Free SIX by Ker Dukey Page B

about her mom only babysitting once in a blue moon unless it was for work.
    Gulping down a shot of tequila for liquid courage, I descend the stairs to the bar, careful not to fall on my face in these heels.
    The music is heavy tonight and the bar is packed, so I’m hoping I can slip in and out with Parker in tow while everyone else remains none the wiser.
    Kate and Samuel, our part time bartenders, are covering for us tonight. Most people hate the smell of alcohol and sweat, but oddly, it’s comforting to me and reminds me of my dad.
    The bar is packed and that smell it potent in the air.
    A guy I don’t recognize blocks my path toward Parker.
    “Hey there, gorgeous,” he slurs.
    I nod in response and try to push past him, but he grabs me, his hand helping itself to a palm full of my ass.
    Pushing against his chest, I fight to get free.
    I hated over-intoxicated men acting stupid because drink poisons their bloodstream.
    “Hey, man, I don’t think she likes that,” another guy tells him, grabbing at his arm, but the drunk guy manages to keep me pinned to him with one arm and knocks the other guy to the floor with his other.
    “You can’t behave like that in here,” I shout.
    Before I can say anything else, Six is here, grabbing the guy around the throat with one hand. Lifting him to his tiptoes, he forces him backwards.
    The man crashes through a table and on to the floor.
    Someone kills the music and a couple women sitting at said table scream and jump up as their drinks shower the perv.
    A flick of metal chimes and I glance toward the sound to see Six holding a pocketknife he didn’t have earlier.
    Gasps echo through the bar and I grab Six’s arm as he takes a step toward the mess on the floor.
    “What are you doing?” I ask, my words coming out more frightened than I intended, but I am scared—for Six.
    If he does something reckless in the heat of the moment, he’ll regret it.
    He shakes my hand off his arm and bends down over the guy.
    A pool of red liquid oozes from a small cross Six carves into his forehead. “You’re barred,” he snarls.
    Bodies shuffle around as people leave and others go on enjoying their night like nothing happened.
    I don’t know whether to mention the barbaric action or get the hell out of here and pretend it didn’t happen.
    “He’s so scary,” Parker whisper-yells in my ear. “Who does that?” she asks, shaking her head. “I’m so glad he and I are friends.”
    “That guy was out of line,” I defend.
    “Agreed, but come on, what’s with the carving shit?” She knocks her teeth together and shivers.
    “So we know who he is if he tries to come back in?” I sound pathetic.
    There really is no excuse for what Six did, but I’m not going to talk bad about him or let anyone else. He did what he thought was right: protecting me from a grabby asshole.
     

     
    Still in my dress, I’m standing in the bar watching Jimmy scorn Six.
    When the police arrived, everyone else cleared out and we were ordered to shut down for the night.
    Parker tried to make me slip out with her still, but I couldn’t in good conscience, so here I am being stared at by Lucky with a cocksure smile nearly reaching his ears.
    “You can’t go around cutting people up!” Jimmy shouts.
    Six has his arms folded and his frame casts a shadow over Jimmy.
    If it were anyone else, they’d be cowering, but he looks menacing and pissed.
    His eyes burn into me and I fidget under their heated glare.
    “It’s not like he actually cut him up, though. It’s a scratch,” Jude defends, gaining a laugh from Lucky.
    “He sliced a cross into a man’s face.”
    “A little one.” Jude lifts a shoulder, nonchalant.
    “Whose side are you on? You’re a man of the law.”
    “I know, and I know sometimes assholes have what’s coming to them.”
    Throwing his hands up in the air and pointing his finger into Six’s chest, which earns him a growl in response, he narrows his eyes.
    “There’s only so much