Brothersong (Green Creek #4) - T.J. Klune Page 0,22
kept my words clipped, my voice flat. I wasn’t interested in whatever she wanted. There were days when I’d have played along, days when I’d have welcomed her with open arms. I’d grin, flashing the barest hint of teeth, and she’d melt a little, her scent spiking with arousal.
But those days were long gone. I didn’t think I could ever be that person again.
“You look like you could use some company.”
“Go away.”
Her expression faltered slightly before smoothing out. “What’s your name? I’m Sarah.”
“I don’t care.”
She sighed. “Fine. Be that way. Just trying to be friendly.” She turned and left.
A jukebox in the corner played some country shit, a man wailing over a guitar about how he’d lost the love of his life and he was just so sad about it. A group of men stood next to it, near a pool table.
She went to them.
I stared down at the table.
“That didn’t go well,” Kelly said.
“Shut up.”
“How the hell did you ever get laid?”
“I swear to god, if you don’t—”
“Hey, friend.”
I looked up again. Four men stood at my table. Sarah was near the jukebox, looking upset. She called to the men, “It’s not a big deal. Leave it alone.”
They ignored her. “It seems like we have a problem,” one of the men said. He was stocky, the lines on his face deep. His head was shaved, and I saw a tattoo of a cross on his neck.
“I’m just having a beer.”
“Is that right?” the man said. “Because my sister over there said you were rude to her.”
“She wouldn’t leave me alone.”
“You too good for her?”
I sat back in the booth, stretching my arms over the back of the seat. “Are you seriously asking me why I won’t fuck your sister? Because if you are, I gotta say, dude. You are far too invested in the sex life of your sibling. Probably should set some boundaries.”
He leaned forward, hands flat against the table. “What was that?”
“You heard me.”
He nodded slowly. “I think we have a problem.”
“That sounds like a you thing. You should walk away.”
The men behind him laughed. “That right?”
“Yeah. That’s right.”
He knocked my beer bottle into my lap. My jeans were instantly soaked.
“Get up,” he said.
I picked up the bottle and set it back on the table. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Get. Up.”
I got up.
“Take it outside,” the bartender called. “I mean it, Mikey. You start shit in here again and I’ll call the cops.”
“Mikey,” I said. “That’s cute.”
They surrounded me. I could smell their anger, the blood boiling just underneath their skin. They were spoiling for a fight, not giving a shit that it was four against one. They moved like a pack, like they’d done this before. For all I knew they had. Perhaps the girl was bait and they’d thought I was an easy mark.
They led me toward the door.
I let them.
They were cocky. Sure. They stank of sweat and cigarettes. It reminded me of how Gordo had once been, sitting behind the garage in the ratty lawn chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips, oil under his fingernails. He didn’t smoke anymore.
The night air was cool. I was amused when I tried to remember where I was, what town, what state, and I couldn’t. It was just another place.
One of the men shoved me from behind.
I stumbled forward into the parking lot, the gravel crunching under my boots.
“Smug fucker,” the one with the tattoo said. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
I grinned at him. I felt feral, like I used to be. I wanted to tear into them, make them bleed. Hear them scream until they begged for me to stop.
Maybe it’d make me feel something other than hollowed out.
“You don’t have to do this,” Not-Kelly said, leaning against the side of a truck, arms folded. “You could walk away.”
“Nah,” I said. “I’ve earned this.”
He shook his head.
“Earned what?” the man demanded. “What’s wrong with you?”
“A great man once asked a question,” I told him, ignoring the crowd gathering outside the bar. They wanted a show. I’d give them one. “He stood, his head held high. He wasn’t afraid. He knew what he was capable of, and though he would do anything to protect what was his, he still believed in mercy. I’m going to ask you the same question.”
The men looked at each other before turning back to me.
I said, “What are your names?”
Not-Kelly sighed.
The tattooed man didn’t feel like talking. He swung at me, his fist big and blocky.