Roxy's POV
"Alright, alright, I get it. You're the
prettiest butterfly in the butterfly
farm." I nod seriously as I grip
Henry's shoulder and press him down, helping
him into the cab. "See you tomorrow, Henry. Try
not to choke on your own vomit." I chuckle as I
slam the door shut. Heading to the front, I pass
the driver some money and tell him Henry's
address.
As a regular, he's here every night. I asked
him once why he drank. Honestly, I didn't expect
an answer. The poor bastard's daughter died a
few years back. Murdered. Ever since, he drowns
his sorrows, and I make sure he gets home okay.
He might be a drunk, but I have a soft spot for
him. I can see the pain in his eyes, and any father
who cares that much about his daughter is a good
man. But maybe that's my own daddy complex
talking.
Turning back to my bar, I grin at the exterior.
She ain't much to look at, but she's all mine.
"Roxers," written in bright red LED letters, hangs
above the door which has seen better days. She's
rundown for sure, a dive, but she's one hell of a
place to drink. The outside looks like an old cabin
of some kind. Made from wood and mismatched
brick. She has a porch wrapped all the way
around where the patrons all smoke, with bike
spaces in front of her. The two swinging doors are
unlocked at the moment, and the filthy windows
leave you unable to look inside.
We get all types here-truckers, bikers, crimi-
nals. Everyone is welcome. There's only one rule -don't break the fucking furniture. It's an old
rule, put into place before I even owned it, I just
carried on the tradition. The sandy parking lot is
empty, apart from my beat-up muscle car that I
won in a bet, so I head back inside, flicking off
the sign as I go so everyone knows we're closed.
It's early, almost time for the sun to come up.
I guess owning a bar makes me a nocturnal crea-
ture, I did always prefer the night and all the fun
that comes with it. Sighing, I brush back my
silver hair and put it in a quick ponytail as I start
to close up. I sent Travis home earlier, his
grandma is sick and needed his help, so clean up
is on me now. Picking up one of the mismatched
chairs, I lay it on the table before collecting the
glasses, as many as I can.
I head towards the back, past the pool tables
and dartboards, and march up the stairs to the
left. I push open the kitchen door with my hip
and rinse the glasses before running them
through the washer. Flicking off the kitchen light,
I walk back into the bar area to mop the floor, not
that it stops it from being a sticky mess you
wouldn't want to walk on with bare feet, but it's
a habit.
To my left is the old bar, the top made from
beer tops set in resin, a gift. It's clear of bottles at
the moment, the differing stools empty before it.
The old, wooden shelves hold every type of liquor
you can imagine and the kegs waiting to be filled.
I already sorted the bar and cash register
while Henry was pretending to be a butterfly, so
not much more to do now before I can collapse
into bed. Fuck, I need to find a new bartender. It's hard finding one with experience who will last
here though. They either speak too freely or fall
in with the bad crowd. Yeah, you can't look on a
job website for this one, folks.
The last one we had was sent to jail for
murder. Yeah, that's the kind of place it is.
Although, I gotta say, I miss the old bastard, he
played a mean hand of poker. I stop when I pass
the door, and it swings shut behind me.
There, in my bar, are four massive men.
Tattoos cover their knuckles and necks, one even
has his head shaved. Unsavoury sorts, of course,
but that ain't different from the usual around
here. Their clothing is all black, and I narrow my
eyes, assessing them quickly.
"We're closed."
tell them, hoping they will take a hint.
Fucking sloppy, I didn't lock the door. That's
what pulling pints and breaking up fights for
fourteen days straight will do to you. I'm in
desperate need of a day off, and now these
assholes waltz in here like they own the joint.
One cracks his knuckles as they all smirk at
me. If they think that will scare me, they should
think again. I drink beer with men who would
make these guys piss themselves, and I usually
drink them under the table.
Everyone knows Roxers, and everyone knows
me.and not to fuck with me. There's a reason
they all call me Swinger, and it ain't 'cause I go to
sex parties. Sliding closer to the bar, I slip my
hand behind it, connecting with the smooth wood
of my trusty bat, the bitch smacker. "I said we're
closed. Better get out, boys.
"Or what?" one of them challenges as he steps forward. The fucker has a scar right across his
eyelid. "Going to cry for help?" He laughs, and
the others join in.
Rolling my eyes, I pull out my bat and rest it
on my shoulder.
"No, I'll break your fucking
kneecaps and toss you outside like the garbage
you are. Now, one more warning-we're closed."
They share looks again.
"Is this broad serious?"
"Broad?" I snap, low and deadly as I step
closer.
"Did you just call me a broad?"
They ignore me, of course, so I palm my bat.
That prick gets it first. Ain't nobody insulting me
in my own bar, that's just plain rude.
Heading their way while they're still arguing
about how best to grab me, I swing, letting the
full force of the bat hit the asshole's knees. He
crumples to the floor, a scream erupting from his
throat as I smirk down at him from my five foot
six frame-well, five foot nine with my biker
boots. "Want to call me a broad again?"
"Fucking get her!" he wheezes, so I kick him
in the balls, making him fall back with a cry as I
turn to face the others, ducking their grabbing
hands. putting it on a nearby table. Propping my hands
on my hips, I sigh at the sight before me. Now
how the hell do I get them out?
Resigned, I grab one of their collars and start
to tug, but he's a big bastard, so I pick one of the
smaller guys first. Bending, I hoist my hands
under his shoulders and grunt as I yank him
towards the door.
The door that's swinging open.
I lift my head, blowing my hair from my face,
and drop the guy I'm trying to drag to the door.
Travis stands there, open-mouthed. He's still in
this black Roxers shirt, which is tucked into blue
jeans, and boots, his deceptively thin frame shiv-
ering from the cold. He flips his blue hair from
his face, his green eyes peering at me. "Jesus,
Roxy, what the fuck happened?"
"That one called me a broad, that one broke
the furniture, I didn't like the other two's faces." I
shrug, wiping away the sweat on my brow with
my arm.
"Whatcha doing here?"
"Forgot my key," he murmurs, looking at my handiwork.
"Good, you can help me toss these assholes
outside." I grin, and he shakes his head.
"Never a dull day with you, babe." He drops
his bag, though, and heads my way. With his
help, it only takes me five minutes to toss them
into the alley out back. Dusting off my hands, I
head back inside, making sure to lock the door
this time as I dial the local police. I'm going to
tell them what happened and where the guys are,
no doubt they will get spooked at the sirens and
run..if they wake up.
Swinging my bat, I hit one of them right in
the junk, and he goes down hard, so I bring up
my knee and smash it into his nose, hearing the
crack as it bursts like a peach. Fuck, now there's
blood on my floor. I just mopped!
Angry now, I swing like a woman possessed as
the other two duck and dive, trying to stay out of
my path. One of them falls onto a stool, smashing it beneath his gigantic frame. I freeze, my eyes
narrowing dangerously, and he scampers backwards.
"Did you just break my stool?" I seethe.
He gulps as I fling myself at him with a Brave-
heart worthy war cry. I smack him with the bat,
making him grunt. He punches his fist out as I
kneel down to get his face. It connects with my
jaw, and my head jerks to the side, blood filling
my mouth.
Deadly fury fills me.
Turning back slowly, I glare down at him and
he knows he fucked up. Just then, arms come
around me from behind, hoisting me to my feet.
Smashing my head back, I connect with the guy's
chin, stomping on his foot as I elbow his junk and
slip out of his hold while he grunts in pain.
Thank you very much, Miss Congeniality.
Lining up my bat, I swing, hitting him square
in the face. He actually flies backwards from the
force,
landing hard on the floor and almost
shaking the building. He stays down. One to go. I
turn back to the guy who broke my stool. He's
just getting to his feet, so I kick them out from
under him, sweeping my leg as I bring my bat
down across his spine.
He slumps forward, so I smash it down on the
back of his head. Whistling, I look around to see
the first guy struggling to his feet, so I throw my
bat at him, and it does as its name suggests-
-hits the bitch. He's out cold.
Stomping through the mess and their bodies, I
pick up my bat and wipe it on his shirt before putting it on a nearby table. Propping my hands
on my hips, I sigh at the sight before me. Now
how the hell do I get them out?
Resigned, I grab one of their collars and start
to tug, but he's a big bastard, so I pick one of the
smaller guys first. Bending, I hoist my hands
under his shoulders and grunt as I yank him
towards the door.
The door that's swinging open.
I lift my head, blowing my hair from my face,
and drop the guy I'm trying to drag to the door.
Travis stands there, open-mouthed. He's still in
this black Roxers shirt, which is tucked into blue
jeans, and boots, his deceptively thin frame shiv-
ering from the cold. He flips his blue hair from
his face, his green eyes peering at me. "Jesus,
Roxy, what the fuck happened?"
"That one called me a broad, that one broke
the furniture, I didn't like the other two's faces." I
shrug, wiping away the sweat on my brow with
my arm.
"Whatcha doing here?"
"Forgot my key," he murmurs, looking at my handiwork.
"Good, you can help me toss these assholes
outside." I grin, and he shakes his head.
"Never a dull day with you, babe." He drops
his bag, though, and heads my way. With his
help, it only takes me five minutes to toss them
into the alley out back. Dusting off my hands, I
head back inside, making sure to lock the door
this time as I dial the local police. I'm going to
tell them what happened and where the guys are,
no doubt they will get spooked at the sirens and
run..if they wake up. Travis lifts his finger, showing me his keys as I lean against the bar.'
"You going to be okay?" he
mouths.
I nod and wave him away as someone finally
answers, then I relay the information before
hanging up, ignoring the questions they sputter
at me.
"Sure thing, tell your grandma I said hi.
I'm going to shower and sleep.
"See you tomorrow, babe." He snorts as he
leaves.
I lock up behind him, putting the deadbolts
and chains in place before heading past the bar
and turning off the lights. I activate the alarm and head down the corridor, past the office and
toilets, and up the stairs at the back to my place
above the bar, where I have lived since I was
seventeen.
I really need a day off.
