Hollywood on Tap (Sweet Salvation Brewery 2)

Two women whizzed past him in a blur.

Hailey had abandoned her post in the front office. Armed with a high stack of towels, she hightailed it over to a crowd gathered by the fermentation tank spill. Epie followed in her footsteps with the oversized first–aid kit. Blood splattered her white brewery T–shirt.

Billy sat at the center of the circle of people on the other side of the room, bleeding like crazy from a small cut on his forehead but still talking a mile a minute.

“Fuck.” His fingers locked around Natalie’s wrist, halting her in mid–stride as she attempted to follow the women. “It may not be safe.”

“I’ll take the chance.” She yanked free and hustled after the two women.

The hose broke free from Mike’s grasp, clipping him in the head as it flew into the air. Blood rained down the foreman’s face and he crumpled into the fetal position, clutching his head.

The other two men ran to his aid while the hose clanged its metal nozzle against the concrete floor.

Sean bolted across the open space, his gaze locked on the hose whipping back and forth. He paused outside of its vicious reach. He had to time it just right. One wrong move and he’d be bleeding as bad as Mike—and that was his optimistic assessment. It could be worse. One guy he’d heard about in California got clipped in the head with a hose fired up with carbon dioxide instead of water and had ended up in the hospital for five days, three of which he had no idea who or where he was.

Carbon dioxide.

Fuck.

Odorless. Tasteless. Fatal at high doses. The Sweet Salvation Brewery used the carbon dioxide produced during the fermentation process to purge the beer bottles of air prior to filling, and to protect the beer from getting a funky oxidation taste. If carbon dioxide was building up inside the brewery, everyone was in danger, not just those close enough to get whacked by the out–of–control hose.

He leaped forward and wrapped his hands around the thick hose near the nozzle—a real nasty piece of business made up of metal and bad intentions. It bucked against him as if it were alive and pissed off. Beads of sweat popped out along his hairline and snaked their way down his neck. His muscles strained with the effort of keeping the hose flattened down. His grip slipped a fraction and the hose reared up, coming within an inch of his head. Close enough he could hear the high whine of gas streaming out.

Straining with effort, he clamped down tight on the hose and pushed it to the concrete floor hard enough that the nozzle clanged in protest. He straddled the line and leaned all his weight fo

rward into his arms.

“Turn off the valve!” he yelled, his attention never wavering from the beast in his grasp.

“It’s already off,” someone hollered back.

Sean shook his head. “Turn off the carbon dioxide valve.”

Feet pounded the floor behind him.

A second later the squeak of the valve sounded.

The hose slackened.

Relief slackened the tension in his muscles and his arms went limp. He rocked back to his heels and stood before pivoting to take stock of his crew.

On automatic pilot, his gaze found Natalie. She was pressing a fast–reddening towel to Mike’s forehead. Sean’s gut tightened, but he continued to scope out the situation. The rest of the crowd by the fermentation tank looked as if they’d just finished running a marathon with zombies hot on their heels, but other than Billy and Mike, everyone was unharmed. At least for now. They’d all suffer if they didn’t get some fresh air in to dilute the carbon dioxide thickening the air.

“Open the bay doors,” he yelled.

One of the younger crew members sprinted over and pulled the heavy chains that raised the metal doors, letting in a blast of cold air.

Hailey, her face pinched and pale, stepped into his line of vision.

“Damage report,” he snapped.

The unflappable office manager, didn’t even blink at his sharp tone. “Ambulance is on the way. Billy’s head is bleeding like crazy and he’s going to need stitches is my guess, but he’s still cracking jokes. Mike should go in the ambulance with him. He’ll probably need stitches too.”

Sean nodded. “Everyone else is okay?”

She shrugged. “A little freaked out, but good.”

Relief loosened the iron grip squeezing his shoulders tight. Still, he needed to confirm Hailey’s report with his own eyes. He hustled over to Mike and crouched down, close enough that Natalie’s honeysuckle scent twisted around him, calming his jumpy nerves.