Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Every word he speaks is true, but I act ignorant. “Abram is—”
“A douche.” His smile… Kill. Me. Now. “I know.”
Mikhail’s expressions are simple to decipher. It is merely the chaos associated with them I struggle to understand. He looks like he hates me and loves me at the same time—like I’m the one who broke his heart.
My pulse throbs for an entirely different reason when Mikhail says, “He’s also a thief.”
He sinks back enough to expose Abram slipping a wad of cash out of his pocket and placing it into a backpack under the bar. It isn’t the one we use to do a once-a-day bank deposit. It is the backpack he arrives with for each shift.
The puzzle pieces are already slotting together, but Mikhail gives them a gentle nudge. “Let me guess, you’re not making enough to cover expenses on the nights he’s rostered on?”
I nod, too shocked to speak.
Mikhail smiles, appreciative of my temporary wave of the white flag. “Because he’s taking a fifty percent cut on all takings and a paycheck. Watch.”
Seconds later, a regular walks in, orders a bourbon, and slaps down a twenty. He’s given his change with his drink, but the twenty never makes it into the cash register. It falls into Abram’s pocket before he replaces it with a lower denomination. His cut is far more than the tips some patrons leave, and it doesn’t get close to the tip jar.
I usually avoid confrontations, but this thief needs to be taught a lesson.
“You’re a thieving piece of shit!”
Abram’s eyes twinkle with amusement when I march back to his side and demand that he empty his pockets. He follows my order. I doubt that would be the case if Mikhail hadn’t traced my stomps.
Fury erupts on my face when he pulls out the twenty I watched him pocket. “Oops. How did that get in there?” He flattens out the crinkled twenty and places it into the cash register like that is the only money he stole today.
I fold my arms under my chest and arch a brow. “What about the rest?”
Abram peers at me in daftness, his expression hardening when I snatch his backpack from under the bar and rip open the zipper.
His cheeks twitch and his nostrils flare as he shouts, “Hey! That’s my property. You have no right to search my property without a warrant.”
He tries to rip his backpack from my grasp, but a stern rumble stops him. “If you fluff up a single strand of her hair, I will end you where you stand.”
Mikhail’s protectiveness isn’t surprising, especially considering our location. He was the self-appointed unpaid bouncer here for almost three years. The staff respected him, the patrons feared him, and I loved him with every fiber of my being.
But he doesn’t get to play that role now. He walked from the role he never applied for and the one he signed up for when he asked me to be his girl. Enough said.
After removing enough takings to pay the electric bill and our alcohol supplier’s abhorrent delivery fee, I shove Abram’s backpack into his chest and then give him his marching orders.
“I better not see you back here. Ever!”
He scoffs, but since Mikhail’s narrowed gaze is burning a hole in his temple, he snatches his now-flat bag out of my hand and storms through the front exit doors.
“No, please,” I beg when the regular follows his departure. “Your next drink is on the house.”
He continues walking because he’d rather follow Abram to another drinking hole than receive a free drink. Abram can be overly generous with his servings since he doesn’t have to pay for the alcohol he wastes.
With my humiliation as high as my anger, I slam shut the door our sole patron since 8 p.m. exited through, lower the bar that will keep our limited supplies safe, and then barge past Mikhail, standing frozen near books that haven’t left the red for years.
“Emmy…”
I couldn’t feel more embarrassed than I do at this moment, and it flattens my tone. “Don’t. Just don’t. This isn’t your responsibility. It never has been.”
My tears are close to spilling, so I double the length of my strides.
They nearly topple when I trip over my feet from Mikhail calling me out as a liar for the umpteenth time tonight. “That isn’t true. I purchased half of this bar from your mother as a wedding present for you. Since we never got married, it is still in my name.” He waits for me to face him before continuing. “I didn’t know it had gotten this bad.”
The disgust in his eyes when he drags them across the paint-peeled walls and warped floorboards guts me. We once treated this bar as if it were ours. Keeping it alive and thriving was one of the many promises he broke when he walked.