I opened my mouth to say…I didn’t know what, but movement to my left had my eyes drifting in that direction. I could feel myself pale as my eyes landed on my second boss, Joey, standing with his arms folded atop his beer gut, a scowl on his face and stains on his white apron. Hayes’ eyes followed mine, his body becoming alert. In a swift but calculated move, he shifted me behind him just as Joey called, “All right, fucker, when you came to me this morning with your threats and shit, I respected the hell out of you. Now, after seeing that bruise on my girl’s face, I’m going to give you ten seconds to get the hell off my property before I put three bullets in ya!”
“Jesus, Joey!” I hissed, coming to Hayes’ front. I moved to take a few steps closer to Joey, but Hayes hooked his fingers into theback of my skirt. “You cannot go around threatening to shoot people! You could get your damn business license taken away.” I threw my arms out. “I need this bartending gig to pay for my school, you know this!”
“Margo, you got a fucking shiner,” he quipped, reaching for something in the little storage shed by the back door. He pulled out his two-barrel shot gun and loaded it. “Now move so I can shoot him.”
Hayes spoke then. “Not a smart move.”
“Be quiet, Top Gun,” I snapped over my shoulder before pointing at the gun. “Where did you get that?”
Joey was just ten years older than me. His father had opened and run the bar until his death about six years ago. Heart attack, I think. According to Sarah and Michael, before his father passed, Joey was the life of the party, Astoria’s hottest bachelor. Everyone either wanted to be with him or be him. He had the world in the palm of his hand, thanks to his grandmother’s inheritance. Michael told me after I was hired that Joey blew all of the money within a month of his father’s funeral after not touching it since his eighteenth birthday. Partying, gambling, and drinking. He had plans for that money. Plans to travel, to start a new life outside of Astoria. His father’s death wasn’t in his plans, and it flipped his entire world upside down. Now, he spent his days running the bar, chasing after his father’s ghost, but he was a decent man.
He’d just had a bad stroke of luck, is all.
“I bought it.”
“Does Sheriff Humbly know you have a gun?” I questioned, raising a brow.
Joey looked to the ceiling. “Why do I have to hire the most difficult women in the world?”
“Stop talking to the fucking ceiling and put down the gun,” I ordered, reaching around to grab Hayes’ wrist, freeing myself.
Hayes, being fucking Superman, didn’t like that. The hand I pulled out of my skirt snapped around my waist and hauled me back into him. His lips were at my ear. “Don’t approach an emotional person with a loaded gun, Temper. Ever.”
“He’s gonna shoot you,” I quipped, turning to look up at him.
“I’m not too worried about it.”
I blinked.
“Margo, don’t tell me you forgave this sorry fuck of a man,” Joey groaned, running his free hand through his thinning hair.
“Hayes isn’t the one who hit me,” I snapped at him. “Put the damn gun down before I call Michael.”
Joey tipped the gun to Hayes. “He didn’t hit you?” he pressed.
“No!”
“Okay, then who did? Because I need to have a conversation with them.”
Joey and his big heart.
“It’s being handled,” Hayes assured, putting his hand at my lower back and guiding me toward the stairs.
“By who?” Joey demanded.
We stopped at the base of the stairs, and I watched Hayes look at Joey. Joey stared back for some time before he nodded. “Right.” He looked at me, putting the gun back into the shed. “You still planning on working tonight, or do I need to find someone to cover your shift?”
“I can work.” Hayes cleared his throat but said nothing, looking out to the water.
“Not saying this to offend you, babe, but is there a way you can cover that up? If not, I’m afraid some of the boat crews will go off the rails.”
That was true. Astoria fishermen didn’t play about women and children being hurt.
“I have cover-up,” I assured, giving him a smile.
“See you at seven. Don’t be late,” he called as I climbed the stairs, Hayes following closely behind.
Once inside, Hayes set his bag on the bench that sat underneath the living room window and turned to me. “I need your work schedules,” he declared as I shrugged off my purse, hanging it on the hook.