Chapter Four

Zamsii

It’s too fucking early. My head pounds as my alarm goes off again. Flinging the stupid old clock across the room, I bury my face in the pillow, seeing the smudges of my makeup there that I couldn’t be bothered to take off last night when I crawled into bed after a shot of Jack.

But the alarm goes off again, and thanks to my half-asleep brain, it’s now across the room. Sliding from the bed, I crawl over to it and smash it into the floor, groaning when it shatters. But at least the noise stops. I flop to my back in nothing but my panties and a tank top, then I debate calling Scott in to set up today and cover the dinner shift.

But he struggles by himself, so it is. Defeated, I climb to my feet and flick on the radio, rock pounding out as I head to the shower. Stripping as I go, I turn on the spray and wait for it to warm up. I frown and look at the tangled mess which is my hair, shrugging before throwing it up in a bun. No way am I washing that rat’s nest, it takes too long. That’s why dry shampoo is a girl’s best friend.

I have a quick shower, scrubbing my tattoo-covered skin. That reminds me, I’ve got another one booked next week with Ezekiel to finish off the roses across my thigh and the mandala pattern. The sleeve on my left arm is done and took four whole, eight hour sittings. But it was worth it, not that the pain bothers me. In fact, I can admit to myself I even like it. Especially at the hands of the hunk who’s doing it.

Flicking off the water, I climb from the shower and wrap a fluffy towel around my body before brushing my teeth and moisturizing. I manage to get a brush through my hair, and it decides to lie nicely for once and hang straight after I dry shampoo it to hell. I take more time with my makeup, applying my signature red lipstick, dark liner, and eyeshadow, making my brown eyes pop. Some call me a typical rocker chick, fuck, I even have the piercings to go along with the tats and makeup.

It started out as a form of rebellion, a way to piss off my asshole father before I ran away. Then I grew to love this look and, well, now? Now it’s just me. But that’s enough dredging up ghosts from my past before breakfast. Letting the towel drop to the floor, I head into my bedroom again and get dressed. I slip into matching red, front closing bra and panties. My one vice...well, that and band merch.

I add a signed tour shirt from The Killers and tie it at the side before slipping into some tattered black shorts and my trusty high-heeled biker boots. Checking myself out in the mirror once more, I grab my keys and head out, locking up behind me. I trudge down the stairs and flick on the lights in the bar.

I saunter through the kitchen and check the alley, but it seems the assholes from last night got picked up. It makes me wonder who they were, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone has jumped me. Nor the last, I’m betting. I leave the back door unlocked for Cook and return to the front.

I turn on the jukebox and get to restocking and tidying up, mad as hell when I have to throw the broken stool out back. One goddamn rule. Jumping me I can understand, but breaking my furniture? Not fucking cool.

Right on time, I hear the telltale rumble of Rancho’s bike as he pulls up out back, and it makes me smile, least I know he’ll feed me…unlike Gilder, who works weekends, bastard is colder than a snake, even to me, who pays his bills and employs his ex-con ass.

I meet Rancho at the back door, smiling sweetly at him as he swings off his Harley. He groans. “Let me guess, sausage with ketchup?”

“You’re a doll.” I blow him a kiss, but he stops dead when he sees the broken stool lying on the ground.

His head comes up slowly, his eyes widening. “Fuck, is he dead?”

“What?” I ask, way too tired for this.

“The man who broke the stool?” he queries seriously, making me laugh.

“He wishes he was, don’t worry.”

Rancho chuckles and claps me on the shoulder. “Greg would be proud, kid. Go on, get started out front, I’ll make you some food.”

My heart cracks at the mention of Greg, but I brush it off, and with a now cheery smile at Rancho, I head to the front. By the time the smell of sizzling meat wafts to me, I’m set up and ready, so when Rancho pushes through the door, juggling two plates, I almost fall to my knees and worship him.

That’s the way to my heart right there, food…or maybe just into my panties. We sit at one of the tables, my elbows sticking to the wood as I scarf down my breakfast, just as there’s a knock at the door.

“Uh-oh, that’s all you, kid,” Rancho murmurs with his mouth full, as he grabs both plates and heads back to the kitchen. Sighing, I march over to the door and yank it open.

“Sign says shut, asshole,” I snarl, and then roll my eyes when I see who’s on the other side. “Frederick.”

“You really shouldn’t talk to cops like that.” He smiles and looks behind me. “Going to let me in, Zamsii?”

“No,” I snap, crossing my arms. “What’s a matter? I heard or saw nothing before you even ask.”

He raises his eyebrow, his fingers going to his trouser buckle. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“Yeah, well, I know the routine. I ain’t pissing off my customers, so no. I don’t know them, I don’t know where they live, and I sure as shit don’t know if they did it.”

He shakes his head. “Not why I’m here this time, it’s about the guys last night.”

“Oh, you got them?” I ask, taking down the defensive attitude just a notch.

“We did, but within two hours, they were bailed out. High friends, if you get my meaning. I don’t know who you’re messing with, but when the chief tells me to stay clear of them, I do as I’m told. So should you.”

“Wait, they got bailed? Who the fuck are those guys? I thought they were just lowlifes.”

He winces. “Definitely not. You’ve pissed someone off, Zamsii. Better figure out who before I’m cleaning your remains up off the street. Or better yet, get gone. On a plane as far as I’m concerned. Have a good day.” He nods, looking around before scurrying back to his car.

Fuck. Gazing around like the paranoid copper, I slam the door and lock it, putting my back to it. Calm down, Zamsii, you’ve had worse. Whoever it is, is just trying to scare you…but to have the cops spooked and in your pocket?

He’s right, high places.

Maybe it would be best to leave, but fuck, this is my home! My goddamn bar. No. Shaking my head, I push away from the door. Ain’t nobody scaring me away from here, high places or not.

Prowling to the bar, I pour myself a shot and neck it before slamming the glass to the wood. Get it together, Zamsii, ain’t no man making me run. I did it once, never again. This is my life now, I either stand and fight or die. No other options.

Decision made, I throw another shot back before turning on the speakers, letting the music pump through the bar before unlocking the door. It’s opening time, and threat hanging over my head or not, I gotta work.

I’ll ask around later, though, see what I can hear. If anybody knows something, it’s the people who come here to drink away the darkness.

I’m busy after that, the place filling up, and I have no time to think on what someone wants me for. It’s mainly food orders with beer, so I’m just pulling a pint when the door swings open, revealing four newcomers.

Four people who definitely don’t belong here.