Newt didn’t appear as if he could bring himself to look Bull in the eye.
“He’s not the asshole you’ve been spreading rumors about.” Fox slammed his palm onto the table, causing Newt to flinch so hard he turned red from humiliation. “He bought the land! It’s his now… fair and square! Let it the fuck go before I lose my patience and my willpower.”
“Okay. Yes. I’ll do anything.” Newt nodded, agreeing a lot faster than Fox thought he would. “I’ll pay the damages, every dime, with every spare nickel I make. Just please. Keep Rafael and his family out of this.”
Fox frowned. “I don’t work for fuckin’ immigration. I don’t give a damn about your undercover lover.”
“Shhhh,” Newt hushed. “Goddamnit.”
“Stay the fuck away from Bull’s ranch, and leave the people in town alone. Stop projecting your fucked-up situation onto other innocent people. They’re over it.” Fox grabbed the collar of Newt’s ratty jean jacket and yanked him so hard he almost came across the table. “And I’ve been over it. You only get one warning from me. You got it?”
“Y-yes, sir. Can you go now?”
“What the hell? ‘Yes, sir’?” Lumberjack barked, listening rudely to their conversation. “What the hell’s goin’ on over here, Newt?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Fox snapped in the man’s direction. “Your shirt’s too fuckin’ ugly for you to keep talkin’.”
The man appeared stunned by Fox’s tone, and even more so by the insult as he glanced down his checkered orange-and-black flannel shirt. “All right, you smart-mouth little shit. Keep talkin—”
Fox pulled his badge from beneath his shirt.
“You think that’s gonna stop me, pig?” the six-two giant asked, his arms spread out at his side.
“Nope.” Fox stood and held open one side of his coat, showing his .45. “But this will.”
“Sedge, stop! The guy said shut up, so shut the fuck up.” Newt stood next to Fox, confusing the hell out of his friends. “All of ya. Go on back to what you were doing. This is my shit.”
Newt’s crew didn’t appear to need any further convincing that he didn’t want their help. The lumberjack still looked to be having a hard time with his battered ego, his beady eyes leveled on Fox.
“I think it’s time for you fellas to be going,” the bartender said curtly, his thick arms crossed over his black, motorcycle club vest. “I don’t want no problems with the law in here.” He hitched his fat thumb over his shoulder aiming at the door. “Go on, Newt, take your shit elsewhere.”
“You read my mind,” Fox agreed and stood, tugging Newt with him like a punished dog.
“Where are you taking him?” Lumberjack got to his feet as if he was going to block the exit.
“Tell him you’re going around the corner, to Mind Your Own Goddamn Business Street, and you’ll see his ugly-ass face later,” Fox said loud enough to show everyone in that bar that he didn’t give a fuck.
Bull assumed that Fox must’ve been a black belt in all forms of martial arts, because why else would he mouth off to a man who stood several inches taller than him and almost twice as wide. Bull wasn’t a fighter; he was a peaceful man in touch with nature. But he could use his size to his advantage if he had to, and when it came to Fox, he’d beat that big motherfucker to death with his bare hands if he tried to touch him. Or with the tire iron he had in the bed of his pickup.
The big fella hissed through his wide nostrils, and the bartender slid a shot of clear liquid in front of him, urging him to let it go. The man tossed it back, then slammed the glass down hard enough to crack the wood bar.
Shit.
Fox strolled past with his arm hooked around Newt’s bicep. Newt grinned awkwardly and waved at his buddies as if he was leaving with cooler friends who’d invited him to a better party. Bull stayed close to Fox’s other side, their arms rubbing each other as they made their way to the door with no further obstacles.
Bull took a deep breath of rain-tinged air when they were outside, but he had a feeling they weren’t safe yet. The gravel parking lot was dark with three of the five streetlights blown out, making it difficult to see more than a couple hundred yards in front of them. The jukebox music had been shut off, and Bull heard the sound of a mob being spurred on behind them and thunder rumbling in the distance, turning their environment into something similar to a horror film.
“Keep walking,” Fox ordered, his steps getting faster.
A sound crashing to their right made them spin towards the side of the building. A man in a foot-length, off-white, filthy apron threw his hands in the air after he let the dumpster lid slam closed. The young guy had smooth brown skin, thick, curly hair, and eyes darker than the storm clouds rolling in from the east. The man dropped his hands when he saw Newt, his expression of fear instantly flipping to alarm as he took a step in their direction.