get…get off me,” I managed.
There was laughter and then I felt hands at my bra.
I tried to trigger my shield tat, but I couldn’t focus enough to get it active.
Someone was squeezing my breasts, pinching my nipples hard enough to give me a shot of adrenaline and it brought with it a moment of clarity.
I mumbled out the healing spell Rafe had taught me. When I felt the snap of power indicating I’d pronounced every syllable correctly, I focused on clearing my mind of chemicals.
Hands tugged at my leathers, and I felt cool air against my flesh.
“Son of a bitch. She’s going commando,” a voice said.
“I told you she wanted it. The bitch came in here expecting to get raped,” another voice said.
“Then she came to the right place. Get her boots off.”
The healing spell was starting to have an effect. I still couldn’t control my limbs, but at least my mind was clearing. I opened my eyes to see the younger of the two bikers standing between my spread legs at the edge of the bed. Through slitted eyelids, I watched him unfasten his own pants and push them down past his knees. He took his circumcised penis in his hand and leaned toward me.
I triggered my shield tat.
It popped into existence between the biker and me. He bumped into it, dick first, and let out a shout of surprise as he staggered backward and fell butt first to the floor.
“What’s the matter with you, boy? You scared of a little pussy?” the biker holding my hands over my head was laughing.
My mind was getting clearer by the second. I reformed my shield into a cylinder around the older biker’s head and then tried to make the insides touch.
The man released my hands and tried to scream as the shield tightened around his head.
I had some control of my muscles again. I tried sitting up, but couldn’t do it. I reached for the pistol again and this time got the inner pocket of my jacket open. My fingers wrapped around its steel grips.
The younger biker was getting to his feet. With his jeans around his ankles, he was having a hard time of it. I thumbed down the Colt’s safety and pulled the single-action hammer back. The sights wavered in my vision. I pulled the trigger, and the forty-five thundered in the small room.
The recoil almost knocked the pistol from my hand.
Both men were screaming now, the older man’s scream was from pain, but the other biker was screaming like a little girl for me not to shoot.
I pulled the trigger again. This time, the barrel held still. The bullet took him in the right shoulder and spun him to the floor.
The door shattered with a loud crash as the bartender flew through it, across the room, and bounced off the opposite wall, head first.
Standing in the doorway was Raphael A. Semmes, my mentor.
“You’re late,” I growled as I stood up and swayed.
Rafe’s hands came down on my shoulders and held me steady.
“Are you all right, Tess?” he asked.
“I’ll recover. Sonsofbitches roofied me. The fucking bartender doped my beer.”
I looked to where the bartender had fallen. He was holding his head while trying to get to his feet. I raised the Colt and pulled the trigger. A bottle of whiskey on the desk beside him shattered. Fuck! I’d missed. My mind was nearly clear of any effects of the roofie, but my muscles were still shaky. I shifted to a two-handed grip and lined the sights up.
Rafe closed his hand over mine and pushed the barrel down.
“No need for that. I’ll take it from here. You might want to get dressed.”
I frowned at him. I wanted these bastards dead, not in some jail. Rafe gave me his, “I’m the boss,” look, and I stepped away from him, looking for my leathers.
There were other voices outside the office door. Rafe stepped to the doorway and put up a hand to stop the interlopers. A moment later, there came the sound of bodies collapsing to the floor.
I
