The stagnant scent of cigarette smoke and beer breath set the overall tone of the dingy little bar.  Jacob sipped at his Jack and Coke with a distant look misting his emerald eyes.  He didn't so much as blink when the faded stool beside him suddenly became occupied and an expectant body faced him.  "Rough night, Mr. Mercy?"

His gaze shifted over at the sound of his name.  Scott was holding a bottle of Budweiser with an annoyingly cocky grin that made Jacob cringe.  "Something like that," he replied quietly, going back to his whiskey.

Scott didn't take the hint and gestured for another round.  "Yeah, us too.  We didn't have any luck in the woods today.  Billy can't stop bitching about it," he chuckled and slapped Jacob's back playfully.  His whiskey sloshed in the glass and dribbled onto his chin, but he turned away to wipe it with his sleeve.  "Man, I'd love to be able to hunt your back property." Scott whistled pleasantly at the idea.  "Can't imagine how many deer are just running wild back there, unthreatened."

Jacob snapped his head to him with a scowl overtaking his features.  "My property is not to hunted on," he gritted out, harsher than he meant.  It wasn't like him to be so cold to one of his guests, and he'd had plenty of previously hard to deal with ones to be sure.

Scott raised his hands in defense, the smile never fading.  "Understood," he said drawn out.  "You ever hunted, Mr. Mercy?"  

"No," he snapped at the notion.

"There's nothing like it.  Knowing that you hold a life in your hands, and choosing to take it," he lowered his voice into an unsettling rasp, "turns a boy into a man."

"I doubt killing something is the only way to earn your manhood," Jacob grumbled and pounded back the rest of his drink as the bartender sat another in front of them.

Scott shrugged.  "Maybe not," he admitted.  "You seem man enough, for someone that's never had to hunt for their food.  Foraging for berries doesn't count," he added with a boisterous laugh and an elbow jamming into Jacob's side.

Jacob didn't join in his humor.  His attention flitted to the two brothers striding across the room towards Scott.  "Evening, Mr. Mercy," Billy greeted.  Marshall didn't say a word of salutation as he took his seat and ordered a pitcher of beer.

"Evening," replied Jacob, keener on being polite with the youngest of them.  He appeared to be the most well mannered of the bunch.

"Is Mrs. Mercy and you having a night out?" he asked, looking around for a sign of her.

Jacob cleared his throat, not wishing to divulge their fight.  "No, just me."

Billy nodded, sensing his hesitation and not pressing the matter.  Marshall, however, leapt at the silence to say what was on his mind.  "I want to offer my apologies for your sister," he mentioned casually.  

Jacob knocked his drink over in his haste to grab hold of the hick's collar and pull him close.  "What do you know about my sister?" he growled, his teeth clenched together so hard he felt his molars strain at the pressure. 

Marshall didn't balk at the challenge.  His dull gaze seemed to glisten with malice as he nimbly plucked Jacob's fingers from his shirt and shoved him back.  "Easy there, Mr. Mercy," said Marshall with an edge of thrill to his tone.  "You're the one that called me out on my bullshit the other night," he clarified, grinning.

Jacob blinked and huffed out a disgruntled breath.  He ran a hand through his thick hair and refused to look back, though he could feel three pairs of eyes burning into the back of his skull.  "Mr. Mercy?" Billy's voice sounded far away despite the few stools that separated them. 

"All good there, Mr. Mercy?" Scott was barely an echo in his mind as he felt his head begin to swim. Throbbing pain pierced his senses, thrumming from his temples, and making him squeeze his eyes shut.  "Hey, you okay?" 

The palm smacking him on the back made him jolt, snapping out of his headache and looking back at the two concerning faces.  The third was busy gulping down a pitcher by himself, not bothering to share with his siblings.  Jacob found himself staring at them in a daze before clearing his throat and ordering another whiskey.  "I'm fine," he mumbled.

"You sure?" Scott pressed.  His blue gray eyes narrowed suspiciously.  "Why don't you let me buy you a round," he offered generously.  Jacob could feel the pity aimed at him and glowered.  Scott raised his hands in defense and smirked.  "Alright, I get it.  You ain't no charity case." A deep chuckle rumbled up from him.  "At least let me spice it up for you.  You ain't the only one that can recommend a good drink.  This shit here will have you feel better in no time."  Without waiting for permission, Scott reached over the bar and snatched up the fresh glass of whiskey.  His steady hands slipped inside his coat and pulled out a silver flask.  A bit of liquid sloshed inside as he unscrewed the lid and poured the clear contents into Jacob's drink.  "Spices up any drink and gives it a good kick.  You like cinnamon, Mr. Mercy?"

"I suppose so," muttered Jacob.  He sniffed at his glass once it was set back in front of him. There was indeed the scent of cinnamon wafting up at him, like a spiced autumn liquor.  

"Then you'll like that," Scott said with a nod towards the beverage.  

His head still throbbing slightly, Jacob tipped the glass back and took a few large gulps.  A fiery flavor overshadowed the usual bite of his drink of choice, and he savored it as it burned deliciously in the back of his throat. He chugged it in no time and sat back with reddening eyes at the strength of it all.  "Wow," he finally judged.

Marshall had a wicked grin splitting his face as he drank deep.  Billy was thrumming his fingers on the counter, his free hand stuffing peanuts into his mouth faster than he could chew.  It was Scott that was staring at him in such a way that he felt a chill go down his spine.  "Tell me something, Mr. Mercy," he began in a low voice, "how did you swing someone like Beth?"

It unnerved him how he used her name while he remained a formal title.  "Excuse me?"

"Beth," he verified.  "How does some city slicking nigger like you get a prize like her?" Pure malevolence burned in those blue eyes.  Absolute egregiousness and undulating hate.  

Jacob shot to his feet, ready to bury his fist in his temple, but he swayed the moment he touched the floor.  To their credit, none of the men flinched at the scene.  Billy glanced over, and he barely registered the fearful countenance he held before turning back to his peanuts.  Jacob tried to blink away the rush, the dazed blur the world seemed to form around him.  Scott peered up with a mocking concern.  "You don't look so good, Mr. Mercy," he noted with a condescending timbre.  "Why don't you sit back down?" It was phrased as a question, it sounded like a question, but Jacob felt the command sink in when Scott gripped his arm and roughly yanked him back on the stool.  "Now," he beamed, "what to do?  You look like you could do with some rest.  Sleep it off," he assesed.

Marshall nodded his approval.  "I think a good night's rest will do mighty fine.  Don't worry about Beth," Jacob's eyes fluttered as the effects of his drink consumed him, "we'll make sure she don't get lonely."

He felt a hand patting down the front of his jeans and vaguely recognized it as Scott's.  His phone slid out easily.  He tried to make his hands do what he wanted, to reach for his phone, but they sat unmoving at his side.  "I'll just send her a quick text so she doesn't wait up for you." His hand was picked up and he felt the coolness of his scanner against the underside of his index finger.  The unique print had a decisive click sounding from his cell as it unlocked for Scott.

His jaw was tight and loose all at once.  Words, pleas, bubbled into his throat but he found himself incapable of speech.  His voice, it seemed, shared a similar fate with his limp body.  He mind was still sharp, despite the fogginess in his vision, and he tried to find the bartender to hold her gaze just long enough to convey that something was terribly wrong.  She was nowhere to be seen.  "Oh, she stepped out back to have a smoke.  Should be back in a few minutes, but we don't need to wait around for her."  Jacob felt himself leaning forward, the tug of sleep pulled t the edges of his mind, beckoning him to give in.  It was impossible to fight off, to defend himself against the effects of whatever Scott had given him.  Stupid.  So stupid he had been to accept spike whiskey.

"I'm bored," said Marshall.  He swirled the amber remnants in the bottom of his pitcher and belched loudly.  There were only two other patrons in the bar, a young couple, and they didn't even turn in their direction as Jacob was hauled to his feet between Billy and Scott and taken from the bar.