by Joanna Wylde
My stomach roiled. For an instant I thought I might barf.
Fresh air would help.
Rome seemed to have things under control in here, and it wasn’t like there was anything I could do to help anyway. Go outside and pull yourself together. It didn’t take long to cross the room. There was still a crowd hanging around the patio door, but I managed to slip through the bodies and work my way outside into the cool night air.
Oh, that was better.
A lot better.
The space was a bare-bones concrete slab, surrounded by the fence I’d seen when we’d first arrived. There were about twenty metal tables, and strings of white lights gave everything a cheerful glow. The patio was mostly empty, although I saw a young couple off to one side. Everyone else must’ve either gone inside to watch the spectacle or they’d left.
I walked over to one of the corners, forcing myself to lean back against the wooden boards and calm down. I couldn’t quite believe how fast everything had gone weird and wrong. Rome had been right about one thing—the Starkwood Saloon was fun. They had good music and I’d enjoyed the dancing.
Wasn’t such a fan of the fighting, though.
That’d been scary. Really scary. The more I thought about it, the more it bothered me. Not so much that there’d been a fight, but that Rome had taken me to a place so rough that the waitresses needed baseball bats to keep the peace.
Oh, and the shotgun.
That whole shooting thing wasn’t so spiffy, either.
The fight hadn’t had anything to do with Rome, of course. And Tinker insisted that it’d come as a surprise… Specifically, she’d been surprised that it’d gotten so big. Not that there’d been a fight in the first place. I couldn’t decide if that made it better or worse. Better that there weren’t always big fights, for sure. But even small fights shouldn’t really be the norm, right?
Then there was the fact that the Reapers never left each other behind when a fight started. Did that mean they had some kind of fight-related policy, or was it just so common that Tinker knew the drill? Either way, violence didn’t seem to bother them.
Rome certainly seemed comfortable with it.
I don’t know why I found this so startling. I mean, it wasn’t like he’d lied about who he was. Somehow, I’d blocked the whole motorcycle club thing out of my mind earlier—you know, what with the sexy hotness of him to distract me—but it was an open secret that the Reapers were into some deeply bad shit. Maybe not Rome, personally, but he hadn’t hesitated to wade back into the brawl after he’d seen me safe.
Of course, right now he was busy patching someone up. That part was good, right?
All of this spun through my head as I tried to decide my next move. I liked Rome a lot, but I didn’t like having to hide behind a bar during a brawl. And being gorgeous and smelling good probably wasn’t enough to offset the whole violent gang angle he had going. I sighed. These should be deal breakers in a potential boyfriend.
But were you really expecting this to turn into a relationship?
I thought about the condoms in my purse. I hadn’t put them there, but I hadn’t taken them out, either. And I was headed back to Missoula on Sunday. I’d been thinking about sleeping with Rome, not marrying the guy. Maybe that made me a shallow slut, but it wasn’t like I’d tricked him into dry humping me on the dance floor.
Rome was gorgeous and he smelled good. Really good. The fight was over, and the rumors about the Reapers shouldn’t matter because I’d probably never see him again. Not unless I got that job and moved back and had to see him all the time… No. Don’t overthink it. You have a purse full of condoms and a hot biker who wants to get into your pants. You can still save this.
The boards of the fence started shaking.
I turned around and looked up, confused. One of the drunken cowboys was boosting himself up and over the top. Crap. They’d thrown him out, but the asshole clearly wasn’t ready to end the fight. He dropped down next to me with a thud. Our eyes met. His were bloodshot and full of rage, like an angry bull.
I raised my hands and held them open, trying to show that I was absolutely, positively not a threat to him in any way. It must’ve worked, because he turned toward the door, fists clenched.
There wasn’t even time to sigh with relief before the fence started rattling again. Seconds later, something crashed into me. I slammed into the concrete face first.
Gasping for air, I tried to figure out what’d happened.
There was something crushing me. Something really fucking heavy. My oxygen-deprived brain scrambled for an explanation. Maybe a woolly mammoth had fallen from the sky, because whatever it was that hit me felt at least that big.
Hairy, too.
The weight shifted, and slurred curses escaped its mouth. Another drunken cowboy must’ve come over the fence. Lucky me.
The brute grunted, then abruptly shoved himself up, crushing my face back into the hard concrete in the process. Pain exploded around my right eye, pain so intense that for an instant I thought he’d punched me. Except the angle wasn’t right for that, and I wasn’t entirely sure he’d even noticed that he’d landed on someone. Then he was gone, leaving me alone on the sticky concrete, face throbbing in time to my racing heart.
Oh, this sucked. This sucked the big one.
I don’t know how long I stayed there—it felt like hours—but eventually I managed to catch my breath. Rolling slowly, I turned onto my back to assess the situation.
Right.
My face hurt. A lot. Pain radiated out from my right eye in agonized waves, and when I tried opening it, everything was dark. I couldn’t see. Anything.
Oh shit. Oh fucking shit shit shit fuck shit!
Raising a hand, I felt my face gently, terrified that I’d find my eye popped like a grape. I discovered the lid was swelling up fast, but the eye seemed to be in the right spot.
Thank you sweet baby Jesus.
Except I still couldn’t see anything. Not even with my other eye. My heart started clenching again, but before full panic could set in, my common sense gave me a mental slap. No point in panicking until you have a reason. I reached up and my hand brushed something. The bottom of a table, maybe? I blinked, the faintest hint of light filtering in as my eyes adjusted.
Someone had turned off the strings of lights—that’s why it was so dark. The door to the bar had been closed, too, which left me with the stars and a crescent moon as my only light. No wonder I couldn’t see anything.
“You okay?” someone asked, shining a cell phone light into my face. I blinked and raised a hand to protect myself. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry!”
The light shifted, leaving a young man who stared down at me. He must’ve used a fake ID, because he looked about seventeen at most. The kid offered me a hand up, and I took it, standing up carefully to avoid whacking my head. Everything throbbed and hurt, and I had a feeling I’d be sore as hell in the morning.
Sore and likely bruised up.
Wouldn’t that just be perfect for the class reunion?
“I can’t believe what that guy did to you,” my rescuer said. He seemed skittish. Fair enough—flying attack cowboys were scary as hell. “They came out of nowhere. Are you all right?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “My face hurts a lot.”
“Yeah, it’s not looking so good,” he said bluntly. “That’s gonna be a hell of a shiner.”
“Great,” I said, offering a tight smile. “Just what I need. I don’t get how falling like that could give me a black eye, though.”
“Maybe hit something on the ground,” he suggested, shining his light down over where I’d fallen. Sure enough, there were beer bottles scattered across the concrete. I swallowed.
“Good thing those weren’t broken,” I managed to say, my mouth feeling dry. “I could’ve lost my eye.”
Sirens sounded in the distance. A minute later, I heard them pulling into the parking lot—the police were finally here. But despite the sirens, there wer
e still shouts coming from inside the building. The cowboys must be fighting again. Why on earth did people have to be so stupid? I decided I didn’t like the Starkwood Saloon.
“I want to go home,” I said, not even realizing that I’d spoken out loud until the boy nodded. A slender girl slipped out of the darkness to stand next to him. He wrapped his arm around her, and they shared a worried look.
“Yeah, we want to go home too. But I’m not sure how we can get out of here without getting in trouble.”
“Why are you worried?” I asked. “You weren’t part of the fight.”
“I borrowed my sister’s license to get in, and his is fake,” the girl said, her voice wavering. “Now the place will be crawling with cops. We should’ve gone already, but we were afraid of getting hurt.”
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. That was enough to send a fresh bolt of pain through my face. Ouch. I needed to be a lot more careful. I could tell my eyelid was puffing up bad, too. It was getting harder and harder to see out of the right side. Knowing my luck, it would swell shut completely.
Fuck my life, but this sucked.
The two kids watched me hopefully, and I realized they were waiting for someone to tell them what to do.
Double fuck my life.
“Do you think we should try to climb the fence?” the girl asked, and I shook my head.
“That’ll just draw attention. There’s gotta be at least a hundred people here, and I doubt they’ll question all of us. The owner told people that they’d clean up and start the music again soon. I don’t think he expects the cops to stay long. And I guess he would know—apparently this happens here a lot. I think you should just stay out here for now.”
“This was such a stupid idea, Steph,” the kid said. “I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she replied, and they gave each other such sweet, cloying little smiles that I nearly threw up a little in the back of my mouth.
Of course, that might just be the Coors Light trying to escape.
“So… you think you could go inside, maybe let us know when it’s safe to leave?” the boy asked. I tried to nod, but even that hurt my face.
“Sure,” I said, sighing. “But it might take a while. Just hang tight. I’m sure things will be fine.”
I had no idea whether things would be fine or not, of course. But they looked so hopeful and appreciative, I didn’t have the heart to admit it, so I took a deep breath and started toward the door.
Chapter Four
The wave of light and noise from the bar was almost enough to send me scuttling back to the patio. I needed to find Rome, though. And maybe some ice for my eye. Not only that, I’d promised the kids outside that I’d help them. Steph had been right—they’d been stupid to come here—but it wasn’t like they’d been fighting. I didn’t think they deserved to get in trouble.
Once I accomplished that, though, I’d ask Rome to take me home because hooking up was no longer an option. Sure, he was attractive and I’d had a great time for a while. That didn’t change the fact that tomorrow night I’d be going to my class reunion looking like a boxer who’d gotten his ass kicked.
Not only that, I was starting to develop one hell of a headache.
All because I’d been stupid enough to come to the Starkwood Saloon with a man I hardly knew.
In my defense, he was a man I hardly knew who was extremely sexy. A man I’d had a crush on for a very long time. And it wasn’t like he’d personally caused the fight… But it’d been his idea to come here, and while I could respect the fact that he helped patch a guy up, I’d reached my limit.
Rome would just have to go down in history as the one who got away twice.
This was probably for the best, because ultimately, our worlds didn’t align. I liked to go on dates to places where there was good dancing, but a very low likelihood of flying attack cowboys. He liked to go on dates with good dancing, too, but the cowboys weren’t a deal breaker for him. I reached up and touched my throbbing face, wondering what my family would say when they saw it.
Fuck. Knowing Lexi, she’d decide to hunt him down and slash his tires for bringing me here. Given that she’d already been busted for shoplifting, that probably wouldn’t end very well.
We needed less drama in the Whittaker family, not more. I hated to admit it, but this disaster of a date might’ve been a good thing. I liked Rome—liked him a lot—and if I ended up back in Hallies Falls, it’d be way too easy to get addicted to those kisses of his. Now I had a great big shiner to remind me why those kisses were dangerous.
Things had settled back down in the bar. The ambulance had arrived with the cops, and I could see the EMTs rolling Rome’s patient onto a backboard. Both of the cowboys who’d come over the fence were facedown on the ground, arms cuffed behind them. Peaches was busy cleaning up the mess, and quite a few of the remaining patrons were helping her set the chairs and tables to rights.
Astoundingly, the band was back up on the stage, and while they hadn’t started playing yet, they clearly weren’t packing up their instruments, either.
Crazypants.
I couldn’t see Rome anywhere, so I headed for the bathroom to assess the damage. I’d made it about halfway when Peaches looked up and saw me. Her eyes went wide. Then she dropped her broom and charged over to me.
“What the hell happened?” she demanded, catching my shoulders hard enough to hurt. I flinched, and she loosened her grip, but she didn’t let me go.
“Flying cowboy,” I said, feeling suddenly tired. “Oh, and a beer bottle attacked me from the ground.”
Peaches raised a brow, then let go of one shoulder to raise a finger in front of my face.
“Follow this with your eyes,” she said, waving it back and forth.
“Why?” I asked, obediently following the finger.
“Checking for head injuries,” she said. “Either you hallucinated a flying cowboy or you actually got hit by one. Neither scenario is comforting.”
I frowned. “No, I think my head is fine. Whacked the hell out of my face, but I’ve had a concussion before, and this doesn’t feel like that.”
Peaches nodded, apparently satisfied. “Let’s get some ice for that eye. C’mon.”
I followed her to the bar like an obedient puppy, because ice sounded really nice. The initial, throbbing pain had died down a little, but the swelling was getting worse, bringing a whole new kind of discomfort.
Making up an ice pack didn’t take Peaches long. I settled in with it on a bar stool, watching the cops haul out the guys who’d climbed over the fence. Suddenly I remembered the young couple outside.
“Hey,” I said to Peaches. “You have some underage kids hiding on the patio. They’re scared shitless that the cops will catch them.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake. Like we need more crap going wrong tonight. I keep telling Gus that we have to get serious about fake IDs, but he’s owned the place for thirty years and doesn’t think it’s a big deal. We’re gonna lose our fucking liquor license if we aren’t careful.”
“So what should they do?” I asked. “I told them to wait out there. Said I’d let them know when it was safe.”
“I’ll take care of them,” Peaches said, sighing. “For the record, it really sucks that the tips are so good here. I’d love to find a different job, but I don’t think I could take the pay hit.”
Strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind, and I felt a warm, solid body press against mine. Rome was back. I wanted to lean into his strength more than anything. My brain might’ve decided he was a mistake, but my body wasn’t quite there yet.
“What happened to—” he started to ask, but the words cut off abruptly as I twisted my face to look up at him. His eyes went hard. Then he very gently caught my chin in his hand, studying my eye. “Who did this?”
I couldn’t help but flick a glance toward the cowboys on the floor.
“I’ll fucking kill them,” he snarled, starting toward them.
�
��No!”
I lunged for his shirt, catching the white fabric just in time for him to pull me off the stool. My head crashed into his thigh, sending new waves of pain radiating through my bruised face.
“Shit.” Rome lunged for me, catching me before I hit the ground. Settling me back on my feet, he wrapped his arms around my shaking body, holding me steady. Despite all my pain, the exhaustion, and the remnants of my Coors Light buzz, his arms still felt wonderful. I wanted to stay like this all night. Make him cuddle me and my ice pack while I had a good cry.
What the hell is wrong with you? Snap out of it!
I knew I should pull away, but up close his pheromones were like some potent drug I couldn’t resist. Then the crackle of the police radio broke through my thoughts, and I remembered why cuddling was such a bad idea.
“I want to go home,” I said into his chest, and in my mind the words sounded very firm and final. In reality they were more of a soft whimper.
“I’m sorry you got hurt,” Rome said, rubbing his hand up and down my back. “We were just supposed to have a good time. I thought you were safe behind the bar. You seemed fine when you handed me the first aid kit.”
“I was fine,” I told him. “But then I started feeling sort of overwhelmed, so I went outside for some air. That’s when cowboys started flying over the fence. One landed on me and smushed my face into a beer bottle.”
The hand rubbing my back paused, and then he was catching me by the shoulder, studying me the same way Peaches had.
“How hard did you hit your head?” he asked, frowning.
“Not hard,” I replied, and tried to roll my eyes. That didn’t go so well. I took a second to recover from the fresh wave of pain, wondering how long black eyes lasted. My right eyelid was completely shut now. At least it’d happened after my job interview. “They decided they weren’t done fighting, so they climbed the fence to get back in. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”