Page 5 of Resist

Just when she thought the day couldn’t get any worse.

She walked toward the cash register, which was unfortunately on Coulton’s end of the bar, as her brother Eli strolled in and made a beeline for it.

“Hey, Painsley,” he said with a smirk. He’d been using that same stupid nickname since she was a kid, thinking it such a clever play on words.

“You come in to work?” she asked, even though it was a waste of breath. She and Eli were supposed to be running the tavern together, but she could count on one hand—with fingers left over—how many times her brother had chipped in since Mick’s illness left him homebound. For the first couple of months after taking over, she’d made a schedule, foolishly thinking Eli would abide by it. More the fool her.

Eli crossed his arms, looking around at the dozen or so people scattered around the bar. “Seriously? You and Maren can’t handle this?”

“What do you want, Eli?” Ainsley had officially hit the limit on what she could take from her dad and brother today.

“Came to get an advance on my pay,” he said, moving into her personal space, trying to force her away from the register.

“You have to work to get paid,” she pointed out, not budging. The only way this son of a bitch would get to the cash register was over her cold, dead body.

“Stop fucking around,” Eli grumbled.

“What is it about my face that gives you the idea I’m fucking around?” she asked, scowling, crossing her own arms.

“Move,” he said, with that slight tinge of desperation she recognized all too well. “I need some cash.”

She groaned. “Tell me you aren’t gambling again.”

Eli’s eyes darted to the side, a sure sign he was about to lie. “I?—”

“You said you were done with that,” Ainsley continued, without letting him spout a bunch of crap. She wasn’t in the mood to hear his bullshit. “Mick told you last time he wouldn’t bail you out again. You start this shit up and he’s gonna kick you out of the apartment for?—”

“It’s a sure thing,” Eli insisted.

Ainsley scoffed dramatically. “Oh, well, if it’s a sure thing,” she said sarcastically. “Why not takeallthe money from the cash register? Hell, let me grab my purse. I think I have a few bucks in there. Maybe we can dig behind the cushions in the booths, see if we can drum up some extra change to kick in.”

“You don’t always have to be such a fucking bitch,” Eli retorted.

She shot him a nasty grin. “I don’t have to, but it’s just so much fun.”

“Goddammit. Get out of the way, Ainsley.” Eli bumped into her, intent on physically shoving her away from the register.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Coulton start to rise, but she responded faster. She and Eli had been brawlers since childhood, so she knew right where to hit.

Reaching beneath the counter, she pulled out her baseball bat, shaking it in Eli’s face.

“Back the fuck up,” she said through gritted teeth. “This isn’t an ATM.”

Eli scowled but took two steps away. He was familiar with her bat and well aware that she had no problem swinging it. “You’re forgetting that half this bar is mine.”

“Noneof this is yours. It’s Mick’s.”

Eli gave her a shitty grin. “Yeah, but we’re going to inherit it when the miserable old bastard kicks off, which if we’re lucky should be any day now. He’s not looking so good.”

Ainsley hated how much Eli looked forward to their father dying, but she understood where it was coming from. While her relationship with their dad was strained as shit, Eli and Mick’s bond was shattered. They’d butted heads since the day Eli learned to talk, neither of them bothering to hide their outright hatred for each other. While she and Eli had both gotten plenty of beatings when they were kids, Mick seemed to take a perverse sense of pride inreallyhurting Eli, who was scrawny like her and nowhere near as tough as he liked to think he was.

Ainsley could only assume Mick viewed his beatings as a way of toughening up his son. She and Eli could probably keep a team of therapists busy for months, analyzing the impact their fucked-up childhood had on them.

Regardless, she wasn’t in the mood to play this game with Eli. “Yeah, well, for now, the tavern is still Mick’s, so try to take money from here again and I’ll break your hand.” Ainsley held the bat in front of her, her threat genuine.

The tavern barely made enough to cover the rent on their shitty apartment, feed them, and cover their father’s medical bills. They didn’t have enough to squander on Eli’s “sure things,” which were never sure.

“You’re a fucking cunt, you know that?” Eli shouted.

---