by Khan, Jen
Juice jumps back. “Whoa, dude! What the fuck? I didn’t sign up for that shit.”
“Relax, Juice. I’m just demonstrating. No contact, you pussy.”
“I’m no pussy. I eat pussy. I play with pussy.” Juice says, enlightening us all.
Tristan shakes his head and continues. “You pry his hands off of you by forcefully pulling back his fingers and finish the fucker off with an elbow to the face.” Tristan looked at me. “Got that? Now that’s when you get to be a badass chick.”
Hell yeah! I bounce up and down. “Let’s practice, Braden.” I am smiling so big my face hurts.
As soon as we get to the groin part, Braden steps back and says, “Remember, this is just practice. I do want to have children someday.”
I giggle and nod that I understand.
We go on like this for another hour, learning how to smack a dude in the chin with the heel of our palm, how to gouge a dude’s eye out, how to properly head-butt a dude, and how to execute the grab, twist, and pull technique. That is definitely my favorite part of the class, and Braden can tell by the gleam in my eye. But he won’t let me practice that one on him.
We learn how to get out of front and rear chokeholds, and I won’t lie—those freak me out a little. So bad so that when Braden clutches me by the back of the neck, I not only successfully get him to the ground, but I lose my ever-loving mind.
I scream and kick him in the ribs while he is down. Juice puts a hand on my shoulder and I lurch around, punch him square in the jaw, and repeatedly wail on him. It’s like an out-of-body experience. I am feeling myself do this, but I am not in control of my actions.
Before I know it, I am being lifted off my feet from behind by an arm around my middle. I violently thrash my arms and legs around, kicking and hitting as much as I possibly can. I scratch and scream, and I hear his voice. His soft, soothing, sweet voice.
There are two female gasps of air and two males say, “Holy shit!”
“Em, stop!”
I still in Braden’s arms, lay my head back on his shoulder, and burst into a round of ugly tears. My entire body is shaking. I can’t stop shaking and crying.
Once Braden puts me on my feet, holding me up with his arm around my waist, he takes my weight and we both sit on the mat. I bring my knees to my chin, curling my arms around them, my forehead to my knees just like a child. Braden sits behind me with his arms protectively around me, holding me tight, making me feel like I am in the safest place in the world. And at that very moment, I truly sense like I am.
They let me finish having my breakdown.
I look up at all of them and melt against Braden, wipe my eyes, and see their shocked faces.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, shaking my head and covering my eyes with the palms of my hands. “I’m so, so sorry,” I repeat.
Juice kneels in front of me, placing his hands on my knees. “Think nothin’ of it, boss. You can pay me back with a couple of extra shifts next week. I just bought a new ride and I need some new rims.” He winks and pats me before he stands.
They keep staring at me like I am a freak.
“Stop looking at me like I’m a freak,” I say aloud.
Braden tightens his hold and before loosening it, standing up behind me and bringing me up with him. He crushes me to him, my cheek on his chest, his hand cupping the side of my head, and his chin on the top of my hair.
I close my eyes and breathe deep.
“Baby, we gotta talk.”
“Not now, Braden. Later.”
He pushes me back slightly nodding in agreement, bringing his forehead down to mine and closing his eyes.
“Later. But, we’re gonna have that talk.”
I put my hands on his chest, then his shoulders, and now around his neck. I can’t get close enough. He tightens his hold on me once again and stoops down, links his arm around my knees, and lifts me into his arms.
He kisses my forehead. “I’m taking you home,” he informs me in a hushed voice.
This is Braden’s protective macho man taking over, and right now, I am so weak from all of the emotion and fight that I can’t argue.
Chapter Seven
It is Friday night and my first day on the job.
I am having the hardest time trying to figure out what to wear to work. All of the bartenders, wait staff, and bar backs wear Holt's tees and jeans. I, being the manager, need to stand out as such, so I decide on a nice pair of black flare-leg pants, a belt, and a pink button-up short-sleeved blouse. I go with comfortable black boots with a small heel, because being on my feet for eight hours in high heels wouldn’t do. I put in some silver hoop earrings and a pink and silver beaded necklace, and I throw my long hair up in a smooth ponytail.
I check myself in the mirror of my bathroom.
This is something I do every day—first thing in the morning and again at night before going to bed. This is the worst part of my entire day.
I do this now ever since the incident. Ever since that morning when I first saw the damage that had been done to my body by Jose Delgado. After getting a good look at myself for the first time, I saw that I had not only been damaged, but I was broken.
Now, as I stare at myself in the mirror, I see changes. The last few months have been about changes. Building a new Emma Chase. I have been trying desperately not to allow what happened to me define me as a person, but some days it is easier said than done.
That first morning, after I got to Holly’s apartment, I looked myself over and realized that I was now a different person. The Emma from before the incident was no longer the Emma in this mirror. I had no idea who I was or who I wanted to be. I vowed to save myself. I vowed to never look back. I vowed to never be the old me again.
Some women live their whole lives looking for someone else to save them, whether that be a man, woman, or even a child they’ve brought into this world because they were hoping for someone to love them.
What I have learned through this experience is that there is no one out there who can save you. Only you can save you. It took me years to figure this out.
I thought I found my hero in Braden, and in a sense I did, but he can’t fix me. He can’t fix this.
Hell, I can’t fix this. I didn’t bring this on myself. My father brought this on me. Sure, maybe he didn’t mean to, but he did so nonetheless.
I did, in fact, pay for the sins of my father.
It’s been a week since my loss-of-my-ever-loving-mind moment to which Braden has been here every night. No joke. Every night.
The first night, I gave him a pillow and a blanket and showed him to his spot on the couch. Within five minutes of lying down, my bedroom door opens, and he made a pallet on the floor next to the bed.
I couldn’t allow him to sleep on the floor, so I invited him up with me, shoving pillows between us so that the line was clearly drawn. “This is my side that is your side. Capisce?” Apparently he didn’t capisce because I was woken in the middle of the night by an arm rounding my waist and that arm pulling my body up against Braden’s warm body. He bent his knees behind mine and we were spooning. I’d almost forgotten that he was a spooner.
Ever since, he has spent every night with me. And every night, we fall asleep spooning.
I like it. God help me, I like it a lot.
I know his intentions are to make me feel safe, and I’ve told him that I’m fine, but he insists on coming over every night. Apparently, I don’t mind as much as I lead on that I do.
There’s a knock at the door, which sends me back out of my head and right back down to earth.
Braden is picking me up and we’re going in to work together. He insisted on it and wants to introduce me around, show me the routines and how to do inventory.
I’m sure it’s not rocket science, but it has been his mission to come back into my life since the incident, so I’m letting him do what he has to do because it helps him to work through his unrealistic guilt. I, on the other hand, just wish he would let it go.
>
I shift my gaze from my reflection and leave the bathroom, damn near running down Holly in the hallway.
“Braden’s here. You ready for your first shift?”
“I was born ready,” I answer with a cocky smile.
“You really are a dork, Em. I’ll be by later for a drink or two or twelve.”
“Good. I’ll even throw a few free beers on a tab for you.” I wink and brush past Holly into the living room, where Braden is sitting on the couch, his legs crossed heel over knee, one arm over the back of the couch, and the other hand twirling his keys. He is dressed in pretty much the same as he always is. Today, his jeans are black and he is wearing a long-sleeved crew-neck tee.
I stop and stare at him. He stares at me.
We smile at each other. My heart flutters at that smile he gives me. It happens every time I see it.
He uncrosses his legs and stands before stalking toward me. I swear to Christ, Allah, Zeus, and all things holy that if I weren’t so screwed up, I would attack this delicious-looking man.
Braden could wear anything and look like he stepped right off a GQ photo shoot. He walks and holds himself with extreme confidence. I guess it isn’t hard considering his height and large muscles that are evident under his clothes.
I sigh as he tangles his fingers into my hair and pulls me into him. This is not good. I am enjoying this way too much.
He kisses the top of my hair, and I put my hands up to his chest and push back to look up at him.
He is grinning down at me with his black eyes slightly covered by his Under Armour hat.
“Ready, beautiful?”
“Let’s go,” I reply with a little too much excitement. What can I say? I am excited. I am going to be working at one of my favorite places in the world and I get creativity rights, which means I am able to switch up the happy hour and the menu, adding more drink and food specials. I was given the go-ahead to train the staff to fit my needs and to add a few cosmetic changes to the place. So yes, I am very excited for my first night on the job.
I step away from Braden, heading towards the door and taking my purse on the way when he gives me a little swat on the ass. The Holt ass swat. Every man in this family does it. Every man in this family has also been slapped for it on one occasion or another.
I narrow my eyes at him while he throws his head back and laughs. We are out the door and on our way.
******
Braden and I walk into Holt's through the back door. Employees and apparently the regular customers park in the back alley and enter through the back door, which walks right into the back end of the bar and the kitchen area.
People are crowding the bar and they are pissed. I look around and I can’t figure out what is getting them so agitated. I go behind the bar and around the corner, which leads up to the main bar and center of the establishment.
“Hey, darlin’. Be useful and pour me a Jack and Coke,” one man hollers out to me.
I look for Juice and find him frantically pouring liquor into a shaker while he has three different beers pouring themselves under the tap. He tops the shaker and starts shaking vigorously while shutting off the taps and laying out several shot glasses onto the bar.
The boy has some serious skill.
“Juice! What the hell is going on around here?” I call after him down the bar.
“Two of our servers quit tonight because of a bitch fight they were having over some dick they were both getting nailed by. Olivia is out there somewhere. I lost her when the crowd started raising their pitch forks and lighting up their torches. She’s out there by herself manning the floor. I got one bartender who called and said he was going to be late. No fucking explanation as usual.”
“No explanation?” I don’t like the sound of this guy already.
“Nope, nada. Murphy pulls this shit all of the time and I have to deal with the fallout.”
Looks like I’m going to have to have a talk with this Murphy guy when he shows up for his shift.
I throw myself into action and start Operation Save Juice. Braden comes up behind me and starts taking drink and food orders to alleviate some of the pressure.
I have everything called out to me. Kamikazes, fireballs, chocolate cakes, sex on the beach, lemon drops, Washington apples, buttery nipples and blowjobs—yes, people still order blowjob shooters and think it’s awesome. The guys order them because they think they’re funny, and the girls order them because they want to look sexy in front of the morons doing it. I don’t find anything sexy about it, but then again, I’m no dude.
I am shaking tins, pouring shots, pouring beer, knocking out six and seven orders at one time. I love slinging drinks. At my last job, when things would slow down and all of the paperwork was straight, I’d pop behind the bar and help out. It’s fun and it’s an art.
Once the crowd dies down, I walk out from behind the bar and meet Braden at one of the high-tops. Two hours passed in the blink of an eye. Not only had I just made three hundred in tips, but I think I managed to win over the regulars.
Braden gives me his devilish wink-smile combo as I approach and perch myself on one of the stools across from him.
“What?” I breathe out and look over my shoulder to see Juice hanging in there and Olivia punching in orders at the touchscreen.
“You killed it back there, baby. And you didn’t even break a sweat.”
I blow the hair that has fallen out of my ponytail holder and landed in my face. “So who’s this Murphy guy? He’s a no-show,” I inquired.
“Chad Murphy. Goes by Murphy. Bartends four nights a week, resident Tryon party animal and self-proclaimed ladies’ man.”
“Yeah, well could you tell Murphy that when he is on the schedule he is expected to be here when he is scheduled?”
Braden looks over my head and tips his chin towards the bar behind me.
“Tell him yourself. He just made an appearance.”
I turn on my stool to get a look at this Murphy character. He is standing next to Juice, winking and flirting with a couple of the ladies sitting at the bar while Juice proceeds to yell at him and inform him of how much of a “fucking tool” he is because he shows up or doesn’t show up whenever the hell he wants to.
Olivia stomps to the bar clearly ready to hand out her lashing.
“I better step in,” I mumble, climbing down from the stool and heading in the direction of the bar when a high-pitched shriek rings out from near the front door. What now?
I see two girls, both probably mid-twenties, pushing each other.
“Bitch!” says one to the other as she snatches a fistful of hair and yanks the girl towards the floor. Heads are whipping, hair is flying, and I swear I can hear hissing.
I look back to the bar for some backup. Juice, putting his hands on the bar, lifts himself up and kicks his legs around, sliding off to the other side.
“Girl fight!” Murphy yells, cupping his mouth. Clearly he isn’t planning to help the situation. I’ll deal with him later.
Braden is already on his feet and running to the girls when there’s a crash and the clear sounds of glass shattering.
I look in the direction and see that another fight has broken out between two men. One of them throws a beer bottle, which connects with the wall above the jukebox. Fucking hell.
Braden and Juice run in their direction and I head over to the cat fight.
By the time I get to the girls, they are slapping each other, pulling hair, and scratching.
“Stop!” I yell.
“Fuck off!” one screams, and I’m not sure if that’s directed at me or the girl she is pounding on.
I get closer, trying to figure out how I am going to separate them.
“This ain’t none of your business!” the other one shouts.
At that little crack, I seriously consider letting them maim each other.
I approach the men who are sitting on the stools, watching, and laughing at the fight. One is actually taking a video with his phone.
“Stop them!” I spat out, pointing to the two raging females who are losing clumps of hair at an alarming rate.
“Bite me! This ain’t your business!” one of them sneers at me. I am really getting tired of hearing that. He is a tall, rough-looking man. Dark hair greasy and unkempt, wearing a green John Deere shirt and camo pants. The look he is throwing at me is a bit scary, but tonight is the night that I’m not in the mood to be intimidated.
I get up close to them and declare, “It is my business when you all come into my bar and start your own version of female Fight Club in front of my customers.”
He lifts off the stool and gives me a head-to-toe once-over. I shiver at the disgusting look he is now giving me.
“Fuck off, bitch.”
Well, that snaps me out of it. Oh hell no.
“Did you just call me a bitch?” I shriek at creepy unkempt scary-looking dude.
He snarls at me again.
I move my eyes back to the females pummeling each other on the floor in front of me. These two girls are going to have a few bald spots with all of this hair pulling they’re doing to each other.
Their hate for each other is apparent, and this fight is only going to continue to escalate. For some reason, everyone loves a good cat fight, as not a single person has tried to intervene.
I guess I’m going in.
I peer over my shoulder and say in my most threatening seething voice, “I’ll deal with you in a minute.”
I try to pry them off of each other, but one girl’s hand claws at my arm. I can already see the jagged red welts forming where she scratched me.
I step around them and grab the taller one around the back of the neck. She stills and the other one slaps her in the face.
I release the girl and worm my way in between them, holding my arms out to stave them off while ducking my head to avoid getting hit in the face.
