My wrist had gone purple by morning, four fat fingerprints under my sleeve.
Greta knocked once, then saw my face and stopped.
Greta: Fuck, Dana. Who did that?
Greta: Opal's got ice. And she's gonna want names.
Dahlia: Curtis. From last night.
Greta: That fat fuck put his hand on you again?
Opal: That fat fuck put hands on you again?
Dahlia: Just the wrist.
Opal: Just my ass. You're bleeding under that sleeve.
Curtis: There she is. The fucking bar whore with the glass pitcher.
Greta: You're banned, Curtis. Get the fuck out.
Curtis: You think a pitcher makes you a man, you dumb cunt?
His hand closed over my bruised wrist and squeezed until my fingers went numb.
He yanked me across the counter and backhanded me.
My lip split on my teeth. Blood hit my tongue, hot and copper.
Curtis: That's for my fucking shirt.
Curtis: I'll fuck you up so bad your own mama won't know which hole to bury.
Curtis: Club can't watch you every fucking minute, bitch.
I believed him. That was the worst part.
Greta: Touch her again and I'll put this through your fucking teeth.
Opal: Get out before I call Riggs.
Curtis left with blood on his shirt and murder in his eyes.
Opal: You're staying. I ain't letting that bastard run you out.
Dahlia: I don't have anywhere else.
Opal: Then it's settled.
Riggs: Who the fuck did this?
Opal: Curtis. He's gone.
Riggs: Tuck. Find him.
Tuck: Fucking finally.
Riggs: Roadhouse is club property. Every worker gets checked.
Riggs: Names. Paper. Who you owe. Who you fuck.
He said it in front of Greta and Opal like I was a stain on the floor.
Dahlia: You want my blood type too?
Riggs: I want the truth. I ain't getting it.
Dahlia: Then check me and choke on it.
Riggs: I'm waiving your check.
The room got quiet. Even Tuck stopped at the door.
Dahlia: Why?
Riggs: Because Opal vouched. Don't make me regret it.
Dahlia: That's not a favor.
Riggs: No?
Dahlia: That's a threat.
He didn't blink. His eyes went darker, like I'd finally said something worth his time.
Riggs: You think a waived check makes me your fucking owner?
Dahlia: I think you want it to.
Riggs: No. I want to know what kind of trouble walks into my bar bleeding and still runs its mouth.
Vince's attention always came with a bill. Riggs's felt like a door I couldn't tell was locked from the inside or out.
Greta: Dana.
Greta put her hand on my back. I leaned into it before I could stop myself.
Riggs: You're waived, Dana. For now.
Dahlia: That's not protection. That's a threat.
He looked at me like he could see every lie I brought through his door. I held his stare and let him see the blood.