Several heads swivel around to stare at me as I begin to walk again.

As I hitch Felix’s bag up higher on my shoulder, his head pops out and he takes a look around.

“What do you think, Fee?” I ask softly, my voice a little too high. “Feel like having a brewski?” Instead of blazing into the back room demanding my sister leave at once, I decide that playing it cool is the best way to handle it. Sometimes she can be stubborn. I’ve seen her cut off her nose to spite her face on more than one occasion, and I don’t want this to backfire on me and end up being one of those somebody-call-the-cops-another-divorcée-has-gone-rogue situations. I’ll stand here at the bar for a minute or two and work up the courage to have the showdown that’s sure to come.

Felix pants excitedly. I take that as a maybe to my beer question.

My phone buzzes as I make my way over to the bar, telling me I have a text waiting.

Jen: Where the hell r u?

Me: Keep your bra on. I’m here.

Jen: Where? All I see is a bimbo with a purse dog.

My jaw goes off center as I stare down at her message. Now she really has lost her mind. Bimbo? Since when am I a bimbo? She knows I graduated summa cum laude. My fingers fly over the keys.

Me: U better chillax or ur rescue party’s going to start some boob punching and yours r def on the kill list.

Jen: Consider yourself a dead man. I warned you about that boob thing.

I snort. She must be wasted. I cancel my plans to order a beer and turn to head into the back room instead. Nervousness has taken a back seat to indignation. My loving sister just called me a bimbo and a dead man. She’s obviously drunk in front of her kids, so forget nicey-nice, loving, younger sister interventions. Shit just got real. I crack my knuckles, getting ready for that boob punch I promised her.

The back room is darker than the front of the bar. There’s no dance floor, no couples, and nothing resembling decor unless you consider broken beer signs and nicotine-stained walls interior design. The place is totally empty, but I see what might be bathroom doors near the farthest corner of the room. They must be in there.

I’m in the alcove between the front of the bar and the back room when a loud boom sounds behind me. I don’t have time to even turn around before I’m being shoved in the spine.

“What the hell?!” The words fly out of me as I do a slight backbend and trip, falling forward.

I smell smoke. Adrenaline surges into my veins as I gain my feet under me. Felix is barking like a very angry, devil-possessed half-Chihuahua. I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack.

The person who pushed me grabs me by the upper arms and practically lifts me off my feet, forcefully moving me into the back room, whether I like it or not.

“What are you doing?!” I yell, twisting to get out of his grip. Now I’m scared and pissed. I have no idea what’s going on, but I don’t like being manhandled. It reminds me too much of that mugging that left me with a black eye, a skinned knee, and a stolen purse.

When I can finally turn around, I see a mountain of a guy standing there behind me, sporting a big black beard and a pile of matching frizzy hair encircled by a folded-up blue bandana. He could be anywhere from thirty to sixty years old; it’s impossible to tell with that much of his face and head obscured in . . . ugh . . . grizzly bear fur.

“Getting you out of here,” he growls, shoving me sideways.

I lose a few feet of ground before I can dig my heels in. “I have to find my sister and her kids!” I struggle against his grip, trying to reach into my purse so I can get my Taser and teach this beast-man a thing or two about how to treat a lady. Forget being scared. My sister is here somewhere and she needs me. Crazy brain chemicals have turned me into some kind of superhero. I even have a sidekick named Felix. We should have matching capes.

“There’re no kids in here—are you nuts?” He’s not taking no for an answer. I’m halfway into the back room before I can even process what he’s said. I give up on finding my Taser under Felix’s fuzzy butt in favor of trying to control any further advancement.

He’s right. I haven’t seen my sister yet, but that doesn’t mean she’s not here. She could be in the bathroom or in another part of the bar I can’t see from here. She texted me, and I came, and I’m not leaving here without her and those babies.

“Why are you pushing me?!” I try to grab the back of a high-top chair as I go by, but I lose my grip on it and it falls with a crash in our wake. The sounds of people yelling in the other room grow louder. Screams from the front bar area join the mix, and not all of them are female.

“Exit,” he says. “You need to leave.”

I grab the edge of a table that’s thankfully nailed into the floor, stopping our progress.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I grunt out, bending in half as he tries to pick me up by my waist. “I need to get my sister.” I kick out at him, catching him in the shin.

“Oooph!” He bends over, surprised by the pain, letting me go.

I hear a crack and a ping. My eyes open wide as I notice a huge gouge in the wood next to me where there used to be a mostly smooth surface. When I look up, I see a man standing in the entrance of the back room with a gun raised in our direction. My hear stops beating for a second or two, and it feels as though my chest is caving in with fear.

I’m not ashamed to say that I screech pretty loudly at that point, and it isn’t one of those really cute lady-screams either. More like a crazy chicken being unsuccessfully strangled.

The mountain man who’d been trying to get me out of the bar grabs me by the purse and yanks me down to the floor. I crumble to my knees, shaking uncontrollably.

Felix thanks him by biting his hand.

“Mother fu—!” The guy shoves his hand into his mouth for a second and then pulls it out. “Let’s go!” Crouched in half, he takes me by the hand and drags me out of the room, using tables and chairs as cover. I’m half-tripping, half-running, trying to put more distance between me and the nut job who actually had the gall to shoot at me.

More cracks and a couple pings follow us, making bits of wood fly up and hit the side of my face. They immediately start stinging like a mofo.

“I’ve been hit!” My free hand flies up to my face, finding something wet and sticky. When I pull my hand away and look at it, I see something dark smeared there. Holy shit, is that blood? “Oh my god, I’m bleeding?!”

There’s a roaring in my ears now, but it’s not coming from outside my body. I think my heart’s about to explode. This is the worst sister rescue ever!

“Just keep running!” my rescuer shouts, shoving me out a door.

I fall to my hands and knees out in a stinky, slimy, dirty alleyway, my purse landing next to me. Felix spills out and then gets to his feet, barking like he’s possessed by the devil himself. I know exactly how he feels. I think I’m going to vomit.

The door slams shut behind me. “Shut that dog up,” the guy yells.

“You’re still here?!” I’m shouting. I’m not happy because I know for a fact those bullets were meant for him, not Felix and me. We’ve never inspired anyone to that level of hatred. Maybe a few strong words about tiny dog poops left on a neighbor’s lawn, sure, but bullets? Never. This guy is dangerous. Anyone can see he’s a motorcycle gangster guy or a drug dealer, and I don’t want him anywhere near me.