Wild Bastard by Ella Savitskaya (book suggestions .txt) 📕

A man's dirty paw rests on Lana's waist, roughly pulls my frightened little girl off the chair and drags her toward the guys. The girl's face is blotchy with fear. She pushes the creep away from her, but clearly the attempt goes unnoticed. I quickly get out from behind the bar, which I shouldn't do. The boss's rule is not to leave the cash register, but I don't care now. In three jumps I overcome the distance to them.

"I told you to let her go, jackass. The girl's under 18. You want to go to the jail?"

"Oooh, here comes the other one! That's good! Two chicks are always better than one"

The second bastard climbs out from behind the table, and at that second I quickly pull a knife out of my little purse around my waist and put it to his carotid artery. It's not the first time. I know where to apply pressure and how to do it safely. The guys freeze, and then they start laughing. They think if there's five of them, I can't handle it. I glance at the camera hanging from the ceiling. Miles, where are you?

The one holding Lana pulls her hair sharply, making her sob.

"Girls, we promise to be gentle. Especially since we are only asking for your company. Is it so difficult?"

"It is impossible!"

A familiar voice, imbued with ringing fury, answers for us. Lana twists her neck happily at her brother for the first time since we've known each other, and at the same moment squeals deafeningly as Matt's fist whistles next to her own head, smashing into the face of the guy behind her.

He lets go of the girl and grunts with a groan, while our crazy defender grabs his sister by the arm and pushes her behind his back. The other one pounces on Matt with his fists, while I, still standing with my knife at the third one's throat, try to keep my eyes on him.

"Hey, what's going on here?" Finally, Miles the security guard, who most of the time just eats and watches soap operas in his den, shows up screaming. But now he's probably decided to look at the camera screen for once. He pulls out his gun and yells: "Get out of here, you bastards!"

Two of them jump up and run out, dragging by the arms the one whose nose Matt broke. Another one is still getting kicked in the kidneys by him.

"Matt, stop!" I shout, forcing him to stop and look at me. His jaw clenched, his cheeks tense, his fists balled up. A killing machine, no less. Sometimes I think he has no brakes at all, and if he is allowed to, he is capable of terrible things in a state of affect. But in this situation there is no other way. I turn my eyes back to the rest of the guy and nod to the table. - Pay the bill, and don't come back here again. Your faces are on the video, and if we report you to the police for dragging a minor to the table by force, you'll be dealing with the consequences for a very long time.

The brunette reluctantly takes a few bills out of his pocket, and then, at gunpoint, takes his wheezing friend and disappears out the door.

"What happened here?" Miles shoves the gun back behind his belt.

I walk over to Lana.

"Are you okay?"

The girl trembles and looks paler than a toad. Matthew glares at his sister, but remains silent. He understands that this situation is better than all the warnings and punishments put together. He wipes the blood off his busted lip and turns his black eyes to me.

"What time does your shift end?"

"Twelve o'clock."

"Call a cab" He takes a large bill out of his pocket, shoves the money into my hand, and walks past Lana. Grinds it through his teeth: "Home!"

Anya quickly cleans up the table while the cleaning lady wipes the floors of glass and blood. The other visitors continue their merrymaking as if nothing had happened.

After a while I write to Lana to ask how she is. She answers that she is fine. Matthew has forbidden her to come to the bar, but it's not hard to guess that she won't have that desire for a long time.

When I get home, everyone is already asleep. The house is silent and dark. I'm about to go upstairs when I notice a male figure by the pool. My heart slows down. The right thing to do would have been to go to my room to avoid unnecessary consequences, but I act illogically and head for the backyard. This is what always happens when my intuition screams what not to do, and I ignore its arguments and go through a red light.

I walk carefully down the three steps.

Matthew is sitting on the edge of the pool, a bottle in his hand. I silently walk up to him and sit down next to him.

I take the bottle and take a big sip. My throat burns, my esophagus burns as the clear whiskey flows down my stomach.

"Wanna join me, Rie?"

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