Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

5. The Saloon

We had rented a room and dropped off our belongings at the inn before going to Stolas' summer home. We hopped onto the back of another passerby's pickup and rode the twenty minutes back to the inn. It was a fairly large two-story wooden building, a shade of brownish gray with worn red shutters. The second story consisted of several rooms for rent — some of which were by the hour — while the ground floor held an open space for the saloon. I had caught a brief glimpse of the saloon when we had stopped by earlier; there was an open bar opposite the front door with a scruffy bartender passing out drinks and tabs, and a few waitresses walking around delivering food to various tables.

It was long past dusk by the time we returned to the inn, and the saloon was brimming with new customers. The bar and almost all the tables were taken, but I pointed out an empty table near what appeared to be a small stage. We maneuvered past both the sober and inebriated customers to the table. At one point I noticed a tipsy imp reach out toward me, seemingly to touch me, when Striker quickly smacked his hand away with the head of his tail. The imp yelped and leaned back into his seat just as Striker and I made it to the empty table.

"Well, look who it is!"

From behind me approached one of the waitresses: a middle-aged imp dressed in a black apron over a white button-up and faded blue jeans. The sleeves of her shirt had been rolled up to her elbows, and a bright purple bandana hung from her thin neck.

"Evenin', Miss Daisy," Striker said, taking his hat off and setting it on the table.

She walked right up to Striker and gave his shoulder a friendly slap. "Where you been hidin'? It's been nearly three months since I seen you!"

"I been workin' odd jobs here and there," he replied with a casual shrug.

"Where's Bombproof at? I didn't see him out front."

"I have him takin' some time off  at Darryl's at the moment. I gotta get him a new set of shoes."

"Well, shit, honey! You coulda' come to me if he needed work done." Miss Daisy turned her head to look at me, and I saw her expression falter slightly when she caught sight of the pendant hanging from my neck. "Who's your friend here?"

I parted my lips to speak, but Striker beat me to it. "This is my newest client, (Y/N). I'm just playin' security for her while she's in Wrath."

Miss Daisy raised an eyebrow. "I didn't think you did bodyguardin' work, Striker."

He clicked his tongue in a show of mild annoyance. "Yeah, well, my last job fell through, and I can't have Bombproof runnin' around in the old worn-out shoes he's got on now."

She lifted her hands in a mock surrender. "Fair enough. Do what you gotta do for ya' baby. Now what kinda drinks can I start y'all off with?"

She had looked to me expectantly, and I answered hesitantly, "Uh, just some water for me, thanks."

"Ah, psshh," Striker interjected. "Two rounds o'whiskey on the rocks."

Relenting under the not-so subtle peer pressure, I looked back at Miss Daisy and asked, "Do y'all have rum and Coke?"

She let out an amused giggle. "I think I can do that for ya', sweetheart. Be right back."

Miss Daisy walked to the bar to retrieve our drinks, and I looked at Striker and said, "So what kind of food does this place have?"

"Well, Deirdre makes a mean pork roast," he replied, leaning on the tabletop. "And her chicken fried steak is pretty good, too."

"I assume Deirdre's the chef?"

"No, she's their prized hooker," he said, a sarcastic smirk tugging at his lips.

I frowned. "Ha ha. Do I need to remind you that I'm the one paying you?"