Page 171 of Unexpected Heroine

Craning my neck for a better view, I’m met with the inky eyes of a tall, slender man entering from the back of the bar where I came in. He’s greasy and unkempt. And seemingly pissed off.

“Woman, what did I tell you about leaving the back door open?” he bellows at Tiffany.

He stumbles a little before putting his hands on her hips to steady himself.

He’s drunk.

Assuming he isn’t also on drugs, he won’t be hard to take out. The two guys playing darts also seem intoxicated. Unreliable witnesses and easily disabled. Aside from the pregnant female, the only sober witness is the bartender. She’s a waif, so unless she pulls out a gun, she’s not a concern. If she does, I can shoot faster.

Now or never.

I spring into action while Skidmark unfolds bills from his wallet to pay his tab. Standing abruptly, I feign intoxication and stumble toward him, reaching out for my beer bottle at the same time. Sending my arm flailing, I knock the bottle over in his direction, hoping it spills on him, thus sending him to the restroom to clean up.

Fuck yes. The beer hits my target.

“Whoops. S-s-sorry about that,” I slur. No one has ever mistaken me for an actor, but playing drunk can’t be too difficult if Vanessa pulled it off.

That bitch.

“What the fuck?” Kadin hollers, running his hands down his shirt where the beer is soaking in.

Unfortunately, it’s not much liquid. Too bad it was a beer bottle instead of a glass with a larger opening. Could have been a better spill. Hindsight.

He cusses under his breath, patting himself dry with a handful of cocktail napkins the bartender gave him.

Fuck off, Tiff. Not the time to suddenly care about customer service.

“Bathroom,” I suggest in a rushed mumble. “Help clean you in there.” I put my arm over his shoulders, attempting to move him in the direction of the bathroom.

He thrusts his elbow into my side. “Get the fuck off me, asshole.”

Putting my back toward the bartender, I return my arm to Skidmark’s shoulder and manhandle him to my side. Before he can blink, I’ve got my knife under his chin. “Say another word and die. Put up a fight, and your boss’s girl will be dead in five seconds. My guys are right outside and will end her on my signal.”

“What the fu—” he starts.

I press the knife harder against his skin to shut him up. “Shh. Now we’re going to the bathroom together. Nice and easy, or she dies.”

“Okay,” he agrees reluctantly.

Lowering the knife from his chin, I move it to the side of his rib cage, where it’s better concealed by our bodies. Glancing over my shoulder in Tiffany’s direction, I holler, “I’ll help him clean up.” As we head toward the hallway, I add a stumble to sell my bullshit.

“Good. Keep walking,” I seethe in his ear.

His cheap cologne gets caught in my lungs. I fight the urge to cough and push him away to escape the sickening scent.

Rounding the edge of the bar, I grab an empty glass from the clean glass rack and toss it over my shoulder toward the pool table. As anticipated, the sound draws the bartender and her boyfriend in that direction, leaving my path to the rear door clear.

Moving swiftly, I drag him behind the bar, through the supply room, and right out the exit to my car. I kick open the unlocked trunk. “Get in.” After shoving him downward, I use my now free hand to retrieve my sidearm.

He sweeps his gaze from side to side, hoping to find a way to escape. Not happening, asshole.

I jam the muzzle of the gun under his chin. “In.”

He puts his palms out and shirks backward, folding himself into the trunk. Once he’s in, he studies every inch of my face.

The moment he recognizes me, his face blanches, and he lets loose a frightened gasp.

“Recognize me, fucker?”

---