Chapter 2
Charlie's POV
The sun was hot, too hot, making my clothes stick to my skin as I hauled crates of bottles off the wagon and into the bar. I vaguely remember Miles giving me a half ass salute as he walked by me before ditching me for the whiskey I kept stored underneath the bar. At least he had left the house on his own today. Typical Matheson incentives.
With the final crate in the bar I hand over the small pouch of diamonds as payment and don't even bother with a goodbye as I go back into the bar. Pleasantries are lost in this blacked out world and that's fine by me.
I start with the big crates, lining the shelves with bottles, the small range of liquor made up for by the size of the bottles. When the supplier only comes here every six months, you either order too much or you're out of luck if you run out. The bottles of whiskey I shelve last, the cheap stuff front and center before I take the good stuff and start to store it away. Eight bottles for Miles, six on the top shelf for the regulars and four bottles for me.
There's an ache in my shoulder, deep and pulsing. Remnants from the war. I take a deep breath and try to loosen my shoulder, feeling it coil even tighter like a band of fire around the muscles. It's been happening more frequently, I find my knees crack after an extended period of sitting, my shoulder aches if I strain it too much from the shotgun shells tearing the muscles and my skin still tightens over the scar from the time I got stabbed in the middle of combat when it gets damp and cold. I couldn't forget this war if I tried, it's become a part of me. Embedded in my bones and muscles and skin in the shape of scars and aches and bands of fire.
I grab one of the good bottles and wander over to where Miles is occupying his usual booth, his feet propped up on the other side as his hands cradle a glass of amber liquid.
"Restrained yourself from taking the entire bottle huh?" I tease him, feeling relief at the smile the flickers over his face, even if it disappears a moment later. I shove his feet over and settle onto the seat across from him, cracking open the new bottle and taking a long pull before sliding it over to him.
He shrugs, "Wanted to make sure you had enough stock before I starting stealing from your supply."
He doesn't look at me when he says this but it warms a piece of me and I'm reminded of the Miles that looked out for me when everyone was still alive. Not dead and gone, leaving us to survive alone.
The bar is chaos by seven. The regulars mixed in with the travelers making a room of boisterous yells and hollered orders. Its chaos that Miles actually offers to help me bartend, an offer I would never refuse even if we were slow. He and I start to work in silent synchronization, communicating with nods and shakes of the head as we take order after order, pouring liquid into the glasses on the counter and pocketing diamonds with a nod.
I pass Steve, one of the regulars, a glass full of the good stuff and take only half the amount of diamonds he tries to pay me, gently squeezing his shoulder instead as I move onto the next customer.
"You're Charlie Matheson." It's yelled from across the counter and I narrow my eyes at the person yelling at me. Young guy, maybe 6'2, his arms thick chords littered in scars as I tear my eyes away from them and look him in the eye.
"Order a drink or get the hell out."
He chuckles and shakes his head at me.
"You know, I almost didn't believe it was you the woman in town were describing. I came here looking for Charlie Matheson, Butcher of Baltimore's protégée, the great Sebastian Monroe's sidekick, the little girl who ended a big war, but that's not who I'm looking at."
I suck in a breath at Bass's name before I feel my hands tighten into fists. The once voice filled bar is now hushed into silence, all eyes on us and I feel the start of a fire course through me.
He full out laughs at my unresponsiveness, "God if people could see you now, the Charlie Matheson, tending bar, all damaged and sad because the war took away the things she loved. Not so great now, is she?"
It isn't me who speaks up but Miles, dark rage filling his usually uncaring eyes. "What the fuck do you want?"
He actually looks confused when Miles asks him that before smirking as though the answer was obvious and we were just too fucking stupid to get it.
"A fight of course."
Miles wipes his hands on his pants before nodding his head at the door. "Well then let's go."
The guy settles onto the bar stool and chuckles, "Not with you old man, you already live up to your reputation. Her. I want her."
There's a pounding of blood in my ears and I feel something like a spark that ignites my blood at his words.
"Why me? You just said you know who I am, the things I've….. done. So why me?"
"I've heard about you. Everyone has. There's these legends about you whispered around towns like these that I've been to. The great Charlie Matheson. Daughter of the woman who ended the world to save her son, you never were the favorite child were you? Niece of The Butcher of Baltimore, suspected daughter, hand trained by him and the great Sebastian Monroe, former rulers of the Republic. The girl who marched into war with all those men and sliced and shot her way through hundreds. The girl who survived death time and time again. The girl who men talk about in hushed whispers for fear that you'll hear them and slice them open neck to belly. I figured if the legends are true, to be able to say I fought with Charlie Matheson and won, that's the kind of reputation I would like."
I feel a slow smile form on my face as I lean my elbows on the counter so we're eye to eye.
"Then let's give you a reputation."
I flip my body over the counter, grabbing the knife that's strapped underneath the counter, feeling my elbow hit the wood as a sharp pain runs through it but I ignore it, wrapping my arm around his neck as I hoist myself upright on the other side as he's down on his knees. I press the knife to his jugular, "Well that was a quick fight, did I live up to my reputation?"
I hear the door close and glance up, almost dropping the knife as I take in the infamous Sebastian Monroe, standing in the doorway of my bar, his eyes alarmed as he takes me in. He looks worn and tired and in some sort of awe that I can't quite place.
I feel bile rising in my throat and I shut him out of my head, refusing to look at him as I readjust my grip on the knife slightly. He's a ghost. Those patterned nights of insomnia are catching up to me. I know that's bullshit but it's the mantra I chant in my head, pretending he isn't standing twenty feet away from me. I'm damn good at pretending. My voice is low when I speak, low and calm and dangerous.
"Do you know how long it takes to bleed out once your throat is slit? Forty seconds, forty five tops if it's a messy cut. It's not as painful as some deaths, more painful than others though. Blood will fill your lung, then your throat, it will bubble out from your nose and your mouth. I've done this many times before, it's the kind of death I give you when I don't want you to suffer.
I press the knife a little harder against his throat before continuing, almost in a conversational tone.
"You're right, my mother ended the world, and my uncle is the Butcher of Baltimore who has killed with me and for me. So has the great Sebastian Monroe."
I refuse to looks at him when I say his name even though I hear his sharp inhale when I say it.
"They have taught me how to kill with my bare hands, how to kill with swords and knives, how to make a death as painful as I want it to be, how to draw death out over days if I want to. They've taught me how to gut a man from neck to sternum, how to behead one as though slicing through a neck was like slicing through butter. They've taught me how to make a man wish for death."
I can feel his heart racing against my knife, feel his heartbeat flutter with every breath he takes as he inhales and exhales harshly.
"I've been surrounded by the three most dangerous people in the entire world, what did you expect me to be? A made up legend used for shits and giggles? There are four people in this world you should fear. I'm the fourth."
I dig the blade into his neck and hold him in place as he tries to squirm away from the knife, digging the point in the flesh just beside his jugular, cutting a deep clean line three inches long, tasking when he tries to pull away.
"Charlie…"
I hear alarm in the voice by the door and I shut it out. I'm in control, my hands steady as I cut and my breathing even as I inhale and exhale. This is the Charlie I remember I used to be. This is the Charlie of war, this is Charlie the solider, this is the Charlie who helped lead a rebellion and ended a war.
"That's going to scar. When people ask you how you got that scar, tell them about me. Tell them Charlie Matheson did it. Tell them that she lost everything in the war, she doesn't have anything else to lose, and that makes a person very dangerous."
I let go of his head pushing him forward as he scrambles onto his feet as he turns around to face me, his eyes wild as blood pours from the cut on his neck.
"I would leave if I were you. Unless you're up for round two."
Blood drips off the knife I'm holding as I seemingly carelessly twirl it around in my hand, holding his eyes as he takes one last look at me before he walks away, letting the hot air in as he leaves.
My eyes fire around the room, the regulars grinning at me and the travelers looking sick to their stomachs.
"Anyone else questioning if I'm Charlie Matheson?"
Silence greets my ears and I nod before shrugging like it's an ordinary occurrence.
"Well alright then."
I feel a warm hand squeeze my shoulder and find Miles looking at me concerned and a little haunted.
"Is he really here?" I ask him, I don't look in his direction by the door, I keep my eyes on anything but him and I feel Miles stiffen before he sighs.
"Yeah, he's here."
I nod and the adrenaline from the night starts to crash, leaving me feeling hollow.
"Go home kid, you've had enough for tonight. I'll deal with this dumb fucker tonight."
It's tempting, it's also not fair.
"You shouldn't have to. He left you too."
I look up at Miles and see something I haven't seen in his eyes in a long time. Life. But he just shrugs, "Yeah, but that guy didn't say those things to me and I'm gonna have trouble sleeping tonight. Go home. I'll take care of the bar and of ….. him."
Miles seems resolved and I sigh, grateful and exhausted as the lack of adrenaline starts to hit me.
"Thank you." I lean up and kiss his cheek and pat his chest before wishing him goodnight.
I make my way through the bar, making my way towards him.
"Charlie," His voice is hesitant and alarmed and I feel my hands tighten into fists as I try to walk around him.
"Charlie." This time he walks directly into my path, blocking my exit and I can't help the fury that rushes through me.
"I swear to god if you don't move I will not be wasting what little control I have left on you."
He has the nerve to look shocked then alarmed and then slowly he steps out of my path, letting me push by him as the hot air envelopes me, taking me home.
