"Four fucking sixes!" she laughed, mocking. "Dammit, I should have known you were cheating!" I don't cheat," he growled. "I am an artist with dice and...cards!" Face contorted in rage and distorted by the moonlight, he slammed her back into the wall, his iron grip bruising her throat.She flinched in anticipation of a slap, but instead, he kissed her. His right hand was locked around her throat still, but the left –the one he'd raised to strike her– was tearing at her blouse and squeezing her. Their arrival is always a godsend, because it means I only have one more hour before my shift finishes. I read another chapter of my book before I start the usual routine. I empty the drip trays and wipe them down. I lift the trays of glasses in and out of the glass washing machine, and the heat from the water burns my hands. I wipe down the bar, the entire time feeling a pair of eyes on me, though I don't need to look over my shoulder to see who it is. Eventually, all the customers leave but. More

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