Page 4 of Property of Sugar
Him.
Him.
When I got close to the road, I pulled my shirt and beanie off at the same time, shoving the hat into my pocket and tying the shirt around my waist. Then I took my hair down and shook it out, hoping I looked like a completely different person as I walked across the street to my car.
FOUR
SUGAR
The night was dragging by, and I still had several hours left of my shift. Some nights at Liquid Anarchy were nonstop and some were boring as fuck, but most were somewhere in the middle.
Since we only had a few customers and no one had come in for a while, I left my spot by the door and moved to sit behind the bar with Bush and Bean.
“Are you gonna close early if it clears out?” I asked Bush. He’d been the manager of Liquid Anarchy since Whisker became president.
“I was thinking about kicking these fuckers out and closing early. It looked like shit when I was outside earlier.”
A kona low was headed our way, which is why the bar and most of the hotel were empty. Most of the guests at Charli’s Place had heeded our warnings and gone home early. There were only one or two stragglers.
“Fuck,” I groaned when my phone rang.
“Someone’s walking around outside the rooms,” Hamster said as soon as I answered. “It’s not one of the guests.”
“On my way.” I got to my feet and clapped Bush on the shoulder as I passed. “I’ll be right back.”
He chuckled. “Another one?”
“The fifth one,” I deadpanned. Hamster called as soon as he saw something unexpected on the cameras. “It’s probably another lost escort.” We didn’t have issues with people coming onto our property uninvited because nobody fucked with the Kings.
Admittedly, I was in no hurry as I walked across the street to Charli’s Place. I’d yet to get a call from Hamster that amounted to anything. He was lucky I even picked up.
When I saw a person dressed in all black standing outside room four, I was completely caught off guard. I planned to watch them before I made a move, but that went out the window the second they reached for the doorknob with tools in their hand.
Rushing forward, I grabbed the person from behind and growled, “Make one sound and I’ll snap your fucking neck.”
White-hot pain sliced through my thigh, and I instinctively released my hold on them to reach for my leg. “Fuck!”
It was a rookie mistake—one of many I made that night. As I fell to the ground, the person took off running.
“Sugar!” Bean called as he hurried to my side.
“Find them!” I roared. “Fucking find them! God damn it!”
“You don’t give me orders,” Bean said as he kneeled next to me. “The others are looking for him. Let me see the damage.”
I reluctantly lifted my hands, only to immediately put them back when copious amounts of blood spilled from my leg.
“Calling Slit,” Bean grumbled and reached for his phone.
Fucking motherfucking bullshit!
“Need you at Charli’s. Sugar got stabbed in the thigh,” Bean said into his phone. “Yeah, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Do about what?”
Tucking his phone into his pocket, Bean reached for his belt buckle. “Getting you into a room. Here,” he said as he held out his belt. “Put this around your leg above the wound and tighten it.”
He knew good and damn well I knew how to use a belt for a tourniquet, but I kept my mouth shut and cinched the belt as tight as I could. My leg hurt like a motherfucker, and I wanted it to stop as soon as possible.
