“I’m having fun!” he practically bellows. “Ya can’t stop a man from having fun.”
Several other patrons raise their eyebrows at that, but no one intervenes.
He’s already on the shit list at this point, and I keep an eye on him because I know, I justknowthere’s going to be a point where he has to get cut off. You get a sort of sixth sense for thiskind of thing if you’re in the business for long enough. Some people can hold their booze and stay level headed. Some people definitely can’t, and there’ve been a few nights over the years where someone’s gotten belligerent and ended up getting tossed out on their ass to sleep it off somewhere else.
So suffice to say it’s not a surprise when this dude decides to show his ass.
He’s flagged Harper down for another beer, and she comes over with his choice in her hand. She reaches across to serve him, but he chooses that moment to laugh loudly at something on the TV. Harper manages to contain her jump, being careful, but the bottle slips, rolling across the bar and smashing to the floor in a wave of broken glass and cold beer. The beer splashes up onto the guy’s boots and the bottom of his jeans, and just like that, his good mood is gone.
“Clumsy fucking bitch!” he snarls, jumping to his feet. “Y’shouldn’t be allowed to serve hardworking people if you can’t even keep a bottle in your fucking hand. Fuck!”
Harper opens her mouth, her eyes wide. “I?—”
“Worthless,” the ranch hand cuts in. His eyes scan her from head to toe, and there’s a cruel glint in them when he snorts. “Shoulda figured. Rejected Omegas can’t do anything right. That’s why you get fucking rejected.” His voice carries over the sudden silence of the bar, getting meaner with each word. “What the fuck are you staring at me for? Clean this shit up!”
Instead of putting him in his place, Harper drops her eyes to the wood of the bar. Her head dips, and she moves around the bar quickly, dropping to her knees. It’s that submissive conditioning kicking in, and it’s sickening to see her kneeling in front of this asshole. Especially while he stands over her, berating her while she mumbles apologies.
“I don’t want your fucking sorries,” he snaps. “I want a competent fucking bartender. Is that so much to ask? Don’t Ifucking deserve that after a long day of work? To be able to come here and?—”
Whatever else he was going to say is cut off.
Every inch of the Alpha instinct in me has flared to the surface, erupting from me in a wave. I get to my feet, rising to my full height. Every eye in the bar snaps to me, standing there with my badge on my chest and clear intent in my eyes. I don’t even think about it, just let the instinct carry me.
There’s a joke among the local teenagers who have gotten on the wrong side of me over the years that there’s a tone I can take that makes them wish they’d stayed home that night. “Sheriff voice” they call it, and I feel myself dropping into that register, with something extra lethal on top.
“What you deserve is to lower your fucking voice when you talk to my staff,” I say. My voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries. “And what you are going to do is get the fuck out of here before I do something you’re going to regret.”
The ranch hand goes pale immediately from the combination of… well, everything. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, but he doesn’t argue. He swallows hard, locked in place and trembling just a bit.
I narrow my eyes. “Now.”
That’s all it takes to have him scrambling, practically slipping in the beer in his haste to get away and get out.
When I look down at Harper, she’s still on her knees cleaning up beer and glass, but her eyes are trained on me now. She’s wide eyed and awestruck, that look that definitely says it’s been too long since someone has defended her, and she can’t quite believe someone’s done it now.
Something about that makes my stomach twist, and it’s a struggle to hold myself back so I don’t go after that asshole and finish what I started. I don’t like seeing her cowed, seeing her submissive for some fucker who doesn’t deserve it.
“All right,” I force out, my voice going back to normal. “Back to your drinks, people.”
Gradually, the chatter returns to the bar, and people continue their conversations and drinking. Harper keeps cleaning up, wiping the spilled beer around the glass, being careful. I go get the little hand broom and dust pan and drop down to help her.
Her head snaps up, and she stares at me. “What are you doing?”
“Cleaning up,” I reply shortly.
“Yeah, but—” She cuts herself off, biting her lip. “I can handle this. You don’t have to…”
“It’s fine.”
She looks at me for another beat and then drops her eyes back to the mess. We work quietly, and we’re almost done when she reaches forward at the same time I do. Our fingers brush, and the split second of contact sends heat shooting through me.
Harper jerks her hand back fast, like she’s been burned.
“Thank you,” she murmurs finally. “For—thank you.”
I just nod back because I don’t trust myself to say the right thing here.
Chapter 5