Page 17 of Needed in the Night
“Human,” the Hardanian said, his voice low and dangerous. “I said, what will you do?”
“She will need to do nothing,” Mikas said from the Hardanian’s side, his spines bristling.
In a heartbeat, my friend wrapped his massive arm around the Hardanian’s neck, dragged him away from me, and squeezed until the man’s eyes bulged. Mikas had him in a hold that nearly paralyzed his body. I feigned a frightened gasp and covered my mouth with my hand.
Now even the Prylothian set his wine pipe aside to watch Mikas, his cluster of bulbous eyes quivering nervously.
Over his shoulder, Mikas told the snarling brothers, “You move, your brother dies. And then you join him in Novomord, where your shame marks you for eternity.”
The brothers exchanged a glance.
Like me, Mikas had recognized the symbol etched on their sigil. They were adherents of Novod, a sect of warriors who believed those who died at the hand of fewer numbers died in shame. Three warriors falling at the hand of one opponent? The disgrace would be eternal.
Apparently the Hardanians thought Mikas was perfectly capable of making good on his threat, because none of themmoved—two by choice, and one because he could probably no longer feel his extremities. His eyes had glazed over. He’d be unconscious soon. I had to fight to keep pretending to be scared and not let on how pleased I was to see the bastard’s knees start to buckle.
This wasn’t the first time I’d witnessed Mikas shed his gruff but laid-back bartender persona in favor of the hard former soldier I glimpsed in his eyes in unguarded moments, especially when he interacted with our vile crime lord boss. As impressive as he was in his role of part-time bouncer, I’d long suspected there was a third, more true Mikas in there somewhere—not the bartender, not the soldier, but the man he really was underneath the roles he played. Maybe it took someone who’d spent a lifetime playing a series of roles herself to recognize those secret depths.
“You will all leave now,” Mikas added, his tone now conversational. “And not return.”
He didn’t need to sound threatening with his bicep crushing the Hardanian’s airway or in the wake of his reminder to all three brothers that an abrupt exit from this plane of existence to an afterlife spent in darkness and shame wasn’t how they wanted to end their visit to Fortusia.
“Are we agreed?” he prompted, with a little extra squeeze that elicited an audiblepopfrom something in his captive’s neck.
“We are agreed,” one of the other brothers said, with a deferential bow of his head.
Damn it to all the hells, this was not how I’d planned for my night to go.
All I’d wanted to do was have my usual brandy and friendly chat with Mikas and watch the patrons drink and socialize. I was an observer both by nature and profession. So was Mikas. Even when he appeared focused on pouring a drink or mixing a complex cocktail, he was alert and watchful—more so than strictly necessary, especially in a bar wheretrouble was rare. Hypervigilance was common among former soldiers.
The Fortusian wordamat’ganor, orwatcher of people, applied both to Mikas and myself. Unsurprising, then, that we’d both ended up working in a bar, where the people-watching was often quite excellent.
At the moment,wewere the people being observed, and not in the way I preferred. This was the wrong kind of attention.
“Go on, then,” Mikas said, jerking his head in the direction of the main doors. “I will follow you out to ensure no harm befalls you on the journey.”
Wordlessly, the brothers drained their tankards, slammed them on the table, and shouldered their way through the crowd. I turned in my chair to watch them leave.
Before he followed, Mikas glanced at me, clearly concerned for my well-being. I gave him a shaky smile to keep up the charade that the Hardanian had scared me. The only thing hurt was my pride, since I hadn’t dealt with him myself.
Mikas’s gaze dropped momentarily to my hidden right hand, then returned to my face. His expression remained as unreadable as ever, but the shape of his eyes had changed. Shit—had he seen my blade?
Then he wheeled around and half-carried, half-dragged the Hardanian toward the door. The crowd parted for him, and not just because his spines had flared. Mikas had the respect of everyone in here, especially the locals.
In his wake, the quiet became a murmur, and then the crowd’s volume resumed its previous levels. Laughter, shouts, squawks, and conversation in a dozen languages filled the space. The Prylothian belched, mumbled an apology, and resumed gurgling his wine.
I slid my dagger back into its sheath and let out a breath.
The sooner I started to act as if nothing had happened, the sooner everyone would forget the incident. I smoothed mydress, sipped my drink, and chased it down with a couple of ripe, juicy jampa berries.
I expected Mikas to return as soon as he’d had time to make sure the Hardanians left, and I planned to ask about the Atolani female when he got back. Instead, I looked up from my drink to see that Nubo had emerged from his office to confront Mikas about something. Whatever they were discussing, it wasn’t a pleasant conversation. Mikas’s tense shoulders and frown radiated anger and frustration.
Nubo pointed to the hallway that led to his office, apparently asking—or telling—Mikas to go that way. Mikas gestured at the bar. Nubo’s reply was terse. Maybe he was reminding Mikas the bar could be switched to auto mode.
Without a word, Mikas stepped behind the bar, switched it fromStaffedtoAuto, and stalked to Nubo’s office as several patrons expressed their displeasure at the change.
Why the sudden meeting? Was Mikas in trouble because of how he’d handled the Hardanians who’d harassed me? Uneasiness churned in my stomach.
And with that, I called an abrupt end to my shift. If Nubo had a problem with that, he could yell at me later.
