Read Online A Moonlit Night - The Complete Saga by Adrianna White - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Adrianna White
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asked Tyler, with
his eyes wide open.
“I don’t know,” Emily said. “But whatever it
is, they’re trying to make a point—.”
Noticing Emily’s somber expression, Tyler
decided to change the subject. Smiling, he said, “Where’s Steven? I
barely see him these days.”
“I don’t know where he’s been going,” said
Emily, standing up and grabbing a beer from the fridge. “But every
night he strolls in the house, around three in the morning,
stinking of booze and piss.”
Chapter Three
“I’ll have another,” said Steven, signaling
to the bartender.
The Midnight Riders was located at the edge
of the town, a frequent destination for all the lowlifes and
degenerates passing by. A sleazy bar, with gussied up meth addicts
offering specials to any man foolish, or drunk, enough to pay for
their services.
From what Steven could see, at least a dozen
men were packing heat, ready to open fire on anyone that tried to
stop them. The perfect place, Steven thought, to wash away his
sorrows.
“I think you’ve had enough, Chief,” said the
bartender, withholding the liquor bottle.
“I’ll tell you when I’ve fucking had enough!”
shouted Steven, slamming empty glass on the counter.
The bartender gave him a puzzled look, leaned
over, and said, “You better calm down, friend. Do you have a death
wish?”
Steven stared the bartender down, refusing to
budge. The bartender was right, he thought, maybe he had a death
wish after all.
“You’ve got balls, kid,” the bartender
grinned, handing the bottle over to Steven. “Here, have the whole
thing.”
Steven grabbed the bottle, brought it to his
lips and took a swig. The liquor burned his throat, and he slammed
the bottle to the counter. It was good to feel pain, he reflected,
it was just good to feel anything at all.
The front door swung wide open, sending light
beaming into the dimly lit bar. Steven looked over, and saw the
silhouette of a man walk through the door. The man wore a Stetson,
and long tan coat. Finally, someone even more out of place than he
was. Steven smiled, taking another drink from the bottle.
“You’re a long way from the range, cowboy,”
said one of the bikers, which caused the entire bar to erupt into
laughter.
“Your hog, is it outside?” another biker
asked. “Or did you get here by horse?”
The man walked over to the counter, and took
a seat beside Steven. He didn’t give his tormentors any
satisfaction, and motioned for a drink. He looked at the bartender,
and said, “I’ll have a whisky, neat please.”
“What’s your name, stranger?” asked Steven,
looking over to the mysterious man. “Where are you from?”
“Well, my name is Samuel Anderson; and let’s
just say I’m from a place very far away,” said Samuel, taking a sip
of his drink.
“Well if that’s not mysterious, I don’t know
what is,” Steven grinned.
“And what brings a man like you, into a
shithole like this?” asked Samuel, looking Steven over.
“I’m looking to wash away some pain,” said
Steven, with a solemn look on his face.
“…In a sea of vomit and blood, yeah, I know
the pain,” said Samuel, patting Steven on the shoulder.
The two continued to drink for awhile,
sharing tales of pain and suffering. Steven caught the odd glimpse
of the bikers, leering at the mysterious stranger; their devious
expressions saying more than enough.
“Hey, bartender,” said Samuel, calling him
over from the other side of the counter. “Can I ask you some
questions?”
“You can ask,” the bartender replied. “But
don’t expect much in the way of answers. We’re not exactly the most
open kind of people.”
“Fair enough,” said Samuel, nodding his head.
“What do you know about the recent attacks?”
“What are you, a cop?” asked the bartender,
alerting every biker in the club to their conversation.
“Do I look like a cop?” asked Samuel, pulling
on his jacket. “I’m… a mercenary, looking for any leads on
his eyes wide open.
“I don’t know,” Emily said. “But whatever it
is, they’re trying to make a point—.”
Noticing Emily’s somber expression, Tyler
decided to change the subject. Smiling, he said, “Where’s Steven? I
barely see him these days.”
“I don’t know where he’s been going,” said
Emily, standing up and grabbing a beer from the fridge. “But every
night he strolls in the house, around three in the morning,
stinking of booze and piss.”
Chapter Three
“I’ll have another,” said Steven, signaling
to the bartender.
The Midnight Riders was located at the edge
of the town, a frequent destination for all the lowlifes and
degenerates passing by. A sleazy bar, with gussied up meth addicts
offering specials to any man foolish, or drunk, enough to pay for
their services.
From what Steven could see, at least a dozen
men were packing heat, ready to open fire on anyone that tried to
stop them. The perfect place, Steven thought, to wash away his
sorrows.
“I think you’ve had enough, Chief,” said the
bartender, withholding the liquor bottle.
“I’ll tell you when I’ve fucking had enough!”
shouted Steven, slamming empty glass on the counter.
The bartender gave him a puzzled look, leaned
over, and said, “You better calm down, friend. Do you have a death
wish?”
Steven stared the bartender down, refusing to
budge. The bartender was right, he thought, maybe he had a death
wish after all.
“You’ve got balls, kid,” the bartender
grinned, handing the bottle over to Steven. “Here, have the whole
thing.”
Steven grabbed the bottle, brought it to his
lips and took a swig. The liquor burned his throat, and he slammed
the bottle to the counter. It was good to feel pain, he reflected,
it was just good to feel anything at all.
The front door swung wide open, sending light
beaming into the dimly lit bar. Steven looked over, and saw the
silhouette of a man walk through the door. The man wore a Stetson,
and long tan coat. Finally, someone even more out of place than he
was. Steven smiled, taking another drink from the bottle.
“You’re a long way from the range, cowboy,”
said one of the bikers, which caused the entire bar to erupt into
laughter.
“Your hog, is it outside?” another biker
asked. “Or did you get here by horse?”
The man walked over to the counter, and took
a seat beside Steven. He didn’t give his tormentors any
satisfaction, and motioned for a drink. He looked at the bartender,
and said, “I’ll have a whisky, neat please.”
“What’s your name, stranger?” asked Steven,
looking over to the mysterious man. “Where are you from?”
“Well, my name is Samuel Anderson; and let’s
just say I’m from a place very far away,” said Samuel, taking a sip
of his drink.
“Well if that’s not mysterious, I don’t know
what is,” Steven grinned.
“And what brings a man like you, into a
shithole like this?” asked Samuel, looking Steven over.
“I’m looking to wash away some pain,” said
Steven, with a solemn look on his face.
“…In a sea of vomit and blood, yeah, I know
the pain,” said Samuel, patting Steven on the shoulder.
The two continued to drink for awhile,
sharing tales of pain and suffering. Steven caught the odd glimpse
of the bikers, leering at the mysterious stranger; their devious
expressions saying more than enough.
“Hey, bartender,” said Samuel, calling him
over from the other side of the counter. “Can I ask you some
questions?”
“You can ask,” the bartender replied. “But
don’t expect much in the way of answers. We’re not exactly the most
open kind of people.”
“Fair enough,” said Samuel, nodding his head.
“What do you know about the recent attacks?”
“What are you, a cop?” asked the bartender,
alerting every biker in the club to their conversation.
“Do I look like a cop?” asked Samuel, pulling
on his jacket. “I’m… a mercenary, looking for any leads on
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