a growl, he came right back at me, swinging with large meaty fists. I avoided some punches, but a few connected. I was dimly aware of scuffles going on around me as others started to join in the fray.
Brannon had stepped up, probably the closest to my size, and was holding back the biggest of the biker’s friends, preventing him from jumping in to help kick my ass. Justin was in his own little brawl with another, a little wiry guy who successfully evaded him until Drew got the dude in a headlock. A few guys from the crowd stepped in as well, staring down or holding back the remaining bikers, keeping the last shred of civilization from turning into pure anarchy.
Suddenly, a deafening boom echoed through the room.
And there was Doug, standing with a shotgun aimed at the ceiling as bits of wood and plaster fell around him.
That crazy fucker had just shot off in his own place.
We all froze solid.
“Get the fuck out of my bar,” he scowled to the bikers.
“I thought this joint was biker friendly,” one of the strangers spat.
“It is,” Doug replied. “It just isn’t asshole friendly. Now get the fuck outta here before I call the cops.”
After a tense little standoff, they finally backed away and headed out the door. The crowd straightened and began to disperse, and Denny walked up to clap me on the shoulder.
“Jaysus, you bloody eejit, maybe give us a little warning before ya go all white knight on us again, hi?”
“Speak English, you fucker,” I chuckled back distractedly, glancing around behind me. I pulled my T-shirt from where I had tucked it in my pocket and slipped it back on.
Sophie, Felicity, and even Maggie approached their guys, searching for boo-boos to kiss and fussing over the guys’ bravery for taking on the bikers. Doug shot a nod in my direction, seeming to be half thanks and half warning for my attention to Ilsa.
Ilsa.
Shit.
Where was Ilsa?
I couldn’t see her anywhere.
“Felicity,” I said, leaning towards her and Denny, “where did Ilsa go?”
“She’s right here…” she replied as she turned and looked behind her, but there was no Ilsa there. “Shit, she was right behind me.”
“Go check in the office,” I barked at her and Denny, heading towards the back room. I nodded to Brannon and Sophie as I started walking away. “Bran, see if she’s out back.”
I pushed through the crowd, past the bar and towards the storage room. It was quieter in here, muting the sound from the barroom where Doug had started up the sound system, trying to regain the party vibe now that the excitement had mellowed some.
“Ilsa?” I called out softly as I stepped through the door. There was no answer. “Ils?”
Still nothing. Silence. I couldn’t hear a thing. Just as I started to turn, though, I caught the faintest glimpse of her tennis shoe sticking out behind a couple stacked kegs. Torn between the need to comfort her and her obvious desire to be alone, I hesitated but a second before I stepped over to where she sat and crouched down in front of her.
She was barely moving except for the occasional tremble that wracked her petite frame. So quiet that I thought she may have been holding her breath, willing the world away. My heart ached and swelled. All at once I wanted to hold her and protect her. I wanted to beat the shit out of that fucker in the bar for triggering this fear. I wanted to go apeshit on whoever had made her this way in the first place.
Her face was buried in her arms as they lay folded over her bent knees. There was an angry red mark on her wrist from where that bastard had grabbed her, and her entire body was curled up into a protective little ball.
“Ils,” I repeated, “what is it? What's wrong?”
“It’s okay, Cody,” she said into her knees, her voice muffled, but still sounding raw and shaken. “I just need a minute.”
“You’re not okay—”
“Please, just give me a few minutes,” she interrupted, still not lifting her face. “I’ll be
Brannon had stepped up, probably the closest to my size, and was holding back the biggest of the biker’s friends, preventing him from jumping in to help kick my ass. Justin was in his own little brawl with another, a little wiry guy who successfully evaded him until Drew got the dude in a headlock. A few guys from the crowd stepped in as well, staring down or holding back the remaining bikers, keeping the last shred of civilization from turning into pure anarchy.
Suddenly, a deafening boom echoed through the room.
And there was Doug, standing with a shotgun aimed at the ceiling as bits of wood and plaster fell around him.
That crazy fucker had just shot off in his own place.
We all froze solid.
“Get the fuck out of my bar,” he scowled to the bikers.
“I thought this joint was biker friendly,” one of the strangers spat.
“It is,” Doug replied. “It just isn’t asshole friendly. Now get the fuck outta here before I call the cops.”
After a tense little standoff, they finally backed away and headed out the door. The crowd straightened and began to disperse, and Denny walked up to clap me on the shoulder.
“Jaysus, you bloody eejit, maybe give us a little warning before ya go all white knight on us again, hi?”
“Speak English, you fucker,” I chuckled back distractedly, glancing around behind me. I pulled my T-shirt from where I had tucked it in my pocket and slipped it back on.
Sophie, Felicity, and even Maggie approached their guys, searching for boo-boos to kiss and fussing over the guys’ bravery for taking on the bikers. Doug shot a nod in my direction, seeming to be half thanks and half warning for my attention to Ilsa.
Ilsa.
Shit.
Where was Ilsa?
I couldn’t see her anywhere.
“Felicity,” I said, leaning towards her and Denny, “where did Ilsa go?”
“She’s right here…” she replied as she turned and looked behind her, but there was no Ilsa there. “Shit, she was right behind me.”
“Go check in the office,” I barked at her and Denny, heading towards the back room. I nodded to Brannon and Sophie as I started walking away. “Bran, see if she’s out back.”
I pushed through the crowd, past the bar and towards the storage room. It was quieter in here, muting the sound from the barroom where Doug had started up the sound system, trying to regain the party vibe now that the excitement had mellowed some.
“Ilsa?” I called out softly as I stepped through the door. There was no answer. “Ils?”
Still nothing. Silence. I couldn’t hear a thing. Just as I started to turn, though, I caught the faintest glimpse of her tennis shoe sticking out behind a couple stacked kegs. Torn between the need to comfort her and her obvious desire to be alone, I hesitated but a second before I stepped over to where she sat and crouched down in front of her.
She was barely moving except for the occasional tremble that wracked her petite frame. So quiet that I thought she may have been holding her breath, willing the world away. My heart ached and swelled. All at once I wanted to hold her and protect her. I wanted to beat the shit out of that fucker in the bar for triggering this fear. I wanted to go apeshit on whoever had made her this way in the first place.
Her face was buried in her arms as they lay folded over her bent knees. There was an angry red mark on her wrist from where that bastard had grabbed her, and her entire body was curled up into a protective little ball.
“Ils,” I repeated, “what is it? What's wrong?”
“It’s okay, Cody,” she said into her knees, her voice muffled, but still sounding raw and shaken. “I just need a minute.”
“You’re not okay—”
“Please, just give me a few minutes,” she interrupted, still not lifting her face. “I’ll be
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