Page 1 of The Bad Brother

T HE SHRILL WHISTLE THAT ERUPTS FROM the dance floor picks my head up and tightens the back of my neck.

Shit.

Can’t go a single fucking night in this place without someone trying to bust it up.

“You want me to handle it, boss?” Austin, my bouncer shouts over the din from the front door where he’s checking IDs.

Planting my hands on the bar top, I vault over it, landing in the wide patch that opened up when the people crowded around it saw me coming. “I got it.”

“Want me to call Colt?” Cade, the other bartender on duty shouts at my back. Colt Montgomery is Cade’s twin brother. He also happens to be the sheriff. “Nope.” I toss it over my shoulder before I wade into the crowd.

Even though the place is big and packed close to capacity, getting from the bar to the dance floor doesn’t take me more than a couple seconds. Most of the people in here are from Barrett. They know me. Know I own this place. That I’m not someone you want to mess with.

When I get to the dance floor, I find the source of the whistle, Sera—Colt and Cade’s sister and one of my waitresses—using her empty tray as a shield while two of my regulars circle each other on a cleared-out dance floor.

Would-be dancers crowd around the edges of it, watching the spectacle these two asshats were stupid and / or drunk enough to start in my bar.

One of them is brandishing a broken beer bottle while the other has his fists raised, not willing to be called a coward and back down—a sure fire sign that whatever the hell is going on, it started over a woman.

Jesus wept.

Picking up a chair, I push my way through the tight knot of looky-loos and lift it like a baseball bat, just as I step onto the dance floor behind the asshole with the beer bottle.

When he sees me coming, his dance partner’s eyes widen and he drops his fists, a split second before I swing for the fences, bringing the chair across Mr. Beer Bottle’s back.

He goes sailing before he lands on his face, cowboy hat flying in one direction while his broken beer bottle flies in the other.

Chair in a one-handed grip, I use the other to jab a finger at his opponent’s ashen face. “Don’t you move, Jake,” I tell him while I cross the dance floor to where his dance partner is still sprawled out, face first. “Not one fucking inch.”

“Yes, sir.” Jake bobs his head while he relaxes his fists, shooting a quick look at a curvy little redhead in a tight pair of jeans. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Satisfied that Jake’s staying put, I stop in front of his opponent and use the toe of my boot to roll him over before dropping the chair over his wheezing chest. Straddling it, I sit, glaring down at Mr. Beer Bottle over its bent back while trapping his arms under the hard press of my boots.

“Want to tell me what the fuck you’re doing, Billy? ”

As soon as Billy sees who’s staring down at him, his face goes from beet red to ghost white so fast, I’m suddenly sure he’s going to pass out without giving me my answer.

Darting a quick look in the redhead’s direction, the muscle in Billy’s jaw clenches before he re-aims his bloodshot gaze in my direction. “He was dancing with my girl.”

I look at the woman in question, giving her a well? sort of look.

“We broke up,” she answers defensively, lifting her arms to cross them over her chest.

Sighing, I swipe a heavy hand over my face. “When?”

Eyes narrowed down to slits, she glares at Billy. “Just now, when I caught him in the parking lot, getting blown by some creeker.”

Creeker —shorthand for the people who live in Clearwater Creek, the affluent town on the other side of the river Barrett was built on.

There are very few places in Barrett that a creeker would stoop low enough to go.

Unfortunately, my bar is one of them.

Nailing her with a hard glare that makes her squirm in her boots, I refocus my attention on Billy who’s still trapped under my chair. “Sounds like she’s not your girl anymore, Billy.”

“But—”

Lifting my index finger, I press it to my lips. “ Shhh …” Dropping my hand, I shake my head. “I said, sounds like she’s not your girl anymore, Billy .”

His face goes red again. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s better,” Giving him a grim smile, I shake my head.

“Now, what’s the rule about fighting in my bar?”

Billy swallows hard and looks away. “Take it downstairs.”

Downstairs is the Mill’s dirt-floored basement.

Back in the day, it was used to load timber into the mill for processing.

Now it’s used for illegal, bare-knuckle grudge matches that people can pay to watch or bet on if they have a mind to.

But that’s not the only way to get things done around here. “Or?”

“Take it outside.”

I press my boot heels into the crooks of his elbows, grinding their joints into the hardwood floor. “ And ?”

Teeth gritted against the tears that are prickling against the corner of his eyes, Billy shakes his head, his dirty blond hair scrubbing against the dance floor. “No weapons.”

I press my boot heels a little harder. “ And ?”

Billy swallows hard before forcing himself to look at me.

“You fight winner.”

“ I fight winner .” I say it loud enough so the whole bar can hear me. It wasn’t that loud. It’s so quiet in here, I can hear every single one of them breathing. “Is that what you want, Billy? You want to fight me? ”

His color slips again, bleary blue eyes widening to the point I’m sure they’re about to pop out of his head. “No, sir.”

That’s right.

No, sir.

No one in this place wants a piece of me because they know I’ll make them choke on it.

“That’s a relief,” I say, aiming a wide, deceptively friendly grin in his direction.

“Because if you wanted to fight me that would mean we can’t be friends anymore.

” I shake my head like the thought upsets me.

“I’d hate to think you and I had to stop being friends because you were stupid enough to get caught with your dick in some creeker’s mouth in my parking lot. ”

I ignore what they’re all thinking but are either too smart or too chicken shit to say out loud.

I’m a creeker.

No matter how long I’ve lived on this side of the river, how many times they get drunk in my bar, or how scared of me they all are, that’s what I am.

A creeker.

And they all know it.

“No, sir.” Billy shakes his head again, eyes still bulged out of his head. “I mean, yes, sir.”

“Good.” Slowly killing my smile, I let up on the pressure I’m putting on his elbows. “Now, repeat after me— I fucked up .”

Swallowing hard, Billy opens his mouth. “I fucked up.”

Looking up, I find the redhead still standing a few feet away. “What’s your name?”

Shifting from one boot to the other, she looks around like she’s not sure who I’m talking to before she figures it out and answers me. “Summer.”

Giving her a satisfied nod, I look down at Billy again. “ Summer was right to break up with me .”

Billy stares at me for a second before he remembers what we’re doing. “Summer was right to break up with me.”

“ I don’t own her .”

His entire body tenses and I’m sure he’s going to make me drag him outside and put him through the side of someone’s truck. Like I said it out loud, as soon as I think it, Billy relaxes. “I don’t own her.”

“ She can dance with whoever she wants .”

Rebellion over, Billy nods his head. “She can dance with whoever she wants.”

“ If I start shit in his bar again, Jensen Barrett is going to shove my head up my own ass .”

Swallowing hard at the thought, Billy looks away in an attempt to save face. “If I start shit in his bar again, Jensen Barrett is going to shove my head up my own ass.”

“Excellent.” Looking at Jake, I tip my chin at Summer. “Be a gentleman and take her home,” I instruct him, leaning heavy on the gentleman, making it clear that if I hear that he was anything but, I’ll make him sorry for it.

“Yes, sir.” Jake bobs his head before taking Summer gently by the arm and escorting her off the dance floor.

As soon as they’re gone, I stand from my seat and lift the chair off Billy’s chest. “Come on.” Reaching down, I offer him a hand up.

He hesitates for a second before he takes it.

As soon as he’s on his feet, the noise starts again, murmurs and whispers accompanied by the scrape of chair legs while people reclaim their seats.

On his feet again, Billy stoops down to retrieve his cowboy hat. “Sorry, sir.” He mumbles it while turning it in a nervous circle around his hands.

“We’re friends again, Billy,” I say, even though we both know we aren’t. “You call me Jensen.”

“Okay.” He gives me a head bob before settling his cowboy hat back in place. “I’m sorry, Jensen.”

“Not half as sorry as you’ll be if I hear that you’re harassing that woman,” I warn him, making it clear that my protection reaches far outside the walls surrounding my bar. “You leave her be. If she’s stupid enough to forgive you, she’ll let you know.”

Face flushed with embarrassment, Billy gives me another head bob. “Alright.”

“Go on home,” I jerk my chin at the back door.

“I don’t want to see you in here for the rest of the weekend.

Don’t make me call your sister.” Billy’s older sister, Reese, is one of Colt’s deputies.

I might scare the shit out of him, but his big sister will put his nuts in a vice if I tell her he was starting trouble in my bar.

Billy mumbles another okay before he turns on his boot heel and practically runs for the back parking lot where his truck is parked.

Just another Friday night in Barrett. It’s not even nine o’clock and I’m ready to call it and kick every last one of them out.

Picking up my chair, I carry it back to the table I stole it from, its back woefully bent. Offering it to the woman it obviously belongs to, I give her a smile before addressing the table. “Sorry about that—why don’t you come see me at the bar for a round on the house.”

Before she can get her hopes up that I’m flirting with her, I look at the stage where the band is still waiting for my okay to start playing again.

Giving brief consideration again to shutting it all down for the night, I decide against it.

Can’t make money in an empty bar.

Giving the band the signal they’re waiting for, I walk away while the first strains of a George Strait cover pushes me back to the bar.