Page 9 of Bodyguard By Night
Ransom
Lucky Shot
The familiar twenty-foot neon green shamrock seared my eyeballs as I pulled up to Lucky’s.
Small towns, man, didn’t really go for the whole low-key vibe. Bonus points—the bar served a decent draft and had a professional dart board.
I also was pretty sure I’d been added to some sort of hitlist when it came to this place. People pounced on me the minute I walked through the damn door. Which was also fucking weird. I wasn’t used to being noticed.
My whole adult life had been about being in the shadows.
I wasn’t sure there was a shadow to be had here in Turnbull. Even in the bitch ass winter that was perpetually gray. But the days were getting longer and spring was finally breaking through the lingering frost, yet another reminder that Clay’s wedding was approaching.
April was zipping along faster than I’d realized.
Dammit, I’d forgotten to go to my fitting—again. Clay Winslow, my best friend and pain in the ass, would be on my case. Maybe after a beer or three, he’d forget.
I swung the door open, and a few shouts of my name reminded me of the oldCheersreruns. Was I the new Norm?
Now that was fucking depressing.
I nodded to the regulars and headed to where my preferred beer waited for me on the shiny bartop. “Hey, Ruby.”
“Hey, Surly. How’s tricks?”
“Firmly in the hat.”
Her lips quirked. She was a stunner in that she-might-beat-me-up-or-she-might-make-out-with-me kind of way. “Was that a joke?”
“Probably not.” I leaned on the bar and did a quick scan of the room. It was one thing I’d never be able to quit. Knowing my exits and keeping track of my surroundings meant I wouldn’t end up dead. Most likely.
A couple of rowdy townies were too many beers deep in the far corner. I noticed Ruby also focused on them as she scrubbed the already gleaming cherry wood.
Her biceps were almost big enough to rival mine. Her black tank echoed the green shamrock logo from outside, except there was one on each tit with Lucky’s scrawled between them. Skintight jeans showed off the rest of her assets.
She was exactly the kind of woman I usually found appealing. So much so that I’d almost hooked up with her my first week as an official Turnbull resident. Emphasis on thealmost.Shitting where you eat—or drink, as it were—was not smart.
Clay was busy with his new fiancée, Rachel, and I had far too much time on my hands. Especially since my security job had been effectively squashed when Clay turned his winter residence into a permanent one. I wasn’t overly mad about it either.
Manhattan had never felt like home to me though I’d grown up there. Alternately, Turnbull was quiet, remote, and people left me alone—mostly.
I sighed as one of the townies made a beeline for me. His staggered gate put me on alert enough that I automatically braced against the edge of the bar. Nelson Taggert liked to take offense to a westward breeze. I wasn’t really in the mood to bloody up my knuckles today.
Something about my face made people eager to start shit.
I took a long drink and gave him a bored look.
“I want a rematch.”
Gently, I set down my beer. I’d crushed his ass in pool last weekend. It wasn’t even my game, but I’d been bored and annoyed enough by his constant begging to take him on. “No, you don’t.”
He jabbed a stubby finger into my shoulder. “You owe me fifty bucks.”
I arched a brow at him. “I can’t help it if you can’t keep the eight ball on the table.”
Nelson swayed once then stepped directly in front of me.
Ruby snapped her towel on the bar. “Time to pay your tab, Nelson.”