“Does it hurt it?” asked Rafe, making Max smile.
“No. I guess not.”
“Hey, bitch!” Brad called. “I need service over here.”
“Speaking of clever repartee, you’ll have to excuse me,” she said.
Max sat back with Rafe to watch as she went to Brad’s table. The look on the man’s face suggested he’d worked himself up. Again. Max had seen it before. He’d screwed up and been drugged; now he’d been sitting there, replaying the night before in his head in some endless loop as he tried to fill in the hole the drugs had left in his memory. Each time through the loop, he’d get more upset.
“Refill, Brad?” Simone asked, the conversation easily carrying to Max and Rafe’s table, mainly because she made no effort to lower her voice. Like she wanted them to hear, which made Max think she was a little more scared of Brad than she was letting on.
“No, I wanted you to sit and talk with me.”
“I’m here to take drink orders.”
“You’re talking to them.”
How did she endure that whiny tone of his? It drove Max mad.
She decided to be blunt. “I like them. When I’m not serving tables, I use my own discretion about who I talk to. I’ll be as pleasant to you as I can manage, but don’t expect more than that.”
Brad spoke loudly. “Did you know that one of your biker boys got his ass thrown out of the Marines? Rafe LaRue was tossed out with a dishonorable discharge. He’s a disgrace to his country.”
Simone turned and looked at Rafe. It wasn’t top-secret information, and Max knew he’d been half-expecting this attack. It still stung. With Simone looking at him, he nodded. She looked back at Brad. “No. That particular part of his resume hadn’t come up.”
“Well, he did. I looked it up online. He was slapped with a court-martial and tossed out.”
“My, aren’t you the clever sort, digging up dirt on people? And do you think that somehow making him look bad makes you look any better? You’re a shit, Brad. If he’s a serial killer, you’d still be a shit. I don’t talk to shits.”
“Then I’ll have another drink, whore.”
“Son of a bitch.” Max started to surge to his feet.
“Wait,” said Rafe, putting a hand on his arm.
Max glared at his friend. “You’re okay with this?”
Rafe glared. “Fuck, no, but if she wants our help, she’ll ask. We can’t charge in and take over, man.”
He resumed his seat sullenly, wishing for the days when guys could be a hero without getting flak from the damsels they rescued. If they had been in that time, he’d have been rearranging Brad’s ugly face into an even uglier arrangement by now.
She strode over to the bar and waited while Sam poured the drink, then carried it back. Max paid careful attention as Brad nodded and looked up at her with a sad face. It was probably supposed to be a look of contrition, but Max thought it made him look constipated.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to be so nasty, Simone. Please, sit for a minute. Let me apologize.”
“I’ve sort of had enough of your apologies, Brad. No thanks.” He reached for her arm, and she pulled it back. As she turned to leave, rage twisted his face and he stood, lunging for her wrist again, this time catching it.
Max got to his feet, and Rafe didn’t try to stop him this time. In fact, he joined him, though they hesitated as Simone spun back around to face Brad. He gripped her wrist hard, with the exertion showing in his face. She smiled and twisted her wrist, and it came free. Brad stood, staring at his empty hand, looking shocked.
“Leave me alone,” she said firmly but calmly.
Max watched, amused at Brad’s stunned paralysis. It seemed that Simone knew exactly what she was doing.
Suddenly Brad moved again, going toward her, grabbing her shoulders. Standing calmly, Simone moved her arms to the inside of his, forming a large circle that pushed his hands away. He roared his anger now, and he seemed to be going for her throat. She brought her hand up under his chin, snapping his head back. He staggered back. She turned ninety degrees to him and stepped close, driving her elbow into his throat.
Brad crumpled, collapsing on the floor, unconscious. When it was obvious he wouldn’t be getting up right away, Simone went to the bar and got herself a bottle of water.
“That karate shit is something,” Sam said.