Total pages in book: 189
Estimated words: 181808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 909(@200wpm)___ 727(@250wpm)___ 606(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 181808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 909(@200wpm)___ 727(@250wpm)___ 606(@300wpm)
“You’re drunk off your ass. I’m going to call Knox to give you a ride home.”
Mick’s gruff assessment of the shape he was in might be spot on, but Moon was unfazed at the threat of Knox being called.
“No, you won’t. Greer is working tonight. Knox will just send him. We both know you’d rather shoot your foot off than have Greer walk in that door. What’s his bar tab up to now, anyway?”
Mick stared at him in consternation. “Don’t ask.”
“That bad?” Moon was just drunk enough to feel bad for the bartender. There wasn’t a person in Treepoint who hadn’t been taken by Greer.
“Brother, I could buy myself a new bike with what he owes me. I need every dime I can get. The weather and the holidays have put a damper on business.
“You had to have had a good night—those bitches went through three bottles before I lost count.”
The bartender, whose rough visage managed to keep his tough-as-nail customers from wrecking his place, gave him a stony look at being reminded of the women he had thrown out. “Those weren’t bottles I sold them—they snuck them in their coats. The only drinks I made money on were the ones they suckered the guy with Jewell to pay for. Those bitches are fucking lunatics to go after Jewell like that.”
“Every damn one of them,” Moon agreed. “Every time they talked, they shriveled my balls to the size of skittles.”
Mick laughed. “At least yours stayed attached to your body. Mine took off running when I threw them out of the bar. I’m hoping they’re waiting for me in the parking lot—my balls, not the bitches.”
Moon laughed along with him. “There isn’t much that scares me, but, brother, I’m man enough to admit they scare the bejesus out of me.”
“Same,” Mick confessed. “I expected you to put a stop to the way they were treating Jewell.”
Moon rolled his eyes to the ceiling and nearly fell off the stool. “Why? Jewell saw them when she came in the door. She also could have left when they started goading her.”
Mick’s expression filled with understanding. “You think she wanted a fight?”
Moon looked at his empty glass then met Mick’s eyes meaningfully.
Reaching for the whiskey bottle, Mick poured him a knuckle’s worth then slid the glass toward him.
“I think Jewell wanted to let off some steam, and if Rory hadn’t gotten her out of here, those bitches would be nursing more than a bloody nose.”
Mick shook his head. “I don’t know about that. I think the bitches would have wiped the floor with her.”
Moon gave a sarcastic grunt. “You were never good a judge of women.”
“You’re a dick when you’re drunk.”
“I am even when I’m not.” Moon shrugged.
“That’s for sure.” Giving him an aggravated glance, he started wiping down the counter around him. “Finish up; I’m locking up in five minutes.”
Moon stared at the bartender balefully.
“Careful …” Mick warned. “You better remember who’s the one who taught you fuckers to fight.”
Moon picked up his drink and slung it to the back of his throat before he set it back down on the bar.
“You need a ride home?”
Moon considered the offer. “You have your car or bike outside?”
“My car.”
“No, thanks.”
“How you getting back to the club? Because you’re sure as shit not getting on your bike.”
“I’ll walk.”
“You’d rather walk than catch a ride with me?”
“I’m not getting in a car. The only way you’ll catch my ass in a car is if someone puts my dead body in one.”
Mick raised curious eyebrows at him. “You’re still claustrophobic as fuck, aren’t you?”
“No. I just choose not to ride in cars.”
“Brother”—Mick plunked the bar towel into the sink before raising a disbelieving gaze to him—“there isn’t anyone who would choose to freeze off their balls in this weather rather than drive in a heated car.”
“I don’t feel the cold.”
“Yeah … that’s because your ass is still sitting inside. Whatever …” Mick picked up the empty glass to put in the sink. “Let’s go. I’ll follow you in my car to make sure you get to the club okay.”
Moon stood up. “I don’t need you to follow me.”
“Shut up. Either I follow you, or I call Viper and let him watch you walk back to the club, drunk off your ass.”
Moon walked toward the door with lagging footsteps. “He won’t care. Viper knows I’m like a cat—I always land on my feet.”
Mick came out from behind the counter, shrugging into his leather jacket. “I wouldn’t tempt fate, if I were you. Sooner or later, everyone’s luck runs out.”
Moon stepped out into the cold air, waiting as Mick locked the door. “Neither fate nor luck are responsible for me being alive.” Moon gave him a half-wave then stepped away and started walking.
Mick took a step to the side of the bar then paused, turning his head. “What is it, then?”