Faint, twangy music greets us when we step inside. There’s a bar top lining the long wall to our right and a few tables to the left. Aiden and I stop in the doorway, scanning our eyes over the room. Two grey-haired men sit at one table, drinking silently; a group of guys at another, having some kind of loud, shouty conversation. The bartender leans back against the wall, watching a basketball game on a muted TV and stoically filing her nails. A customer before her is slumped down with his head on the counter.

The bartender notices us and straightens up.

“New faces! Don’t leave the door open. AC’s struggling as it is.”

Aiden lets the door swing shut behind us.

“Anything?” I ask, from the corner of my mouth.

“Not sure yet. We should go in, or this is going to look suspicious.”

The raucous conversation going on over at the table with the large group swells even louder. The bartender must be used to it, because she doesn’t even glance at them. Only watches us as we approach the bar top.

“What can I get you boys?” Her eyes narrow, traveling slowly over Aiden’s face, then mine. “First round’s on the house,” she adds, smiling, her head tipped to the side.

“Wow, Katie. How come I never get that kind of treatment?” slurs the half-conscious person folded over the bar. Aiden stops, and I do, too. We both turn at the same time.

“Of-fucking-course,” Aiden mutters.

“We’re good for now,” I tell Katie, before following Aiden down the row of stools to the far end of the bar. The person sitting there has his elbow on the bar and his forehead in his hand, a cocktail stirrer sticking out of his mouth. Aiden stops right before him, frowning.

“Ralph.”

The person looks up, and our suspicions are confirmed. Don’t know how we didn’t notice him right away, honestly. How many people in Ketterbridge have white-blonde hair? Ralph’s eyes are half-closed, his cheeks a stunning shade of red, his mouth upturned into the laziest approximation of a smile.

“Heyyyyy,” he croons, staring at us like we’re the funniest fucking thing that could have walked into the bar. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s Aiden! And his little sidekick.” He lets out a harsh laugh, and both Aiden and I wince at the sharp, alcoholic sting of his breath. “Katie, could I get another-?”

“No,” she says firmly, turning back to the basketball game. I get the sense that she’s still listening to our conversation, but then again, Ralph isn’t even trying to control his volume. It’s not like it’s hard.

“Where are Grant and Noah?” Aiden doesn't bother responding to Ralph’s terrible greeting.

“What, you’re telling me you don’t get a little fucking sick of those two sometimes?” Ralph hiccups, stumbling over every other word. He pauses, blinking at Aiden with an unpleasant smirk on his face. “Are you here to drink? You cracked even faster than I thought. I gave you two, maybe three more weeks?”

“Nope, not here for that,” Aiden answers, the annoyance plain on his face.

“S’what are you here for, then?”

Aiden turns away from Ralph to face me.

“Is he the one in trouble?” I whisper. “Or is he the one about to kill somebody? Cause I’d believe it.”

“I don’t know for sure.” Aiden keeps his voice low. The cover of the group of rowdy guys is turning out to be helpful. “But Ralph is very good at getting into trouble with no exit strategy, I wouldn’t be surprised-”

“What’re you guys talking about over there?” Ralph whines. He drops his hand to the bar top with a loud smack. “You two are always having these fucking conference calls beside me. Right beside me. Or not a call, it’s like a secret - secret messages. Like both of you should just shut up.”

“What do we do?” I ask Aiden, who chews his lip.

“We can take him and leave,” he suggests, and Katie perks up at once.

“Please tell me you two are here to take him away,” she says, shooting a dark look at the back of Ralph’s head.

“But then if it’s not him, we’ll have fucked up badly,” Aiden finishes, more quietly.

“Okay, how about this? We go put him in my car and then come back. Then you can listen again with him away from the bar, and we’ll know if-”

“I dunno what you two are talking about, but I’m not fuckin’ goin’ anywhere,” Ralph chimes in, tossing the stirrer down on the bar. He scoops up the glass closest to him - half full with some dark brown mixture that looks absolutely frightening - and takes a sip from it. “Bar’s still open, and I think I can coax two or three more drinks out of Katie before she kicks me to the curb.”

“I can hear you, moron,” she says, her eyes back on the TV.

“Oh, yes you are coming with us,” I tell Ralph, the tempo of my words picking up as anger starts to warm my cheeks. “Aiden walked into a bar for you, so the least you can do is walk out of the bar for him.”

“Piss off,” Ralph says, tilting his glass at me, and I could truly snap and start yelling, but Aiden closes a hand around my wrist. He gives me a tiny squeeze and lets go. I bite back the choice words I had lined up.

“Ralph, you’re clearly done for the night." I think I know where Aiden is going with this: alcohol poisoning can be fatal. That might be what we came here to prevent, but Ralph is an absolute machine when it comes to putting away alcohol. Somehow I doubt that’s the problem. “Let us take you-”

“No, thanks.” Ralph takes another gulp of his drink. “I’m all good.”

Katie sighs deeply. Aiden glances at me, and I shrug.

“Maybe he’s not the one we’re here for? Maybe something else is going to happ-?"

We both jump as the door flies open and crashes into the wall, sending the cheap decorative signs clattering. 

The doorway immediately fills up with people. They filter in one by one. I count them: six guys, fanned out in a line. I realize with a lurch to my stomach that the one in the middle has a baseball bat in his hand. He swings it up onto his shoulder as he breaks away from the little group.

Everyone in the bar is frozen, watching the newcomers as they survey the room. None of them appear to be happy friendly people. The one in the front has a slightly manic look in his eye, something sharklike about his face. The air in the room seems to compress at his presence.

“Why do I have a feeling like this guy is here for Ralph?” Aiden speaks just quietly enough so that only I can hear him.

“No,” I hiss back. “I mean, maybe not.”

“Ralph Lanham.” The man lifts the baseball bat from his shoulder and uses it to point at Ralph, who is propped up by one elbow at the moment. “Ralph. Fucking. Lanham.”

“Fine, you were right,” I whisper, and Aiden cringes.

Ralph half-falls off the barstool, catching himself at the last minute on the plasticky wood surface. Aiden seizes the back of his shirt and hauls him onto his feet.

“Cameron,” Ralph hiccups, his blurred gaze fixing on the man with the bat.

Aiden turns to the bartender, who has backed all the way up against the wall. “Katie,” he says. “Isn’t it just about time for your break?”

Katie doesn’t miss the hint. She scoops a purse out from under the countertop and vanishes through a white door behind the bar marked Staff Only. The men at the front door don’t even turn to watch her go. Cameron lowers the bat, grasps it in two hands like he’s gearing up to bash something in half.

"You really thought we wouldn't come for you?" His eyes are glued to Ralph's face, like he's evaluating which exact bones to break.

“What did you do?” Aiden hisses, and Ralph shrugs.

“Nothing.”

“You stole from the wrong fucking person, Lanham,” Cameron snarls, his caustic voice sharp and threatening. He takes a step forward, and suddenly Aiden’s hand is around my wrist again. He tugs my fingers, pulling me to stand behind him. I let him do it, growing fear making static run up and down my body.

“I didn’t steal shit,” Ralph drones, his every word slurred and only half-discernible. “Your boss is a sore fuckin’ loser. Teach him to bet with shit he doesn’t want to lose.”

“Shut up, Ralph!” I whisper-yell. “Just give them back whatever you stole!”

Ralph responds by sweeping his drink up off the bar and taking a deep gulp. He winds an arm back and slams the glass onto the floor, where it explodes into a shower of glinting shards. The remaining alcohol whips through the air, loosed from its glass. I close my eyes against the spray and gasp as a cold splash hits my chest. The remainder of the drink is all over me. The vile smell makes me curse, swatting at my shirt as if that’s going to help.

"Goddamnit, Ralph!"

The men at the door seem unperturbed.

“You guys wanna fuckin’ go?” Ralph does come-here gestures with both hands. Aiden keeps his eyes firmly on Cameron and company, but I see him covertly slap Ralph’s back - to no avail. Ralph can barely stand, but he holds out his arms like he welcomes this shit. 

I don’t need to do the math to see how completely outnumbered we are. I wonder if we could bolt for the staff door before Cameron starts swinging that bat.

The temptation to leave Ralph to his fate almost forms in my head before I quash it down. Potentially fatal, that’s what Aiden said. Eyeing up the men at the door, I can see how that would be so. For all our differences, I know that we can’t ditch Ralph the way he ditched us in the forest. Hopefully these guys aren’t as tough as they look.

As if in answer, Cameron flips the bat in his hand and jams it up at the ceiling. It impacts with the light fixture hanging there and shatters it, effectively halving the light in the bar. He doesn’t even blink as the destroyed bulb rains down onto his shoulders. 

He starts taking slow steps towards us, and the look on his face tells me he plans on enjoying this.

“Time to pay up, Lanham."

Cameron takes the bat in both hands, clearly preparing to take a good hard swing. He winds it back, and Ralph doesn’t even attempt to move. He’s still grinning like the whole thing is a joke, swaying on his feet.

I know that I should do something, but I don’t know what. Time seems to slow down as Cameron brings the bat around, on a collision course for Ralph’s face.

I don’t even see Aiden move. Suddenly he’s just there. He catches the wide end of the bat in one hand, seconds before it would have destroyed Ralph’s cheek. He uses his free hand to shove Ralph out of the way; I catch him by the armpits before he can collapse on the floor. Our white-blonde miscreant is skinny but tall, and I gasp under his weight.

Aiden, meanwhile, closes his hand around the thick end of the bat and uses it to drive the handle into Cameron’s chest, sending him staggering a few steps back. Aiden follows him, still holding on, his blue eyes dark and flashing. Everyone in the bar watches in silence, breaths held.

I remember something I’d forgotten, after a summer of Aiden only looking at me with kindness: he is terrifying. New Aiden is sweet, gentle - but this is old Aiden, pulled out of retirement for necessity’s sake. He unrolls to his full height, towering over Cameron, who is not a small man, himself. I can’t see the look on his face, but Cameron deflates beneath it: his eyes widen like he sees a meteor about to land on his head. One of the guys behind him steps forward, and Aiden casts his gaze in that direction. The would-be helper falls back, swallowing.

Aiden gives the bat another hard shove into Cameron’s chest, forcing him to take a few haphazard steps back. The bat comes away in Aiden’s hand; he flips it easily and catches it by the grippy handle. Gets a proper grip on it. His shoes crunch on the glass from the broken lightbulb.

“We’re leaving.” His low voice seems to make the whole room shiver. Through my daze, I realize that this is as much of a statement to Cameron as it is a directive to me. I awkwardly shove Ralph back up onto his feet, hook his arm over my shoulder so that he doesn’t fall again. We join Aiden, who is stopped before the door. The row of guys blocking it hasn’t budged. 

“Move,” Aiden demands. The man nearest to the door glances at Cameron, hesitates, and steps to the side.

“Ha, ha,” Ralph chortles, grinning like a maniac. “That’s fuckin’ right, that’s my boy!”

Cameron’s eyes glisten with dark rage as I half-drag Ralph towards the threshold. I can feel the hostility of the group pressing in on us, like a hand tightening its squeeze or a cold point of metal pressed against my spine.

“Just wait until your pretty-boy bodyguards aren’t around, Lanham,” he spits. “We’ll have back what you took.”

I force Ralph through the door before he can fuck up our escape with some stupid response. Aiden backs out after us, his fingers white-knuckled around the handle of the bat.

He closes the door directly in Cameron’s face.

~~~~

“We need to get out of here right now.” Aiden slips his free arm under Ralph’s other shoulder, lending me some support. Good news, because I was starting to lose my grip on him. “They’re not done yet. I can’t take on six guys by myself, and they’re going to remember that any second.”

“My car is all the way up the road,” I stammer, trying to get a hold of myself. “They’ll catch us.”

“Let’s take mine,” Ralph drawls, freeing himself from my arm. He reaches into his pocket and extracts a thick black automatic key. “S’right in the lot.”

“Which one, Ralph?” Aiden snatches the key from his hand.

“At the end.”

We maneuver Ralph around the row of cars with no small degree of difficulty. I can’t tell if I’m breathless from effort or fear by the time we reach the edge of the lot. Ralph seems to be barreling towards unconsciousness; his weight on my shoulder grows heavier and heavier, and his head sags lower and lower.

“Which car?” I ask, squinting through the darkness. Aiden presses the unlock button on the keys, and the last car in the lineup flashes its lights in response.

There are very few things that could stop me in my tracks during a flight from six people trying to kill us, but you know what - this does it.

“That’s not your car,” Aiden says.

“Oh, yes it is,” Ralph purrs, reviving. “Ain’t she a beaut?”

Slicked by the rain, half-hidden in the darkness, the car sits low to the ground: a shiny red Corvette.

“What. The. Fuck,” I sputter, just as the door of the bar flies open. Cameron and his friends pour out onto the wet gravel.

“LANHAM!” Cameron points across the lot at us. Apparently the bat in Aiden’s hands isn’t the only thing he brought along. Now he has a crowbar, of all fucking things.

Aiden turns back to the car and yanks open the passenger’s side door.

“For fuck’s sake, Ralph, this is a two-seater!” he groans, peering inside.

“Duh, it’s a Corvette.” Ralph shrugs his shoulders. “Guess we have to leave Keane.”

“Oh, my god.” Aiden grabs Ralph and practically throws him into the car. “If we survive this, I’m going to kill you myself. Get in the back. It’s your own fucking fault you have to ride cargo.”

“There’s no seat,” Ralph complains, climbing over the console.

“Too fucking bad!” Aiden straightens up and stares over my shoulder, his eyes wide. I turn and see what he sees: Cameron and his guys making for us, running.

“Jamie." Aiden strides around to the driver’s side. "In.”

I don’t need telling twice.