“Guess unlike some people, he knew what was good for him.” Chester’s head swiveled to face me.
“Guess so.” My voice sounded raw. Scraped, like I felt inside.
He was smart to get out of here. Plenty of people had already told me I was a fool for sticking around Hartley. For refusing to let these lowlifes push me out of my home. The diner was all I had.
But I was used to being alone.Fightingalone.
I stuck my chin out and glared. “Your turn. Get out of my restaurant.”
“I’m sick of that smug, stuck-up attitude.” Chester’s hand cinched around my arm. He dragged me through the door to the kitchen. The hinge thumped as it swung. Back and forth.
He pushed me against the ovens. On the stove, the pot of lamb stew simmered. His brothers had stayed out front. Probably keeping watch. But Chester had me in the part of the kitchen that was out of sight of the street.
“Seems like you need to be taught a lesson about knowing your place.” Reaching out, Chester swept a baking sheet of tarts off the opposite counter. They smacked onto the floor, and I cringed, thinking of that lemon curd I’d spent hours on.
“You’re threatening to put me in the hospital again?” I hissed. “Like Jeremy did?”
“Just keep talking. Keep running your mouth.”
“Remember what I did to him? They had to stitch him up before he went to jail. And I’ll do the same to you by the time this is finished.”
Chester raised his hand. His palm was open, which was good. It would hurt less. I braced myself.
Then a huge shape loomed out of nowhere, moving so fast he was a blur on my periphery.
Chester flew away from me. He slammed into the refrigerator so hard that it left a divot in the stainless steel. He slumped onto the ground, nose gushing blood. He was out cold.
And my nameless customer towered over him, broad chest moving as he breathed. His face was completely blank except for his eyes. Those gleamed like polished obsidian.
Chester’s brothers shouted and cursed. The next oldest after Chester—Mitch—ran through the swinging door.
“Back away,” my customer growled. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Listen to him, Mitch,” I said.
Mitch charged.
My customer grabbed the handle of a chef’s knife and pulled it from the block, already swinging. The knife blade slashed. Whined as it rent the air. A long, thin cut appeared in Mitch’s sweatshirt and the tee beneath. A stripe of red welled from his now-exposed skin. Shallow, but a good six inches across.
Mitch stared at his stomach in shock. He made a keening sound.
My customer shifted his weight, balancing the knife in his hand. “Second warning. Need a third?”
I was holding my last inhale, leaning against the ovens. Chester’s nose made a wet noise as he breathed, passed out on the floor.
“I don’t need this shit,” Mitch muttered. He fled and nearly bowled over his younger brother on his way. “Let’s go. We’ll deal with her later.”
“But what about Ches—”
“Later.”
Both men careened for the exit. The bell rang shrilly.
“They forgot their fearless leader.” My customer bent over and grasped Chester by the back of the collar. He dragged Chester like a rag doll through the swinging door. Then outside into the snow, where he dumped the unconscious man unceremoniously onto the icy curb.
Finally, my limbs unfroze, and I sucked in a breath.
Oh, hell. This was bad.
