Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Since I might be dead soon anyway, what harm is there? I push open the car door and hurry across the street, throwing the bar door open. It slams into the wall loud enough for a few people to hear it over the music.
The bar is small and musty, with a low ceiling that almost makes me duck my head. A table in the corner has a bright light shining over a poker game. Two other tables have three or four people sitting at them, all with a bottle of whiskey. Rock music blares from the jukebox.
I see them all staring at me, and I’m sure I’d usually feel fear. These are rough men, clearly capable of violence, thick and stinking of nicotine, and looking at me with that calm, dead expression I remember from the apple tree case. I haven’t thought about that in years, but it’s the closest I’ve experienced.
They hate me, and they’d hurt me if they had the chance.
I walk over to the bar and lean against it, nodding to the bartender. The man is old with wispy white-red patches of hair on the sides of his head. “A dr-drink?” he says.
“Is there an issue?”
The man visibly trembles, lowering his voice. “You shouldn’t be here. The Bear is mainly for regulars.”
“Maybe I’m interested in becoming a regular,” I say, letting my voice get a little too loud. “Get me a beer.”
“Please, it’s on me.”
I turn at the sound of his voice, knowing who it will be immediately. He’s got the sleazeball tone of voice I knew he’d have and the confidence that he can bully and blackmail and break anybody he wants. Damon smirks and walks to the bar, resting his elbow against it.
“How are you doing, Landon?”
“Fine, Damon,” I say, staring him right in the eye.
He laughs, shaking his head. “You don’t look fine. You look like a man getting silly ideas in his head.”
“I’ve just heard the ambiance in here is relaxing. Already, I can see the rumors were true.”
“Ha ha ha,” he mocks. “You’re one funny bastard, aren’t you? Listen, fella, this is not a good thing for you to do. What if some of my less courteous friends happened to be here? You need to finish your drink, then get on your way.”
When the barman places my drink down, I ignore it. Instead, I make a show of looking around the bar. I feel ice cold. I’m fueled by what this asshole did to Lily. He had no right to scare her like that. Nobody does.
“Where’s the playroom, then?” I say. “In the back? I’ve heard there are snacks and video games.”
“Those are vicious lies told by petty people who want to tear The Bear down,” Damon says.
“Why the fuck would multiple parents lie about this?”
“Ah, which ones?” he says with a gleam in his eye.
There it is, that self-assured suggestion of violence. Everyone in the bar is turning and staring at us. The music still plays, pumping, so I’m unsure if they can hear us. Yet, they must be able to read my body language. “Which ones” clearly indicates he’d hurt them if he had the chance.
“Now, why would you ask a question like that?” I say playfully.
He keeps smirking with that same gleam in his eye. He’s undeniably a man who’s gotten away with a lot and is used to walking all over people. It seeps out of his pores, this unearned confidence, this disgusting self-belief. It makes me feel like I did at the apple tree—that feeling again. It’s the only time I’ve felt it. He’s making me want to snap.
“Anyway,” Damon says, “maybe I’ve decided you don’t need that drink anymore.”
“Maybe I still want to see the game room.”
“I’ve already told the whore,” he snaps, taking a step closer, his hand twitching. I know he’s got a weapon hidden in those jeans or maybe in the fold of his jacket. “Don’t make me tell you, too. Go back to your life. Your Good Samaritan days are over.” He grins, leaning in. “Do you seriously think I wouldn’t look into you? You stopped giving a fuck a long time ago. Unless it’s about the girl …”
He leans even closer, which is a mistake. There should be fear coursing through me, logic telling me to get away from these people. But all I want to do is split his head open for thinking he can hurt innocent people and get away with it.
“Just leave the kids alone,” I growl.
“I’ve seen the photo of you and Lily Brooks.” The way he says her full name, savoring it and using it as a threat, makes me sick. He rolls the r in Brooks as though to make a point, to rub it in—the asshole. “When she was a kid, I mean. It’s some puff piece, and all for what? For your ego? Now you and she are what, partners-in-crime?”