Rome: A Marked Men Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

obviously skewed in the biker’s favor, I was getting out of the bar in one piece no matter
    what I had to do to make that happen.
    Bar stools were broken. Glasses went flying. Heads banged against the floor. I think at one point I heard
    someone crying, and somehow when it was all over I was hunched over with my hands on my knees,
    blood now dripping not only from my lacerated head but also my hands, and a nasty knife slice across my
    ribs. The bikers had scattered, for the most part, and I wasn’t surprised to see Brite holding a baseball bat
    and glaring at me.
    “What the hell was that?”
    I would have laughed, but I think the knife cut in my side was worse than I’d originally thought.
    “A really shitty ‘thanks for your service’?” My humor was not appreciated, as the older man swore at
    me and pulled me painfully into a standing position.
    “Doesn’t look like that little punk is gonna get patched in anytime soon.”
    I got a critical once-over and was met with a sigh.
    “You need a doctor.”
    It wasn’t a question.
    I tried to wipe the blood off my face with the back of my hand but just ended up smearing it all across
    my face while my side steadily leaked onto the floor.
    “I rode in. Don’t think I can handle the bike right now.”
    He shook his head at me and put two fingers in his mouth and let out an earsplitting whistle.
    “Everybody drink up and get out. Consider this last call.”
    A few diehards grumbled, but it only took five minutes before Brite was locking the front door, hauling
    me out the back door, and shoving me into the battered cab of an old Chevy pickup truck.
    I rested my head back against the seat and gave the older man a rueful grin.
    “I’ll pay for any damage to the bar. I’m sorry about that.”
    He snorted in response and gave me a narrow-eyed look. “Try not to bleed out before we get to the
    emergency room, son.”
    Like I had a choice.
    “The Sons of Sorrow hang out in the bar all the time. The old-timers are a good group of guys. A bunch
    of them are ex-military and get what my bar is all about, so I don’t usually gripe about them coming in. It’s
    all the younger kids trying to make a name who stir shit up. It wasn’t the first time blood has been spilled
    on that floor and I doubt it’ll be the last. You come see me when you sober up and get all sewed back
    together and we’ll talk about what you can do to repay me for the damages. Gotta tell you, you’re one hell
    of a fighter, son.”
    I would have shrugged but the slice on my ribs was starting to burn and I was having a hard time
    ignoring the sticky, warm blood oozing between my fingers, so I just grunted in acknowledgment.
    “I’m really not. I hate fighting, I did it for a living for too many years, but the only way to come out
    alive is to be better at it than the other guy.”
    I closed my eyes and silently prayed we didn’t hit any more red lights. My vision was starting to blur
    around the edges.
    Brite’s voice was gruff as we pulled into the parking lot of the emergency room. “That’s a damn shame,
    son.”
    I didn’t have a response because he was right. It was a shame.
    I didn’t get admitted right away. I guess a knife wound and a split-open scalp took a backseat to fingers
    blown off by fireworks on the Fourth. I didn’t want to keep Brite waiting, so I called Nash and left a
    garbled message that I was going to need a ride at some point in the night. I knew I should have called Rule
    or Shaw, but I just wasn’t up to dealing with that headache right now. And I knew Nash would come with
    no questions asked even if I had been a royal ass earlier in the day.
    “I gotta leave my bike at your bar tonight. I would appreciate it if you kept an eye on it for me in case
    Scrawny is a sore loser.”
    Brite nodded and again I saw that flash of white buried in that massive beard. “Well, I would say it was
    nice to meet you, Rome Archer, but of all the things I’ve been in this life, a