Rome's Chance (Reapers MC #6.6)(11)


“What about the gun?”

“Oh, that’s just Gus. He owns the bar,” she said, flashing me a quick smile. “Sometimes he likes to give people a little reminder of who’s in charge—don’t worry about it. He’s never actually shot anyone. Just the ceiling.”

I swallowed, realizing that maybe I should’ve taken stories about the Starkwood Saloon a little more seriously.

“Although I have to admit this seems a little worse than usual,” Tinker added, her face thoughtful. “Honestly—the fights are mostly small, and they tend to shut them down fast.”

“You know all this and yet you still come here on purpose?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around the situation. I’d just been in a bar fight. I’d had to hide for my own safety.

On a date.

That would be the same date where I dry humped a guy against the wall, I realized. In public. Oh my God. There were whole layers of fucked-upedness going on here.

Beyond the bar, I heard the scrape of chairs and muttering as people started moving. Someone was crying, too, and I thought I heard a few moans of pain.

“The club likes to hang out here,” Tinker replied. “And we always have a good time. Honestly—this only happens a couple times a year, and usually it’s not this bad. Somehow tonight got out of control fast.”

“It’s safe now,” Peaches said, reaching down for my hand. She’d jumped off the bar without me noticing. “It was just some drunk cowboys fighting over a girl or something. All good. They’re hauling them out, and then we’ll get things cleaned up. The fight wasn’t as big as it felt. We were in the thick of it, so it seemed worse than it really was.”

I took her hand and stood up slowly, turning to look around the room, wondering what’d happened to Rome. A chaotic mess of people moved toward the exits, some of them still looking pretty pissed off. About half the tables and chairs had been knocked down in the section right in front of us, surrounded by broken glass and spilled drinks.

A clump of crying girls huddled against the back wall. Not far from where Rome had kissed me was a group of about ten men—maybe half of them bikers—surrounding something and speaking in low voices.

Surprisingly, most of the people didn’t seem like they were in a hurry to get out. Quite a few were hanging out over by the patio door, drinking and watching as a couple of big guys who had to be bouncers talked to some angry-looking cowboys.

They seemed to be encouraging them to leave quietly.

The cowboys started moving to the door. They were almost out when one of them stopped and turned, snarling at some imagined insult from someone who’d been watching them. One of the Reapers stepped out of the crowd and crossed his arms, blocking the man’s way. For an instant I thought we might have another fight on our hands, but then another Reaper joined him, and the cowboy backed off.

“Was the club part of the fight?” I asked Tinker as I searched for Rome’s familiar form. Where was he? Had he gotten hurt? Oh, God. I hoped he wasn’t hurt. My stomach twisted thinking about it.

“The Reapers didn’t start it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she told me. “But they aren’t afraid of a fight, either. Gage and I were just dancing. Suddenly people started hitting each other, and he told me to hide back here. They don’t abandon each other in a fight, so I’m assuming he went back out to help one of the brothers.”

The group of girls against the wall had started arguing. I looked over, wondering what their story was. Several wore short shorts with their ass cheeks hanging out, while the rest wore miniskirts. Plaid western shirts had been tied up around their bare tummies, and they had cheap boots that’d never seen any dirt. Fake blond hair and long red nails completed the picture.

Buckle bunnies.

They couldn’t seem to decide whether they should leave. Most of them clearly wanted to go, but one kept shaking her head. Tears ran down her face in long, black tracks of cheap mascara and she gestured toward the clump of men I’d noticed earlier.

Peaches pushed past me and walked over to them purposefully, cutting off the argument and pointing toward the door.

The girls shared nervous looks, then nodded and started for the exit. Peaches headed to the group of men next. I wondered how she was going to get past that high wall of male backs, but the girl wasn’t shy. Not even a little bit. She marched right up and poked one until he got out of her way. The rest parted for her like the Red Sea.

“Ambulance is coming. Make room for the EMTs,” she said, her voice loud enough to carry across the room. They all started backing away, still muttering but clearly willing to cooperate. Now I could see what they’d been looking at—two men kneeling next to what had to be a body. One of them was big guy in a white T-shirt with dark hair. The other was Rome’s friend with the fire and rescue.

For one horrifying minute, I thought someone had died. Not only that, I still hadn’t found Rome. My heart started speeding up as I narrowed my eyes, trying to see who was laid out on the floor. Calm down, I told myself sternly. It’s probably not him, but even if it is, panicking won’t make anyone’s life easier.

The man on the floor groaned and moved his hand—he was alive. Oh, thank God. Breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding broke free. The big guy in the white shirt reached down, steadying his patient before looking up at Peaches.

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