“Not your concern either, Dalton,” she cut him off then her head turned and she glared at Jim-Billy, a new arrival at our group. She looked him up and down, her lip curled and she sneered, “What you gonna do, Pops?”

“I’m just positionin’ so’s I can watch Twyla kick your ass up close,” Jim-Billy replied.

“Right,” she stated and turned her sneer to Twyla, “like we can’t take this bitch and her lesbo bodyguard.”

Quick as lightning, Twyla moved, jumping in front of me, her arm shooting out and she jabbed Carmen right in the nose. It took Carmen by surprise but it also wasn’t a light tap either. Her head jerked back, hair flying, she went back on a foot and her hands came up to her face. When they came down they were covered in blood as was the lower half of her face.

“You cunt!” she shouted and, without delay, they all pounced as one on Twyla.

And Twyla took on the lot.

The second it started, Dalton turned to me, put both hands to my waist and lifted me straight up, planting my booty on the bar. Then he tried to wade in but it was a whirl of hands and legs, big hair and fingernails so he could find no opening and eventually had to give up, step back and let the catfight reach its natural conclusion. Steg and Wings, two regulars, came to the bar to flank me, Jim-Billy got close and we all were trying to watch, leaning this way and that so as not to miss anything as Twyla beat the crap out of three skanks at once.

I decided, watching, they probably shouldn’t have come to a showdown in miniskirts and high heels. Twyla was definitely no pushover but I figured miniskirts and high heels put them at a further disadvantage. Not to mention, some of the unintentional crotch shots... seriously unattractive.

This went on for awhile, long enough for a standing crowd of bikers and locals to form around the ruckus, then it was stopped by the chilling sound of a shotgun ratchet.

The combatants all froze. Twyla had hold of Carmen’s skintight camisole in one fist and had her other arm cocked to deliver another blow; the non-descript one was on her knees, trying to get to her feet; the heavy one was rolling to her side and all of them looked up at Krys who was aiming a sawed-off shotgun at Carmen.

“What’d I tell you, Carmen?” Krys demanded to know.

Twyla pushed Carmen off and stepped away as they all got to their feet and rounded on Krys.

“I’m lookin’ out for my girl,” Carmen said to Krys, wiping blood from her mouth. “You know how it is and you know nothin’ll stop me.”

“I know you’re gonna get a taste of buckshot, you ever come into my bar again,” Krys shot back. “Told you the last time, you ain’t welcome here. I’ll tell you one more time, you ain’t welcome here. I’m warnin’ you, there won’t be a third time.”

Carmen locked eyes with Krys and Krystal didn’t flinch. She just held her gaze and held the shotgun steady, aimed at Carmen.

Finally, Carmen’s eyes cut to me.

“Watch your back,” she threatened, jabbing a finger at me.

That’s when the shotgun blasted. Buckshot imbedded in the ceiling, dust, bits and buckshot that didn’t find purchase raining down. I couldn’t stop my short scream or my knees from automatically curling up to my chest as my head snapped around to look at Krys. Everyone around the bar had ducked and mine wasn’t the only cry.

“You get near Laurie, in this bar or out of it, you answer to me,” Krys warned.

“Can’t carry that gun with you everywhere, Krystal,” Carmen returned.

“You touch Krys or Laurie, you answer to me too,” Steg, standing in front of me, stated. “Any of ya’ll,” he finished, his hand lifted high, his finger pointed down and twirling to indicate the entire crew.

“Neeta’s bullshit and your bullshit, it’s done,” another voice called and I turned to see Stoney, the owner of one of the biker paraphernalia shops on Main Street, chipping in.

“Yeah, grow up. What ya’ll think? You’re still in high school?” another voice yelled out.

“That bitch is tryin’ to take Neeta’s man and her boy,” the non-descript one defended, pointing at me.

“Far’s I can see, she’s already got Neet’s man and good for Tate,” Stoney put in. “Finally Tate’s got himself a woman who don’t cause no headaches and we all know Tate comes with his boy.”

“I wouldn’t say I don’t give Tate headaches, Stoney,” I clarified. “Seeing as I’m a biker babe in training, sometimes I mess up and make him mad.”

I heard chuckles, Wings turned toward me and grinned before saying, “You need lessons, darlin’, Tate’s gone, I’ll do what I can.”

“Thanks Wings, I’ll… um, consider that,” I lied on a smile, I felt eyes and I looked to see Carmen’s gaze narrowed on me.

“I don’t find you funny,” she said softly.

“I don’t care,” I replied.

“You’re still here,” Krystal prompted.

Neeta’s crew liberally handed out glares as they made their way to the door. I figured this was mostly to save face but I didn’t think too much about it. They were leaving, that was all I cared about.

Steg helped me down from the bar and Twyla got close.

“You good?” she asked as her eyes looked me up and down and then she answered her own question. “You’re good.” She turned and shouted, “Who needs a f**kin’ beer?”

I looked at Krystal and smiled. She looked at me and shook her head.

Then she moved to return the shotgun to its hidey hole (wherever that was) and I went back to work.

* * * * *

That night, on the phone with Tate (even though it was after three in the morning, I was still on orders to call him the minute I hit his bed), I told him the whole thing.

His sounding-amused reply?

“Babe.”

* * * * *

The second and third things that happened came as a one-two punch.

* * * * *

See, before Tate left, Ned, Betty, Shambles and I all went to Tate’s attorney’s office in Gnaw Bone and swore out depositions. Ned, Betty and Shambles’s were about what happened at the pool, mine also included what I witnessed when Neeta came for her nocturnal visits and what Jonas shared before French toast.

These depositions were needed as Tate was outside the visitation arrangement, essentially having kidnapped his son (but not really) and he needed to make his case urgently to get custody awarded to him considering the state of play at Neeta’s house.