Chapter 16 Chapter 16: Mad dogs and Englishmen
Softness. The smell of clean sheets. Bliss.
Then, shit.
My arms were strapped down, belted to the cold metal sides of the bed. My head spun, a nauseating carousel, and my face throbbed with a deep, rhythmic pain like I’d been kicked by a horse. Fear, cold and sharp, clawed at me. How did I get here? Where even was here?
I yelled out, my voice hoarse, “Hey, HEY! Anybody! Why am I tied up?”
The same nurse from before walked in, her expression one of practiced neutrality. “Good, you’re awake. You took a nasty-”
“Why am I naked? And why the hell am I restrained?” I yanked at the leather straps, panic rising.
“You took a nasty hit to the head,” she said, calm. “Concussion. Broken cheekbone. You were… agitated.”
“Yeah, no shit, I can feel that. But why am I strapped down like some psycho?”
She hesitated, eyes flicking toward the door. “A friend of yours, Max, is waiting outside. He and I agreed restraints were… necessary. For your safety. And ours.”
“What?” I yanked at the straps again, the leather cutting into my wrists. “Get these off me!”
She left, returning seconds later with Max trailing behind, looking uncharacteristically sheepish.
“Tilly, you’re alright.”
I jerked against the bindings. “This your idea, Max?”
“No, well, yes, but you knocked Nate out cold! We didn’t know what you’d do when you woke up. You were raving, Tilly.”
“Untie me. Now. Or I swear I’ll kill you.”
The nurse cut in sharply, “Calm down, young ma-young lady, or you’ll stay restrained. It’s for your own good.”
I forced a breath, trying to steady my heart. “Fine. I’m good. I’m calm. Just get me out of here.”
By the time they released me, and we left the med wing in Sector 3, I had only half an hour before my shift at The Spil was due to start.
I glared at Max, my head pounding with every step. “Give me one good reason not to kill you right now.”
“It wasn’t my…”
Three guards and Charles rounded the corner, cutting him off.
“Ah, Tilly.” Charles smirked, his eyes taking in the fresh, spectacular bruising on my face with evident pleasure. “Sector 1’s locals already warming up to you, I see. Second day in my town, and you’ve assaulted a respected citizen, though, luckily for you, he’s not pressing charges.” His smile sharpened into something predatory. “And I hear there was… significant trouble at a bar last night.” He leaned in slightly. “I have a feeling we’ll be talking again soon. We can take off where we left off?”
They walked off, leaving me to drag my shattered body, and whatever was left of my soul, to work.
When I arrived at The Spil, Seamus was addressing a group of his men, his voice a low growl.
“’Tis her, Tilly. This, gentlemen, is my new bar security.” He turned to four rough-looking lads who seemed out of place. “Now, you four know what’s to be done—go do it. The rest of ya, listen up.”
The four shady figures slipped out into the back alley, and Seamus continued, “It’s Friday night, so business’ll be good. I’ve let the dogs loose, means those Brits might come sniffin’ for trouble. Keep your eyes open. Stop ’em at the door. I don’t fancy scrubbin’ Brit brains off me floors again.”
Lacy, one of the Irish bar staff, came over with a tray of shots, her face grim. “Sláinte,” Seamus said, raising his glass.
“Sláinte,” we echoed, downing the whiskey in one fiery, unifying gulp.
“And that’s the last drop touchin’ your lips ’til mornin’,” Seamus warned, eyes scanning the room. “Stay sharp, got it?”
“Tilly, a word.” He jerked his chin, calling me over to a quieter corner. His eyes narrowed on the fresh bruising. “What happened?”
“Nothin’. A misunderstanding.”
He studied me a beat. “Gonna be a problem tonight?”
I smirked and cracked my knuckles, the pain in my face a dull background hum. “No, boss. I’m ready.”
“Good. Them Brits’ll be itchin’ for a fight tonight. They lost face.” He leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial rumble. “Don’t hold back.”
I took a table near the front door, tucked into the shadows where I could watch both exits and survey the whole bar. Anyone walking in would be momentarily blinded by the shift from outside darkness to the bar’s harsh green light, giving me a precious second of advantage.
Lacy and Molly worked the bar, masters of their trade. Ample cleavage, free-flowing booze, and sharp wit kept the punters happy and distracted. Every now and then, they’d swing by to refill my water glass and exchange a few words. In these early hours, they were the party.
It was a quiet night. Easy money.
Lacy was just topping off my glass. “There you go, luv,” she said, right as Nate walked in.
I launched the full glass of water at him, surging up from my chair. My left hand found his balls, crushing them in a vicious grip, while my right slammed him back into the wall. Lacy let out a cackle. “Take it you lovebirds know each other. Evening, Nate.”
Nate coughed, face pale with pain. “Evening, Lacy.” He turned back to me, palms up in surrender. I tightened my grip.
“T-Tilly, please.”
I let go and dropped back into my seat, my heart hammering. He staggered over, wincing, and took the chair across from me. He called to Lacy, “Usual, Lace.” Then he flashed me that stupid, puppy-eyed grin, strained, but there.
“Rebel’s sorry. He didn’t know you were a friend when he hit you.”
“Your fucking mute broke my cheekbone, you bastard.”
“Rebel’s real sorry. So am I.”
“I saved your life, and you lied about it. Didn’t even put in a good word for me with the town. Left me to Charles.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve got a rep to keep. Can’t have someone like you saving me. Looks bad.”
“That bastard Charles. And town Security, guy? You knew what they’d do.”
“I was out of it. Figured it was better if I stayed out of it. Bad for business, bringing people back without council vetting. Causes… complications.”
“Bad for business?” The words were a venomous whisper. “They burned me. Tortured me.” I yanked down the waistband of my jeans, showing the angry red soar on my thigh.
His face twitched, the grin finally vanishing. “Sorry… I thought it’d be worse if I got involved. They don’t like outsiders.”
“Fuck off, Nate. Just fuck off.”
The rage was a white-hot wire. I drew my gun, the motion smooth and practiced, pressing the cold barrel to his temple. The bar’s chatter died instantly, frozen in a tableau of shock. Nate and I rose together, slow as a funeral dance, the barrel never leaving his skull as I marched him to the door.
“Go. Don’t come back.”
He left without another word, the door swinging shut behind him.
Lacy hopped onto a stool, breaking the tension. “Free shots at the bar, folks! Show’s over!”