Pistol Read online

  She closed out the stares of the other patrons, and watched the sullen expression the bartender kept as he moved about the service area with an obvious ease. Steph was used to the staff at such popular bars being magazine-model material; all crisp style, and classic good-looks. Granted, this guy was seriously hot as well, but he was by far not what anyone would call ‘ordinary’. Small pictures adorned each of his fingers, between each joint, and extended over the backs of his hands. Steph perused him like a piece of fine art as she traced the line work up each arm, and admired the detail in the work. The murals moved closer, and she raised her eyes to see him regard her with casual disinterest as he pushed the drinks toward her. She reached into her bra for her card, and the bartender’s eyes followed. They lingered a moment too long to simply track her action. She presented the plastic to him, and he held up a hand, a seductive twist to his lips.

  “My shout,” he called.

  Odd. Her brows furrowed for a moment, until Cass leant over her shoulder and called, “Are they seriously on the house?”

  Steph nodded as she slipped the card away. She gave the guy a thankful smile and reached for the glasses. The bartender leant back with a smug smile, and folded his arms across his chest. He watched her turn away, even though the impatient patron next to her raised his hand to snap his fingers in the bartender’s line of sight. Rows of people who had stood behind her, now moved like a tidal flow to fill the space she left. Steph paused while Cass looked for a spot to sit, confused as to why he gave her free drinks. Horror built, then subsided when she looked down to check her top was in place, and found no obvious wardrobe malfunction. Well, thank Christ for that. Cass flirted her way into a gap at a near-by table, playing the ‘we-just-need-to-rest-our-feet’ card. Steph glanced back to the bar, unable to locate the tattooed hottie for the hoards of people who awaited service.

  “Babe, what are you doing?” Cass asked. “Come sit down.”

  Steph snapped her dazed focus back to her bubbly friend, and the pair of semi-executive types that lavished the blonde with attention. She slipped into the free seat, and cringed inwardly at the blatant one-liners the men threw Cass’s way. Why did grown men feel the need to beat around the bush with their intentions? Was it so hard to come out and say “I like you. Wanna go on a date?” To simply spiel off the same old tired lines sure didn’t do their chances any good—well not in her eyes, anyway.

  Cass laughed exaggeratedly at one of the men. He slipped a hand over hers, and gave a gentle squeeze. The spectacle left a sour taste in Steph’s mouth, despite the fact she’d already downed half her martini. She took the opportunity a pause in conversation brought to leave.

  “Where you going?” Cass asked.

  “Ladies.” She thumbed in the general direction.

  Cass nodded, and turned back to the man closest to her as he picked up their discussion. The crowd roared at the end of the DJ’s set. Women moved en masse towards the restrooms, and Steph growled. Damn you, Murphy and your stupid laws. She started for the corridor, determined to beat at least half the rush, when a low chuckle from her right drew her curiosity.

  “You’re out of luck, I’m afraid.”

  Irish. He was Irish.

  Steph twitched a smile at his observation, a little perturbed by the intensity of his gaze as the bartender casually leant against the end of the bar. He watched her with mild amusement as she faltered on the spot, unsure if she should continue, or stop to talk.

  “What’s yer name?”

  “What if I don’t want to tell you?”

  “Ah, but ya will.” He scratched at his chin to hide his beaming smile.

  Her heart skipped a beat, and she took a step toward him. “What makes you so sure?”

  He reached out a tattooed arm, and wound a finger through the loose ends of her hair before he brought it to rest on her collarbone. “Because.” He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, and she caught the glint of a piercing. “I can see yer blush through yer tattoo.”

  Steph looked down at the angel which adorned her chest, and giggled awkwardly. So you can. “You first then. What’s your name?”

  “Irrelevant.”

  “Is it?” Her heart stampeded inside the confines of her rib cage as he wound his index finger through her hair once more. “I would have thought that the age-old rule of not talking to strangers vouched for the relevance?”

  “Ya like breakin’ rules then, Cutie?”

  Heat engulfed her neck, up to her ears. “I like to be different.”

  “Aye, I can see that.” His finger dropped the strand of hair to trace the lines of her tattoo. Electric tingles fired across her chest as he wove the details of the angel wings, and then stopped when the pad of his finger connected with the cup of her bra.

  Steph let slip an involuntary moan as her skin broke out in a rash of hyper-sensitive goose bumps. The brazen way he did what he wanted to her made every intimate part of her spark. “Steph,” she whispered.

  “Pardon, Love?” He drew her chin up with the same finger, then slipped it down to take her neck in a gentle choke hold.

  “My name is Steph.” Her throat rubbed over the palm of his hand with every word she enunciated.

  He looked her over, and drew his thumb up to rub her bottom lip. “Well, Steph.” He dropped his hand from her flesh, and stepped back to lift the partition into the bar service area. “It’s been a pleasure to meet ya.”

  Bastard! He’d played her, and he’d won. The damn bastard had got her name. But hell, for the way he left her a blubbering mess of tangled thoughts, the shame was worth it. A pang of jealousy fired the moment she noticed the ease at which he fell back into serving the patrons—like they hadn’t even spoken. How could he slip back into his work, so effortlessly, so unaffected, when her underwear was on fire? She marvelled at what a mess the guy had made her through conversation alone. Steph had to give him credit for that. Lucky for her, he had been blessed with an Irish accent. The way he sounded his ‘r’s and ‘o’s made her want to beg him to sing ‘Row, Row Your Boat’.

  “You okay?”

  She whirled on Cass, flushed at being caught out in her indulgence. “Um, yeah.”

  “You look stunned? What happened?”

  Thank God. Cass obviously hadn’t seen their interaction, then. “I can’t believe how long the line for the ladies is,” she lied.

  “Right? It’s insane.” Cass smiled, and crossed over to the bar for another drink. She gestured to the empty glass, and Steph nodded her head.

  Barely half way across to the far side of the club, she caved at the desire for one last look. She needed to be sure she hadn’t dreamt such a sexually-charged exchange. Steph glanced over her shoulder, warm all over again as the smoking-hot barman ran his tongue across his lip piercing while he held eye contact with her. She pulled her chin to her chest, and hustled the last metres to tack on to the end of the queue. As she shuffled along with the other frustrated women, she ran over what exactly it was about him that had her so flustered. Men had never had that effect on her before now. Perhaps it was the tattoos, and the piercing. After all, weren’t most women attracted to the bad boy types? Yet the intensity of his blue eyes left her sure that wasn’t the reason. There was an intrigue in his look, his style that had her drool at his feet like a hungry dog. The confidence he displayed through the effortless calm he exuded as he spoke seemed natural. The guy had mastered the James Dean-esque art of looking like a rebel; like he didn’t give two shits what anybody thought of what he wanted—he’d do it anyway.

  He was different from the crowd, and that was seriously sexy.

  As the evening drew on, Steph couldn’t stop the lead balloon of disappointment that dragged her mood to the floor when the bartender didn’t make any further attempt to speak to her. She shamefully did what she could to instigate another interaction: passed by the bar with no real point, laughed excessively loud, even took her empty glass to the bar. Not a single thing worked. He remained deathly focussed as he
served drink after drink, and flashed that oh-so-gorgeous smirk at a few women who hung around after he passed their alcohol over. Cass had her on the dance floor several times, and it had been fun. But the more she saw him enjoy his evening like their talk hadn’t happened, the more she grew angry at herself for allowing his hands to caress her. She had let him damn-well seduce her. Are you that easy? She knew she wasn’t, but it didn’t keep the doubt from assailing her until she began to think she really was a two-dollar hooker.

  “What’s the matter, babe?” Cass asked. “Has a night out not been the right idea?”

  Steph cringed at the thought she may have come off as ungrateful. “Not at all, hon. It’s been great. I haven’t thought about Dave at all, to be honest.” Yeah, but let’s not say why.

  “Then why the sour face?”

  She shrugged, unable to come up with a suitable diversion from the truth.

  The executive type that had eyed Cass all night chose his moment to make a move as they downed a final drink at the table. “Would you ladies like to meet us for lunch tomorrow?”

  Cass turned, and gave Steph an enormous grin. She had to admit the guy seemed genuine enough, once she got past the lame come-ons. Apparently he was a marketing exec for some office not far from theirs.

  “I can come along with you if you want company,” Steph ceded.

  “Thanks, babe.” Cass spun in her seat to face the guy. “We’d love to.”

  Steph sat back and let them work out details. She had no interest in lunch, and neither did the exec’s friend by the bored look he had. But, she knew Cass wouldn’t have gone without a chaperone, and she wasn’t the type to let her friends down.

  The guy exchanged numbers with Cass, and gave her a polite kiss on the cheek as the girls stood to let them out of the booth. Steph shared a forced smile with the guy’s wingman, and gave Cass a tug to sit back down. The men left, and laughed between themselves. She picked up the vessel before her, and sculled the last of the water.

  “Are you going to tell me the truth about why you’re not happy?” Cass asked.

  Steph looked up to her, the glass still on her lips as she finished her drink. “What do you mean? She feigned, and placed the glass on the table once more.

  “You hung about the bar all night like you thought somebody was going to drop their winning lotto ticket.”

  “I did not.”

  Cass raised her eyebrow. “Didn’t you?”

  She sighed. “Fine, I did.”

  Blonde curls bounced over Cass’s shoulder as she turned her head to look past the lines which dwindled before the bar. “He looks a bit, I dunno, rough don’t you think?”

  “Don’t stare,” Steph exclaimed, mortified. “He’ll know we’re talking about him.” She peered from the corner of her eye to catch sight of him slip out the back. “See? You scared him away.”

  “For crying out loud, Steph.” Cass laughed. “He’s not a bloody bunny-rabbit.”

  She snorted, and then laughed as well. The humour they shared whenever she went out with Cass was the reason why she had accepted the invite—not that she had a choice. So what if some smoking-hot guy had made a strange pass at her; one she rather enjoyed. She was out for fun with her friend, and to remember she didn’t need Dave in her life to feel complete.

  No—now she wanted a certain tattooed, bad-boy instead.

  You’re screwed. Utterly.

  Yep, she had a crush. Like a giggly school-girl who watched the captain of the football team, she was ensconced in the magic of his movements. She’d watched the way his strong hands spun the bottles, the way he stuck his bottom lip out to huff his hair out of his eye as the night wore on.

  “Come on, hon. Let’s go home. Some of us need our beauty sleep before we go on a hot lunch-date tomorrow.”

  Steph smiled, and gave Cass a playful nudge as they rose from the booth. “Whatever. You’d look good in a potato sack.”

  “At least one of us knows how to dress.”

  The two of them laughed. The last of their drinks wore off as they walked the long corridor to the giant crimson door. Cool, early morning air pulled the first signs of fatigue from the pair as they exited. Cass gave a quick goodbye to the doorman while Steph descended the steps. The vivacious blonde then proceeded to rat about in her clutch for her cash as she joined her on the pavement. Steph raised a hand to hail a taxi, when Cass cursed loud enough to draw the attention from a group of people on the far side of the road. “What’s up?” she asked.

  “Those fucker’s stole my cash,” Cass wailed.

  “What?” Steph stepped closer to help her check the tiny bag. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. My bag was under their feet all night.”

  “Assholes,” she exclaimed. “Do you want to find a cop?”

  “Hang on.” Cass pulled her phone out and dialled the number the guy had given her. She stood, and drummed her fingers on her arm as she waited. “Oh! Bastards,” she shouted.

  “What now?”

  “It wasn’t his real number.”

  “Shit, hon. You got done.” Steph failed to hide her amusement at the situation. Theft wasn’t funny, but being blind-sided by such a pair of lame, one-line-loving guys was.

  Cass wrinkled her nose as she thought. “Do you have enough for the taxi?”

  Steph shook her head. The two of them had agreed that Cass would pay for the taxi with her cash to avoid card fees, and Steph would buy the last four drinks.

  “Worth a shot.” Cass smiled. “I guess I could call Dad?”

  Like hell you will. “Are the buses still running?”

  “No way. I’m not getting a bus at this hour, from here.”

  Steph itched her ear absently as she tried to come up with any option other than Cass’s unforgiving father. If they accepted a ride from Mr Pratt at such a god-forsaken hour of the morning, they were certain to be given an ear-bashing. The guy was forever on at Cass about her safety, and the instant they explained why they couldn’t afford the taxi, he would keep Cass under lock-and-key for a month.

  “You ladies need some dosh?”

  Steph turned toward the familiar voice, and squinted into the darkness.

  “Excuse me?” Cass replied as the barman stepped out of the shadows, a cigarette between his lips.

  “I was offerin’ you lasses some cash to get home.”

  Steph blushed, and nodded. “That would be kind, thanks.”

  “Oh no.” Cass held up a hand. “We’re fine.”

  He shrugged, and reached up to pick the stick from his lips. “Whatever ya want.”

  Steph frowned at Cass, and mouthed ‘Are you insane?’ She took a step toward the guy as he threw the butt down to stamp it out. “Wait. I’ll take you up on your offer. I can come back tomorrow and pay you back.”

  “I don’t need the money.” He screwed his Doc Marten into the pavement.

  “What do you want in return?” Darkly inappropriate suggestions fluttered through her mind like confetti.

  “Steph,” Cass hissed as she caught her elbow.

  She held a hand up to calm her friend, and waited on his answer. He smirked, a lusciously lopsided grin, and held up a roll of twenties. “Look familiar?”

  “My cash,” Cass cried out, and lunged for the roll. “It’s got my hair-tie on it still.”

  “How did you…” Steph started.

  “Let’s say I know their type.” He rubbed a hand over his hair, which he wore longer on top and slicked to the side. “Those fellas and me? We had some words.”

  “Oh my God.” Cass threw her arms about his neck and gave him an awkward, one-sided hug. “Thank you.”

  He stood stiff as a board until she withdrew; his gaze never broke from Steph’s. “It was nuthin’.”

  “Thank you,” Steph repeated.

  He held her stare from under hooded eyes, and then stepped up to her. The tip of his boots touched the toes of her heels, and she could smell his musky scent; bourbon, and cigarette smoke. The
barman gently cupped her chin between forefinger and thumb, and tipped her head up to lay a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Stay safe, Cutie.”

  Her fingers idly traced her chin as he turned, walked away, and disappeared past the doorman into the club.

  “What was that?” Cass cried out as she stepped in front of Steph’s face, hands firmly on hips.

  “I’m not sure,” she replied.

  At least this time she told Cass the truth.

  ****

  Pete held his fingers to his nose, and drew in the sweet scent of the goddess he’d walked away from. That in itself took every ounce of self-control he could muster. The girl was intoxicating; heavenly to look at, and even more angelic when she spoke. When was the last time a girl had him in a daze like this? A foreign pull low in his gut told him the answer may be never.

  He drew a seat in the staffroom, and flicked open the first wallet he’d taken from those shameless fuckers that stole the blonde’s cash. The boys had denied it flat-out, until Pete snatched the biggest asshole’s shirt in his fist, and pointed out the bar had security cameras. Little punk’s had no idea who they dealt with, so had no clue he would pick-pocket their own wallets in the process of kicking them out.

  He drew out the driver’s licence, and looked at the name. Figures such a jumped-up little monkey would have a name like that. He retrieved his phone from his pocket, and flipped through the rest of the wallet while he thumbed to the number he needed. Pete hit dial, and waited. He pocketed thirty dollars from the bill-fold, and snatched the credit card from both wallets.

  “Pistol, mate. Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

  “Yeah,” Pete answered. “Been occupied.”

  “Haven’t we all. What can I do you for?”

  Pete flicked his lip ring with his teeth, and smiled. “I’ve got a job for ya.”

  “Yeah?”