a clean glass from behind the bar, and headed over to the two women, and the skinny guy who had seated himself at their table. Two beers had been poured but the booze remained untouched.
"You want an extra glass for the beer, or did you want to order something else?" I asked. I hoped that my question didn't come off as threatening, but they were throwing off a strange vibe that had me on alert.
The skinny man gestured to the glass. As I placed it on the table, he grabbed my wrist and held onto me, his hand burning into my flesh.
I tried to yank my arm away, but he held fast. I'm strong; very strong, in fact. But his grip was ironclad.
"Let go," I said low and hard.
He snarled back, showing me fangs. "I know what you are, Nina Martinez."
Oh shit.
My heart pounded. My canine teeth shifted and elongated, the adrenaline masking the pain as they tore through my gums. I flashed my fangs.
"Who sent you?" I hissed looking straight into his black eyes, daring him.
He simply grinned.
I kicked at the table. The table, the pitcher, the pub glasses, even the two women went airborne. The man held tightly to my wrist. He pulled an old, rusted dagger out from under his coat with his other hand.
I twisted my body and threw him over my back. He was still hanging on. We both sailed several feet in the air together. I landed hard in a puddle of booze, my assailant beside me, still with the death grip. But he had lost hold of the dagger in the struggle. I could see it just a few feet away from him on the floor. Cold beer seeped through my jeans as I scooted towards it.
"Don't FUCKING MOVE," a deep voice bellowed.
Max moved from the end of the bar, a gun in one hand and a badge in the other.
Dropping my wrist, the stranger, with a sadistic smile on his lips, moved towards Max.
With his attention on Max, I pounced. In one swift move, I dove at his knees and sent him tumbling to the ground. Before I could scramble to my feet, he snatched the dagger. He grabbed a fist full of my hair and pulled my head back, exposing my neck.
The gun cocked and Max growled, "Let her go."
The dark-haired man flashed a grin. He whispered into my ear, "Ego tineo tu specialis."
I recoiled. "Who are you?"
"Marcello." And with that, he drew the blade across my neck before rolling away. My hands flew to the gushing wound, blood hitting the worn wooden floor in spurts.
Max dropped to the floor beside me, and I cowered with my back to him, trying to hide the wound that was already starting to heal.
Marcello leapt through the front window, glass shattering, his companions following behind. The burst of frigid air sobered everyone left in the bar.
CHAPTER 2
By the time the cops showed up, my hair was crunchy and had that yeasty, dry beer smell. I sat at the far end of the bar, far away from the huge hole in the wall that used to be a window. I rubbed at my head trying to get the crunch out, while applying pressure to the gash on my neck.
My heart was still racing, even an hour after the attack. The adrenaline surging through my system was giving me the shakes.
The police milled around taking statements. Max raised his eyebrows at me when I gave my recollection of events. Just a neighborhood junkie trying to rob the place. It wasn't inconceivable.
Babe's on the Sunnyside sits on the cusp of gentrification on Providence's east side. Brown University was buying up property to the south, but Babe's was just north of that line. It was an interesting mix of college students living in slumlord apartments along with Portuguese and Spanish old-timers. While the neighborhood was certainly rough around the edges, it wasn't gang-banger territory. But there was still crime, and a robbery at gunpoint was not out of the norm.
Babe was furious. Her place may be a dive bar, but crime simply didn't happen here. Babe's was an oasis. Lulls in conversation with the cops were punctuated by her colorful curses in Spanish.
Babe broke away from
"You want an extra glass for the beer, or did you want to order something else?" I asked. I hoped that my question didn't come off as threatening, but they were throwing off a strange vibe that had me on alert.
The skinny man gestured to the glass. As I placed it on the table, he grabbed my wrist and held onto me, his hand burning into my flesh.
I tried to yank my arm away, but he held fast. I'm strong; very strong, in fact. But his grip was ironclad.
"Let go," I said low and hard.
He snarled back, showing me fangs. "I know what you are, Nina Martinez."
Oh shit.
My heart pounded. My canine teeth shifted and elongated, the adrenaline masking the pain as they tore through my gums. I flashed my fangs.
"Who sent you?" I hissed looking straight into his black eyes, daring him.
He simply grinned.
I kicked at the table. The table, the pitcher, the pub glasses, even the two women went airborne. The man held tightly to my wrist. He pulled an old, rusted dagger out from under his coat with his other hand.
I twisted my body and threw him over my back. He was still hanging on. We both sailed several feet in the air together. I landed hard in a puddle of booze, my assailant beside me, still with the death grip. But he had lost hold of the dagger in the struggle. I could see it just a few feet away from him on the floor. Cold beer seeped through my jeans as I scooted towards it.
"Don't FUCKING MOVE," a deep voice bellowed.
Max moved from the end of the bar, a gun in one hand and a badge in the other.
Dropping my wrist, the stranger, with a sadistic smile on his lips, moved towards Max.
With his attention on Max, I pounced. In one swift move, I dove at his knees and sent him tumbling to the ground. Before I could scramble to my feet, he snatched the dagger. He grabbed a fist full of my hair and pulled my head back, exposing my neck.
The gun cocked and Max growled, "Let her go."
The dark-haired man flashed a grin. He whispered into my ear, "Ego tineo tu specialis."
I recoiled. "Who are you?"
"Marcello." And with that, he drew the blade across my neck before rolling away. My hands flew to the gushing wound, blood hitting the worn wooden floor in spurts.
Max dropped to the floor beside me, and I cowered with my back to him, trying to hide the wound that was already starting to heal.
Marcello leapt through the front window, glass shattering, his companions following behind. The burst of frigid air sobered everyone left in the bar.
CHAPTER 2
By the time the cops showed up, my hair was crunchy and had that yeasty, dry beer smell. I sat at the far end of the bar, far away from the huge hole in the wall that used to be a window. I rubbed at my head trying to get the crunch out, while applying pressure to the gash on my neck.
My heart was still racing, even an hour after the attack. The adrenaline surging through my system was giving me the shakes.
The police milled around taking statements. Max raised his eyebrows at me when I gave my recollection of events. Just a neighborhood junkie trying to rob the place. It wasn't inconceivable.
Babe's on the Sunnyside sits on the cusp of gentrification on Providence's east side. Brown University was buying up property to the south, but Babe's was just north of that line. It was an interesting mix of college students living in slumlord apartments along with Portuguese and Spanish old-timers. While the neighborhood was certainly rough around the edges, it wasn't gang-banger territory. But there was still crime, and a robbery at gunpoint was not out of the norm.
Babe was furious. Her place may be a dive bar, but crime simply didn't happen here. Babe's was an oasis. Lulls in conversation with the cops were punctuated by her colorful curses in Spanish.
Babe broke away from
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