The Rain: The End by Marietta Standlee (good summer reads TXT) 📕

a chance with that one, she's with the hot-shots over at The Booth." The guy to my left says with a snicker.

I wish the bartender would hurry up with those refills. Both of the men to my right and left seem a little wasted and not the friendly kind.

"What is it about that table, anyway?" Righty asks, looking straight at me.

I ignore him and drum my fingers on the wooden counter.

"It's for the hot-shots and their bitches. No matter how full this place is, that booth can stay empty all night, and nobody cares." Lefty explains behind my back.

My hackles rise, bitches? Really? These guys have no clue who I am.

"Well, baby, you don't have to hang out with them; I can buy you a beer." Righty offers again.

"I said I'm fine." I reiterate with rising irritation. We're here to celebrate, and these yahoos are disturbing my fun.

"Don't be such a bitch…." His sentence is cut short as I take the arm, he laid around my waist and twist it behind his back; his body has no choice but to follow his arm if he doesn't want me to break it. He's forced off his chair and down to the ground.

"Don't touch me." I snarl.

From the corner of my eye, I catch Alfredo's head pop up inside the little serving window, his eyes implore me not to cause a scene. I roll my eyes, knowing better but not wanting to offend Alfredo, I let go of Righty, who rubs his arm.

Chapter 2

"What the hell was that?" He demands.

"Feisty one, isn't she?" Lefty says and puts his hands on my hips, pulling me towards him.

I shrug my shoulders and give Alfredo an apologetic shrug, telling him, I'm sorry, but I didn't start this.

The guy pulls me in between his legs and grins widely at me; I give him my sweetest smile while pulling my arm up and giving him a right hook on the chin. His hands let go of my hips, and he pulls up his fist to hit me. I grab his arm, using his momentum to fling him off the barstool. For good measure, I give him a kick, that lands him on the floor. Others have noticed our dispute and step aside.

But Lefty isn't done, I guess I awakened his wrath. I watch him between narrowed eyes, as he pulls out a knife. Utterly disgusted with him, I exclaim, "Really? You'll attack a girl with a knife?"

Instead of answering, he charges me. I sidestep, but he anticipated my move and corrects himself; his hand moves forward in a stabbing motion, ready to pierce my stomach. I twist sideways before my hands clasp like vises around his arm.

At the same moment, I see movement from the corner of my eye; Righty is coming to help his newfound friend. While still holding Lefty's arm, I turn my hips and kick my right leg out, hitting Righty full force in the stomach and sending him tumbling into the empty bar stool.

Lefty tries to move, but I still have his arm in a death grip while I bend the leg that just kicked Righty, I bring it around and up, right into Lefty's outstretched arm.

During out fight, the entire restaurant became deathly silent, everybody watching our disagreement, so when my knee comes up, breaking Lefty's arm with a sickening cracking noise, everybody seems to flinch. The only sound now is Lefty's howls of pain.

One quick check on Righty tells me all the fight went out of him, as he half hangs on the barstool, eyeing me warily. He waves his hands in front of his chest, in a surrendering gesture.

I roll my head and pop my shoulders before reaching for the two, now filled, pitchers on the counter.

"Thanks." I nod towards the bartender who stares at me openmouthed.

Over by a group of other youths, I notice Michael. "Michael." And on second thought, I add. "Richard."

Both young men come running towards me. "Commander?"

I nod at the two losers. "Take care of them. Take 'em to the hospital to get fixed up, then escort them out of Fort Lewis."

"Yes, ma'am." Richard replies with unveiled awe on his face.

I take the pitchers back to our table. Colin looks all calm and collected, leaned back in our booth, arms outstretched on both sides, grinning his crooked grin at me, the one that sends butterflies to my stomach and makes me weak in the knees.

"Thanks for the help," I grumble.

"Didn't seem like you needed any, Tinker Bell," he remarks dryly, but there is pride in his voice, which makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.

Blake shakes his head. "Aaand the psychos are back."

I flip him off after setting the pitchers down.

"They'll be back tomorrow," Maggie states sourly, as she starts to fill glasses with beer from the pitchers I just brought.

"No way to keep the riff-raff out," Drew adds helpfully.

I narrow my eyes. "What do you mean?"

Blake shrugs his shoulders. "There are so many here now, there's no way to keep track of who was kicked out and where they'll just come in through a different gate tomorrow or go to a different town."

I don't like that at all. Too often have I been in this situation, men trying to take advantage of seemingly weaker women. What if next time they find a victim who doesn't know how to defend herself properly?

"Oh, no," Blake warns, seeing the glint in my eyes. "You can't kill them for attacking you."

I make a snarling sound while my mind works overtime. "Michael!"

The boy lets go of Righty and comes eagerly running. "Yes, Commander?" His eyes are so enthusiastic, I almost laugh. Almost, I'm way too furious for that right now.

"Figure out how to brand those guys." I direct him.

He blinks confused. "Brand?"

"Vivian!" Blake yells, getting out of the booth. "You can't mutilate people…."

"Watch me." I snarl into his face.

"Vivian." Blake tries in a calmer voice. "We'll kick 'em out; that'll teach 'em a lesson."

"It might, it might