The Ripple Effect (Rhiannon's Law #3)(35)

“Earth to Rhiannon!” Deena screamed. “Are you there?”

“Sorry,” I yelled back and gave a sidelong glance down the counter. “What do you need?”

Deena was busy as hell, pouring two shot glasses with vodka. Her skin tight, black leather outfit put the dancers to shame, showcasing her trim and fit physique. She didn’t look at me when she barked, “I need two Crown and Cokes, pronto.”

“You got it.”

Thankfully, the Crown was right behind me, so I didn’t have to move far from the station to do as she asked. When I finished, I rushed the drinks over and returned to my spot. It was almost midnight, which was when Deena and I usually chose opposing ends of the bar to work. This time around I was responsible for keeping the beer flowing, which was a hell of a lot easier than creating custom drinks for sloppy drunkards.

“I’ll take a Samuel Adams, tall.”

The order wasn’t unusual, but the way the man requested it caused me to frown. There was no loud, “Excuse me,” followed by someone leaning across the counter to invade my space or cop a feel. The man requesting a drink asked for his beverage of choice as though he was in an expensive restaurant instead of a tittie bar. When I lifted my gaze and got a look at him, I knew why.

He was huge, huge, and huge, forcing me to crane my neck to stare him in the eye. His sweater was expensive, probably cashmere, and since he was so hocking tall—his hips were level with the counter—I could see his dress slacks fit him like a glove. His blond hair brushed his massive shoulders, and his ice blue peepers seemed to shimmer and pop. He brought to mind models on billboards, flashing dazzling smiles guaranteed to make the ladies pull out their checkbooks. If I’d been on the prowl, he would have definitely fit the ticket.

“Samuel Adams, tall,” he repeated and cocked a brow.

“Oh right.” I cursed my reaction and rushed to get his order since I didn’t want him to think I was a larger dumbass than he likely assumed. I couldn’t tell what his reaction was, since I avoided eye contact as soon as I finished with his drink, placed the mug in front of him, and he handed over a ten dollar bill.

“Keep the change.”

I waited until he spun away from the bar to watch him and allowed my gaze to travel down to his shoes. It had been like this all night. I met a random patron, I inspected him, and I assumed he was the killer. From what I could tell, the leather adorning Mr. Enormous’s feet were pricey. Sadly, I wouldn’t know Prada from Payless. Otherwise he fit the description, aside from the blond hair.

Large, muscular, and intimidating. Could he be the * killing off strippers?


I couldn’t tell.

He sat down with a group of men at a table—all of whom had equally large bodies and were dressed in spiffy attire. They started laughing and cutting up with each other, having a gay old time. If any of them were murderers, they sure were happy about it. It didn’t seem to fit, which made me more suspicious. Sometimes we had random businessmen who came together to get their T and A on, but they weren’t as relaxed with each other. If the men were friends, they made sure to go all out with their clothing and overall style. Perhaps it was the man version of Sex and the City, but I didn’t think so.

I wanted to continue watching them, but Deena interrupted me again, asking for a pitcher of Sam and two mugs. I quickly filled the order, ran it over to Deena and returned to my place. When the resident fat ass of the joint plopped into an empty seat on my side of the bar, I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes.

“Bartender!” Lonnie blared, the sound almost as loud as an elephant call.

Wonderful. My night just kept getting better and better.

“I’m not deaf, Lonnie.” I got a warning look from Deena and toned it down. “What can I get you?”

“You always ask that.”

I was ready to say, “One Crown and Coke, coming right up,” when I realized that Lonnie was actually talking to me. Yes, he’d made requests. He’d ordered me around and made a total ass of himself in the process. He had never, however, attempted to do more treat me like a subservient employee who was hired to cater to his every whim.

My night just kept getting weirder and weirder.

“I suppose I do.” I looked at him—really looked at him—and was impressed that his standard white T-shirt was free of any stains. “Crown and Coke?”

He met my gaze and shocked me even further by saying, “Surprise me.”

It was official. The world was coming to an end. I didn’t need the dagger after all. Hell had just frozen over.

Maybe it was a test, another way to prove my fail scale could indeed go higher. I was tempted to turn to Deena for advice, but she had her own shit to handle. After mulling it over for a second I went to the back of the bar, grabbed a glass, poured in some crown and walked to the station to pour in the Coke and toss in the ice.

“Here you go,” I said as I placed the drink in front of him.

“Good choice.” He slipped me a ten and waved me off. I knew what that meant. I couldn’t f*cking believe it.

Lonnie—the bastard of all shitty tipping bastards—didn't want his change back.

Once I would have been thrilled. Getting on Lonnie’s good side? Are you kidding? Working the bar was bad enough without making enemies of the regulars. Now it felt like a bad omen, like something awful was about to happen.