He raises an eyebrow.
I clear my throat. “It’s late, sheriff. And checking out what is obviously just a minor scuffle in a bar is beneath you. It’d be a waste of your time. So, why not have a little drink and then go back home to your wife?”
“You know, I think you’re right,” he says. Then he pours a big glass and takes another big gulp and lets out a lip-smacking ‘aah.’
I turn away and head back out to the parking lot, because if I have to watch that man waste that bourbon any longer, I will throw up.
Outside, the paramedics have Teddy on a gurney and are right in the middle of sliding him into the back of the ambulance. Once he’s in, Kendra hops in her car and drives off right behind them. The sheriff’s deputies are milling about, aimlessly, and Crash and his goons are huddled a distance away, keeping a wary and glaring eye on the deputies while trying to look like they’re doing anything but.
One wrong move, and this whole parking lot could turn into a gunfight.
Behind me, the door opens and Sheriff Cartwright comes out, holding the bottle and grinning. He must’ve finished that glass in seconds. I hate him so much.
“All right, boys, let’s head out. There’s nothing to see here,” he calls out.
I watch as the sheriff and his deputies get back into their cars and, the second they’re gone, I storm over to Crash and slap him square across his cold, handsome face. His eyes flash with anger, but he doesn’t move a muscle. However, his companions aren’t so calm. The heavily tattooed one with the Irish accent lunges toward me and I take more than a couple steps back.
“Easy, lass,” he growls. “You’re on thin ice. Don’t go losing your head and getting yourself into even more trouble, all right?”
I ignore him. As threatening as he is, he’s not my focus; my attention is square on the nonchalant son of a bitch who is so casually ruining my life tonight.
“You have no idea what I had to give up to get the sheriff to leave,” I say. My throat is raw with emotion and my voice is shaking with a potent mix of fear and fury.
“You’re a bartender. You gave him some booze. That’s not so shocking. And, since it saved your bar, what’s there to be so fucking upset about?”
He’s so callous I want to slap him again. Once his companions are gone.
“That’s so easy for you to say, but that wasn’t just any bottle. I bought that as a gift for myself when I opened this bar. It’s special. And expensive as hell. I was saving it for a special day, for myself, to celebrate. And now I’ve had to give it away to some fat old man in some kind of devil’s bargain to save myself and a bunch of criminals that I absolutely do not give a shit about. How do you think I feel right now?”
And it’s like everything I say just washes over him; he shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. This is business. Sometimes things just don’t go your way and all you can do is pick up the pieces and do your best to move on. You should be grateful.”
One of his companions, the burly lug who gave first aid to Teddy, gives Crash a side-eyed look.
“She’s had a rough day, Crash. We all have. Why don’t we just call it a night?”
Crash nods. “You’re right, Blaze. Check your phone, look up a mechanic, see if we can get a tow truck out here and guard the cargo until it arrives. I have a feeling it will take a lot of work before our truck is running again. Everyone else, let’s get the hell out of here and go find a motel. I’m fucking beat.”
And, just like that, they break. It’s like my fury doesn’t even matter to them; they separate, go about their business, and head back to their bikes while Blaze makes a phone call for a tow truck.
These men come into my life, upend everything in a day, cost me a very special and very pricey bottle of bourbon, and now just think they can saunter off like nothing’s happened? Oh, hell no.
As the motorbikes let out their ear-splitting roars as the fire to life, I decide I’m not going to just stand here and take this mess that fate’s dumped all over me.
I run.
Right at Crash. Who is just finishing strapping on his helmet and about to burn rubber out of my parking lot.
And I catch up to him, just as his wheels turn, and I shove him. Hard.
The man hits the asphalt, hard, and springs to his feet just as quick as he hit the ground. With eyes blazing — the first actual sign of emotion I’ve seen from him all night — he stalks toward me.
“What the fuck—” He starts.
But I don’t let him finish.
I shove an angry finger in his face and I let loose with a fury amplified by the satisfaction of how amazing it feels to finally have done something to hurt this smug bastard. “We are not done. Not even close. I don’t care who you are, what you do, it doesn’t matter — we are not done. You ruined my life tonight, Crash, and you will make it up to me. I don’t know how, but I’ll think of something. And if you even think about skipping town before I say so, I will call Sheriff Cartwright and I will let him know that maybe he should look in the back of your truck. Even if it costs me everything, it’ll be worth it, because I’m sure that what you’ve got back there is enough to get you sent
