Back to Paradise

Chapter 6

Neon’s Gate

Neon

Please, someone come. Neon never planned to have to ever use the damn flare gun to ask for help. When they’d presented the idea after the True Survivors had been chased out of town, tail between their legs, he’d stuck to his guns. He wouldn’t use the flare to ask for help, but he’d warn the others.
He thought the first flare might’ve been too subtle, so he’d sent Rusty to shoot off the flare. Now that the True Survivors were fucking more shit up, he was questioning a third flare, but he’d told Rusty not to come back to the bar. The kid was too young to see this shit.
“Another round, Neon!” One of the Survivors shouted and threw his shot glass at his head. Neon ducked, barely, reminding him that he was definitely too old for this shit. The glass shattered and he no longer cared. That was the umpteenth one anyways. At this point, he didn’t feel it mattered, especially when Jay was putting his arm around his shoulders.
“We do enjoy it here, Neon, Dean sends his thanks.”
“Dean can go fuck himself.”
There was a round of laughter that echoed through the bar in the man sitting in the farthest corner of the room cocked his head to the side but otherwise didn’t move. Instead, one of the other men in the room stood up and said, “Why would Dean fuck himself when he’s got all of us?!” The drunk bastard thought that was funny and laughed harder than he should have…at least that’s what Neon thought until he realized everyone else was laughing, too.
The True Survivors had a sick and strange fascination with their leader. They were twisted to his will and now that he thought about it? Maybe they did all fuck him. Maybe they were at his beck and call for everything. He didn’t care as long as they’d just leave his bar. Except they weren’t leaving. They were destroying the whole damn place and escorting his people out in droves.
As he sat here debating this in his head, they were making Sarah lick spilled alcohol off the floor and laughing at her. Denny was dart practice, and Brody and Levi had both been volunteered to be punching bags. Despite his protests, they made it clear if anyone tried to stop them, they were leaving this bar in worse shape than the last time they were here.
Hell, he considered himself lucky right now that he’d been able to send the kid out.
They didn’t have many children in their community, but Rusty was one of them and he didn’t need to see his mom getting back handed and forced to lick drinks off the floor. Neon was worried that this wasn’t the least of what these fuckers had in store.
They’d already taken the weapons, it was the first thing they did when they arrived, leaving him and his people powerless. This was bullshit. They were generally peaceful traders. They welcomed anyone that wanted to trade. The chaos in here was choking him and he felt his chest tighten.
“Come on, Old Timer, let’s go fill up Dean’s cup.” Jay stuck the pitcher in Neon’s hand and guided him from behind the bar where one of their cronies immediately stepped up to replace him and dramatically played at being a bartender.
Another glass shattered and he cringed inwardly, but kept his face stoic as Jay finally stopped him at Dean’s table. A darkness clung to the man as he sat silently in the corner, but he knew his voice sounded like sweet honey to the ears.
The last time this group had been here, Jay had done the threatening while Dean quietly offered promises of a better experience with their cooperation. So he’d cooperated. He’d gotten his ass handed to him, but he’d cooperated and they’d left, just as Dean promised. It didn’t mean he liked the bastard now.
“Go on, fill it up.” Jay’s hand circled around his and he made him lift the pitcher and he began filling the cup. “Up, up, up!” He cheered and let go. “Well done.”
Dean leaned forward to take the cup wordlessly, but just as his hand closed around it, the door opened. Neon looked out of habit, but he was completely caught off guard by the sight of Mason Paradise. Several chairs tipped as everyone stood up all at once, weapons drawn. Jay latched onto him to pull him closer and Neon worried if that meant he was about to be a body shield, but Mason had his hands up in the air.
“I’m not armed.” He announced, calm, but with a fire in his eyes. “I’m just here for Sky.”
“Sky’s not here.” Jay snapped.
“Then tell me where she is and send me on my way.” His hands were still up but he turned to face Jay, his eyes narrowing on Dean over his shoulder. “Where’s Sky?”
Neon didn’t dare look at Dean. He was rooted to the spot but he could hear him moving, standing, feel his body heat as he drew closer. Neon knew where she was. He’d never been one to risk his own life for anyone else but his own people, but these bastards had wrecked his bar. “Toolbox, black truck—” he barely got to finish his sentence when Jay’s hand went around his throat.
“You stupid son of a bitch!” Jay squeezed and he reached up to grab his arm, but he wasn’t strong enough to pull him away, too old to fight him off, but they forgot one thing when they checked him and his people for weapons: bartenders always kept a spare hidden under the bar.
Neon reached into his pocket and grabbed his pistol and pointed behind him until he felt the barrel press against flesh. Then he pulled the trigger.