Page 20 of Volt
“I’m going to avenge you, brothers. I’m going to get even for you all. Emiliano Zavala is going to pay. I swear it.”
Chapter Nine
Fallon
I’ve spent most of the day in a haze. I’ve been too distracted to paint, and I can’t say I’m doing much of a better job here on the floor of the bar. I haven’t been able to focus on anything and when I try, I’ve made a hash out of things. All because I can’t stop thinking about a boy. I haven’t felt like this big of a giddy, smitten idiot since I was twelve years old and had a crush on Eric Sanderson.
I keep telling myself that it was a one-time thing. That Blake isn’t coming back to the bar and I’ll very likely never see him again. It was just one of those things where you meet somebody in passing but that’s likely all it’s ever going to be after you go your separate ways—a meeting in passing. But there’s another part of me that doesn’t want to believe that. That wants to think that we had a real connection—a strong connection—and that will bring him back. That he’ll want to see me again.
“Can I get another beer, doll?” Tommy calls out, his voice high-pitched and nasally.
I look over, and when I see Tommy’s eyes are still blackened and his nose is still swollen, I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing out loud. The way Blake had handled them, with such a practiced ease, was impressive. They certainly hadn’t expected it, and Tommy had paid the price. That’s what you get when you try to act like a tough guy.
I pour out a glass of beer and hand it over to him, and he looks from the glass to me, a flash of annoyance crossing his features.
“I wanted a Bud, not this shitty brown beer,” he snaps.
I look at him in confusion for a moment until he raises the glass and I see that I’d accidentally poured him a Newcastle instead of his usual swill. Feeling my cheeks flare with heat, I take the glass from him and quickly pour it down the drain.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
I take a moment and focus, making sure to pour him the right beer this time then slide it across the bar to him. He stares at me through those raccoon-colored eyes.
“What’s going on with you today? Can’t even get a simple order right,” he grouses.
“She’s probably got her mind on that punk who knocked you around—”
Dutch bites his words off when Tommy turns and glares at him. “He sucker punched me. Got a lucky shot in is all,” he spits.
“That’s actually not the way it happened. You threw the first punch,” I remind him. “Or at least, you tried to.”
Tommy’s eyes narrow and his jaw clenches as he rounds on me. Although Dutch is trying to hold himself together in solidarity with his buddy, I can see the grin flickering across his lips.
“I don’t need no lip from you, Fallon,” he grunts. “We pay your salary. You should have some fuckin’ loyalty to your regular customers.”
I roll my eyes and ignore him as I put the glasses into the rack that I’ll take back to the auto-washer later then busy myself with small tasks behind the bar to keep me occupied—and away from Tommy and Dutch.
“That it, Fallon?” Tommy wheezes. “Your head all up that punk’s boxers?”
I keep ignoring him, hoping it will defuse the situation. It obviously doesn’t though as Tommy keeps going.
“Did you fuck him that night, Fallon?” Tommy sneers.
I bite back the scathing reply that’s sitting on the tip of my tongue and do my best to shut him out. Getting into an argument with him isn’t going to do anybody any good, least of all me. I know all he’s trying to do is get a rise out of me to mitigate his embarrassment over getting his ass beaten in front of everybody. But especially in front of me. Tommy has been trying to get me to sleep with him since the day I started, and he tries to use his macho image thinking it will lure me. The fact that it hasn’t in all this time, and that I find him pretty repulsive actually, hasn’t yet dawned on him, I guess.
“Yeah, I bet you let him fuck you,” he says. “You seem like that kind of girl.”
Dutch, who is normally in lockstep with Tommy, looks away, clearly uncomfortable with his friend’s line of attack. He doesn’t say anything to stop him, mind you, choosing instead to pretend he can’t hear him. Not that I expected much from him. Dutch isn’t a good guy any more than Tommy is, but it’s nice to know that he has some limits, I suppose.
“Tommy, you keep talking to me like that and I’ll toss your ass out of here,” I snap.
“No, you won’t. I’ll tell Mary and—”
“And then I’ll tell Jack exactly what you said to me,” I hiss. “And he’ll ban you from setting foot in the Grizz ever again.”
He scoffs. “No, he won’t. It’s regulars like me who keep this place afloat.”
“No, it’s regulars like you who make this place a living hell to work in.”
