Richard tipped back the last of his drink, the amber liquid burning down his throat. Another empty bottle joined the others littering the polished counter. He swayed—just enough to draw a few wary glances—but caught himself on the edge before gravity could win.
“Open another,” he ordered, voice low but firm.
The bartender hesitated. “Sir, maybe—”
“Another,” Richard repeated, a dark edge in his tone.
The bar manager stepped in, trying to intervene. “Mr. Barton, I think you’ve had enough. We can—”
Richard shoved the man’s hand away without even looking at him. “Don’t touch me.”
The manager kept a wary distance—Richard wasn’t just any customer. He was Richard Barton. No one touched him unless they wanted to lose a hand… or worse, their job.
But tonight, something was off.
“He’s had wa
