Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
“Hey, Katrina, why you gotta be such a bitch?” Romeo slurred, apparently under the impression I wanted a conversation.
“Go sit down.” I glared back into his blotchy red face. Too many years, too many bottles and God knows what else had left a road map of lines and pit holes over what once could have been human but now looked like someone stuck a beard on a turd.
“Fuck you! Get me a shot of Jager and a Bud. You gotta be nicer to the customers, you know? You ain’t no beauty like them girls up there. They could piss in our faces, and we'd thank 'em for it." He glanced behind, and I wrinkled my nose at the thought that, yeah, he would thank them for that. He'd probably pay extra. "I’m doin’ you a favor bein’ nice to you," he muttered as he turned back around. "Fat girls need love too.”
The swinging pendulum of his tone went from fighting mad, to somehow thinking I needed his advice, to some odd joke-between-friends smile. And the horrible thought occurred to me that we might actually be friends.
Was this the closest thing I had to a friend? A turd on legs that called me a bitch if I refused to suck his dick?
I shook that thought away, reminding myself that I had friends, and they were better than Romeo. Jesse, for starters. When I was 14, my brother Kent fought for custody of me, and he couldn’t have done it without Jesse to give him a safe place for both of us to live. Jesse and Kent had been my family, and it was better than the one I’d been born into. To Jesse, I’d been like a little sister, and that came with a lot of benefits for me.
It also came with heartaches for someone who idolized him as a lot more than that.
“I bet you’re all teeth when it matters the most.” Romeo sneered, and I blew out a hard raspberry style breath.
Tonight was going to be a five shots and ten White Claw kinda night.
Pointing to his table, I pulled myself up to my full 5' 4", leaning over the bar to glare, then almost puked as his tongue came out to do a loop around his lips as he stared at my cleavage. I self-consciously pulled back, aware that my v-neck System of a Down t-shirt barely contained my triple-D's. Which were real, I hasten to add, unlike most of the other females that worked here.
I held down my Chicken Nuggets and held my stare. "Go sit the fuck down. Or you're out."
Another lesson you learn doing this job, is don’t try to reason with drunks. I may just be the chubby girl behind the bar, but I’ve got some stones.
“I wanna drink.”
I got a whiff of the quintessential sour, nicotine-highlighted odor that came with so many of these guys.
“Sit your ass down. No more drinks.”
The music pounded against the club walls that always had this slick, wet look, like they were as sweaty as the men that surrounded the stage, but I knew dear Romeo could hear me just fine. Jesse was watching, I could feel it. He knew I could handle myself, but there was only so far things would go before he appeared next to me.
"Get me a fuckin' drink! You want me to cut you, bitch?"
"Cut me? What, you think you're a gangster now?" Hollow laughter overtook me. Dropping my chin to my chest, I choked back the belly laugh on a cough.
"Don't you fuckin' laugh at me!" He spat.
A glint in the light drew my eye. The swing he made at my face went so far wide it may as well have been aimed at Renee or Vanessa. I was laughing at his pathetic attempt, but before he could try again, a familiar giant wall of muscle was next to him.
I gave him a smile with all my teeth. “Time to go.”
I tipped my head to the side on a sarcastic little pout as the slow realization came over him that I had backup. Before he could step away, his wrist was twisted so hard I heard bones scrape against other bones, and the knife clattered to the floor.
“Like the lady said," Jesse murmured, his voice a baritone like hot, brandied coffee. "Time to go.”
He stood 6’6” of pure muscle, a rock solid, ex-Green Beret. He was unflappable. Intimidating, not just in form, but in presence and demeanor, even with a slight limp from a knee injury that ended his military career. In fact, in some ways the limp just made him seem more dangerous.
But even so, alcohol can work wonders for some guys' self-esteem. After a few beers and a couple of shots of Jager, they think they're able to take on someone like Jesse, when they should be thanking their lucky stars they still have all their remaining teeth.