Page 2 of Protect Me Daddy

When I approached, his eyes met mine. They were startlingly alert, assessing me in a way that felt . . . protective, almost. Not like the usual leers I endured.

"Whiskey, neat," he said, his deep voice sending an unexpected shiver through me. “Something good. Your choice.”

"Coming right up," I replied, surprised by how steady my own voice sounded.

As I poured his drink—a twelve year old Lagavulin—I couldn't help but sneak glances at him. There was something different about this guy. He seemed hyper-aware of his surroundings, yet completely at ease.

He sat there, the dim light casting intriguing shadows on his chiseled features, enhancing the aura of mystery that surrounded him. Even in the worn-out bar stool, he exuded an air of quiet authority that commanded attention without the need for words. His presence alone seemed to shift the atmosphere around him, like a ripple on a tranquil pond disturbed by an unseen force.

I couldn't tear my gaze away from him, captivated by the way his sharp eyes seemed to miss nothing in the room. It was as if he had spent a lifetime observing, analyzing, and deciphering every detail.

The glass in my hands felt cool against my skin as I passed it over to him. He gave the whiskey a long sniff.

“Lagavulin,” he grunted with an appreciative nod. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He passed me some cash. A fifty.

“Keep the change.”

“Really?”

“Sure. A good recommendation is worth its weight in gold.”

I felt my cheeks burn. It was the biggest tip I’d ever received. “Thank you.”

My delight was short-lived. When I returned to the bar, Earl was waiting for me. He tapped his watch.

“Come on, doll, you’ve got good customers getting old here.” His bloodshot eyes fixed on me with predatory intent.

“Sorry,” I said, instantly regretting it. I shouldn’t have to apologize for doing my job.

"Don’t worry, sweetcheeks, I forgive you," he slurred, swaying dangerously. "How 'bout another round for me an' the boys?"

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "I'm sorry, Earl, but I think you've had enough for tonight. How about some water instead?"

His face contorted, anger flashing in his eyes. "Don't tell me what I've had, you little tease," he growled.

My heart raced, but I kept my voice steady. "I'm not trying to upset you, Earl. It's just bar policy. I can call you a cab if you'd like."

Earl's meaty fist slammed down on the bar. "I said I want another drink!"

I flinched, fighting the urge to back away. "I'm sorry, but the answer's still no."

Turning to serve another customer, I silently prayed Earl would give up and leave. But I'd barely taken two steps when I felt a vise-like grip on my wrist.

Earl yanked me towards him, nearly pulling me over the bar. "Listen here, you stuck-up bitch," he snarled, his alcohol-soaked breath hot on my face.

Panic surged through me. I looked around desperately, but the other patrons averted their eyes or watched with morbid fascination. No one was going to help me.

"Let go," I hissed, trying to wrench my arm free. But Earl's grip only tightened, his fingers digging painfully into my skin.

Earl's angry eyes bored into mine, his face twisted into an ugly sneer. "Come on, sweetheart, don't be like that," he growled, his free hand reaching for my face. I recoiled, my stomach churning at the stench of whiskey on his breath.

To my horror, the rest of the patrons were just looking away. Even Frank. There were laughs and snorts, even some cries of “Take your top off!”

My mind raced, searching for a way out. To my shame, my mind went back to the place it always went when I was in trouble. My childhood. Memories of being snuggled up with a stuffie, playing, without a care in the world. How I wished I could run away from all this and go back to a place where I didn’t feel constant anxiety, constant threat.

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