Ringer (10 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Miranda

“Hey, who’s Jenny Madden talking to?”

I broke off
mid-discussion with Tom Hilton to glance over to where Jenny stood at the bar
with Ruby Dalton. Whoever she was talking to, the poor soul was probably dying
of boredom, I mused to myself, until the one thing that was blocking my
vision—a drunk Rory McKenzie and his pool cue—stumbled to the side, and only
then did I see exactly who Jenny was talking to.

My heart stopped.

“I don’t know, but he
looks like a smooth bastard.” Tom Hilton slid closer to me on the couch,
snaking his arm around me as if claiming his property. “Hey babe, what’s wrong?
Your beer gone flat?” He laughed.

I watched as Jenny bent
her head towards Ringer so she could listen to what he was saying, even though
she was as good as sitting on his face, she was so close. My eyes dipped to
where her hand touched his leg. She smiled, all coy and sweet, as she tucked a
blonde lock of hair behind her ear.

Vomit!

Watching the scene play
out before me was enough to make anyone’s beer flat. I had been having as good
a time as I could possibly manage at the Commercial. I had looked forward to
making a grand entrance, being ‘that’ girl who had returned home from Paris. I
had quite enjoyed the spectacle of old and new faces elbowing one another, more
so with the likes of Tom Hilton and his mates, whose mouths sat agape when I
had sauntered up to them with confidence that no local girl would ever be able
to manage.

“So are you going to
stand there and stare or buy me a drink?” I smiled. It had been rather comical
watching Tom almost fall over himself to get to the bar and whip his wallet out
to buy me a drink; in fact, I hadn’t paid for a drink all night and nothing
tasted so sweet. I took in the horde that surrounded me, mainly all the boys
that were a year above me, the ones I usually crushed on but they didn’t even
know I had existed until I started coming out to the Commercial on the sly and
drinking with them. They were also, incidentally, the ones that had never left
town. They were born here and would die here and even though all those years ago
when I would have given anything for a young, charismatic Tom Hilton to pay me
an ounce of attention, now looking him over in his creased dress shirt,
blundstone boots … and was he thinning slightly on top? … seeing him pore over
me in such a way definitely had me thinking I had dodged a bullet there.

Pfft, of course, Ringer
was cocked up there schmoozing with her, I thought darkly, as I took a deep
swig of my beer; he would have experienced the same thrill of walking in here
and being ‘fresh meat’ to all the local desperate and dateless girls. All the
ones that had worked their way through the Tom Hiltons and Rory McKenzies, now
they lived in hope that some gorgeous blow-in would come to town and sweep them
off their feet.

And here he was, the
answer to their prayers. I scoffed, glaring into the bottom of my beer glass.

What a joke.

They would be dead
wrong if they thought they could tie him down and marry him; at best they would
get one night of hot sex in a back alley somewhere, but nothing more than that.
I suddenly had visions of Ringer leaving with the insipidly dull Jenny Madden,
and something twisted in my gut.

“Do you want another
drink, baby?” Tom rubbed my lower back, causing a shiver to run down my neck
and not in a good way. I cringed away from his touch, moving to stand and look
down on him.

“Don’t call me baby.” I
cut him an acidic look before turning to make my way towards the bar to get my
own beer.

I could have been
served from up my end, but instead I made my way to where they stood, sliding
my way behind Ruby’s back and Rory’s side.

“One more thanks,
Merve,” I said confidently.

I knew his eyes were on
me, I could feel them burning into my profile.

I glanced over and,
sure enough, there he was, a serious gaze fixed on me, a small smile tilting
the corner of his mouth as our eyes locked.

“Of all the bars in all
the world,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “Of
all the clichés in the world.”

His smile widened as he
brought his beer up to his lips. “Who let you out?” he asked, before taking a
sip.

I curved my brow. “Who
let me out? Who let you out?” I scoffed.

“I’m my own man.” He
winked.

My eyes fell to the
hand that rested on his leg. “So I see.”

Ringer shifted
uncomfortably, but I dare say no one was more uncomfortable than Jenny, who
seemed to go a deeper shade of red.

Ruby interjected as any
best friend would. “So I am guessing you two know each other,” she said
snarkily; it was more of an accusation than a question.

I glanced around,
seeing that I had a rather captive audience. Rory and his mate behind me, even
the barman seemed to be lending an ear.

“I know Ringer,” I said
casually, picking up my beer. “My dad posted his money for bail.”

Ringer spat his drink
out that led into a coughing fit and a murderous glare.

I wasn’t sure what was
more comical, his choking fit or the speed in which Jenny ripped her hand away
from his leg.

I grinned broadly.
“Don’t forget to check in with your parole officer in the morning, remember
what happened last time,” I said gravely.

Ringer cleared his
throat, blinking away his watery eyes. “Yeah, I really appreciate your dad
posting that money, I know your folks were a bit strapped for cash after the
nose job you got for Christmas.” He saluted me with his beer.

I laughed, really
laughed, because I could hear the inward hitch of breath from Ruby next to me;
if she had have had a pearl necklace I am sure she would have clutched it in
horror. I could just imagine the spiral of gossip that would ensue from our
banter; I could already sense the girls wanting to run to their friends and
spill the hot goss’.

I just shook my head
seeing the devilish twinkle in Ringer’s eyes.

Ruby linked her arm
through Jenny’s. “Yeah, well, we’ll leave you two to catch up then, shall we?”
she said, dragging away a disheartened-looking Jenny.

Thankfully, with their
dramatic exit, it afforded me a bit more space at the bar.

“You shouldn’t break
local girls’ hearts; all their daddies have shot guns, you know.”

Ringer moved to answer
but was cut off by a hurried question over my shoulder.

“So, what did you do
time for?” Rory McKenzie looked on with a mixture of horror and awe.

Ringer cast me a dirty
look before shifting in his seat with a sigh. He looked Rory right in the eye.
“I beat someone up with a pool cue,” he said in all seriousness.

Rory’s eyes shifted
comically to the very pool cue he held and he swallowed, nodding in
understanding before excusing himself from our presence, his mate dually
following without a backwards glance.

I shook my head
incredulously. “Wow, Ballan is going to be set alight with rumours tonight.”

“Yeah, well, apparently
you’re a total bitch,” he said.

“Oh really? That’s
funny, because I heard you’re a smooth bastard.”

“I see.” Ringer raised
his brows. “By any chance this wouldn’t be coming from a group of local lads
that are casting me daggers from across the room?”

I followed his eye line
to see the murderous stare of Tom Hilton and his minions.

I turned around,
rolling my eyes. “Oh please, I went to school with them a billion years ago;
they’re just having a pissing contest.”

“Yeah? Well, I hope
they don’t cause any trouble; I’m on parole, you know?” Ringer cast me a sly
grin as he motioned for two more beers.

“Yeah, well, if a
barroom brawl breaks out I can’t afford a wayward stool to the face; I mean …
hello,” I said, pointing to my nose.

“That’s true,” he said,
thumbing out a twenty from his wallet.

‘Wait on, I’ll get
mine.” I went to reach for my purse that wasn’t there. “Shit. Hang on a sec.”

“Too late.” Ringer
handed over his money.

Crap-crap-crap.

Dread swept over me
remembering exactly where I had left my purse. I sighed.

“Back in a sec,” I
said, before sliding back over to the couch. Excusing myself through Tom and
his mates, I reached for my bag that I had sat down next to the couch, but
before I could turn, a hand snaked out and caught me by the wrist.

“What, leaving so
soon?” Tom frowned.

My eyes fell to his
vice-like grip. “Ah, let me go.” I half laughed.

“So what, is this how
they do it in Paris, eh? Leach drinks off one sucker and then on to another?”
He lifted his chin towards the bar.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m
grabbing my purse, to scum drinks.” I tried to twist out of his grasp.

He yanked me closer,
causing me to stumble into him, the smell of beer wafting off his breath.
“Well, how about a kiss goodbye, baby? It’s the least you could do, seeing as I
bought all those leg openers for you.”

I cringed away. “Piss
off!”

Laughter from his mates
turned into catcalls, and the more I struggled, the tighter his hold became.

“Let go!” I cried
against the pain, which seemed to only encourage him more.

“Aww, when I feel like
it.” He laughed.

“You heard her, let her
go.”

The laughter that
surrounded us melted away, as did the smart-arse smile on Tom’s face. I
followed his glare to where Ringer stood right behind me. All glimmer of any
humour he had before had dissolved into coiled anger.

“And who the fuck do
you think you are?” spat Tom.

Spud Nelson moved to
Tom’s shoulder. “Careful, Tommy, I heard this guy served some time for stabbing
some bloke.”

What? Christ, how
gossip travelled.

Tom’s demeanour didn’t
change, but I could feel his grip lighten as if he was actually taking in
Spud’s words. I took the moment of pause and ripped my arm free of his hold,
moving to stand beside Ringer, glowering and massaging my wrist.

The air was so thickly
filled with tension and it didn’t escape me that Ringer was seriously
outnumbered. I grabbed his arm.

“Come on, let’s go.
They’re not worth it.” It was like pulling at a boulder, his attention dark and
threatening as he refused to tear his eyes away from Tom. Slowly, with a few
shunts to the chest, I edged him back.

“Come on, let’s go,” I
warned. Finally Ringer snapped out of his Alpha mode and looked down at me.
“You okay?”

I smiled incredulously.
“Yeah, of course.”

His mood lifted at my words
and he stepped aside to let me move past him. We were on the home stretch until
Tom scoffed.

“Fucking pussy.”

Oh shit!

If I had managed to
persuade Ringer to leave well enough alone before, I had absolutely no chance
now. I just closed my eyes in dread, and before any of us could stop it, Ringer
turned and closed the distance towards Tom in a deadly, determined stride that
had Tom visibly shit himself as he put up his hands in peace.

“Hey, mate, I was only
kidding, I was just kidding.” Tom’s last words broke off in a pained cry as
Ringer kicked the coffee table in front of the couch with such force it rammed
hard into Tom’s legs, and with barely enough time to gauge the pain, Ringer
dragged him by the scruff of the neck and slammed him down on top of the coffee
table, sending drinks and glasses smashing onto the floor. A girl screamed out
in the distance and the juke box music died as Ringer refused to let him up,
pinned by his fists and his murderous stare.

I knelt beside him.
“RINGER, LET HIM GO!”

This I didn’t expect.
Ringer, who had been laid-back, mischievous, and reserved thus far. Angry and
aggressive? Who was this Ringer?

“Not until he
apologises,” he bit out. He was so wound up I could visibly see the tick in his
clenched jaw.

I gently slid my hand
on his shoulder. “Ringer, please, my family have to live here,” I pleaded.

At my words, I saw the
tension slowly melt in his shoulders, and I finally let out a relieved breath
when he pushed off Tom.

Tom rolled off the
coffee table, coughing and spluttering, his face purple from Ringer’s
chokehold.

Ringer stood, his chest
heaving as adrenalin coursed through his body.

“Did you see that,
Merve? Kick this son of a bitch out,” rasped Tom.

Merve stood behind the
bar, casual as anything as he filled another empty glass and shrugged. “I
didn’t see anything.”

Ringer went to the bar
reaching for his wallet. “I’ll pay for the breakage.”