There’s a tiny part of me that recognizes I should feel bad. People count on me: the band, the UFL. But I can’t dig up enough concern to give a fuck.
The pain is all I have. It’s the only thing that reminds me I can still feel. It may be sick and insane, but it’s real.
I push up, stand, and pull off my helmet. “I’m going to try again.” There’s a small stack of pallets that still need to be burned. “More fire this time.”
Talon shoves my shoulder, sending a shock of pain up my neck. “No way, dick. We’ve got a show tomorrow night. You’re fuckin’ stupid if you think—”
“What’re you? His mommy?” One of the drunk-ass guys who’s been picking fights all night comes stumbling toward us. “Let the * do it.”
Great, just when I was starting to have fun.
Talon steps up to face off with the guy. “Who’re you callin’ *, bitch?”
“Whoa.” The guy stumbles and laughs. “I get it. You’re not his mommy; you’re his boyfriend, that it?”
My muscles tense. “What the fuck’s your problem?” Heat ignites my blood.
The guy grins through his mustache and goatee. “Yep, you two are definitely fuckin’.”
Talon and I advance on him just as a few other guys get this mouthy fuck’s back.
He stands taller now that he’s got back up. “Cocksuckers.”
My body floods with rage. I cross the few steps between me and the tubby shit. With a shove, I send his ass to the ground and straddle his torso.
There are things I can’t stand, won’t tolerate. And this dipstick just walked right into one of my no-nos.
“You call me a cocksucker?” I pull back and slam my forearm into his jaw. He tries to fight back with an uncoordinated swing that I easily block.
The sound of an argument rages behind me, but I ignore it, seeing this guy through a haze fury, and I rain down shots to his face. A slight sting against my shoulder and jaw proves he’s getting his licks in, but it doesn’t stop me.
Firm hands grip my biceps from behind. “I dare you to call me that again.” I let myself be pulled away. “Go on! Say it. Call me a cocksucker!”
His friends help him to his feet and he brushes himself off, smiling. “That all you got, momma’s boy?”
“Piece of shit!” I throw my body forward only to get blocked by Talon.
“Rex, man, chill the fuck out.” Lane pulls me back.
My muscles burn for a fight, but they’re right. This drunken loser isn’t worth it, and judging by the blood dripping from his lip to his leather vest, I’d say I proved my point. I stop struggling and shrug them off.
They let me go but stand barrier between me and the bloodied biker.
My blood is still cranked from the adrenaline and the ache of my fall. A slow smile pulls at my lips, and I can feel the wild in my eyes as I glance at Talon. “That was fun.”
He stares at me with a look I’m familiar with. It’s in the pinched brows, squinted eyes, and the slight lift of his lip.
He thinks I’m insane.
He’s right.
*
Mac
“Fucking fantastic.” My mumbled words are lost in the tepid desert air. It’s early May, and already the weather is warming with the promise of punishing summer temps.
I spit a few windblown strands of hair from my mouth and turn my motorcycle into my driveway. I hit the garage door opener and glare at the Harley beast parked just a few feet away.
Hatchet’s here.
After the night I’ve had, I’m in no mood to deal with his shit. I groan and pull my motorcycle into the garage.
It’s late–or early. Working the closing shift in a Vegas nightclub is a bitch. Besides having my ass grabbed, a drunk chick slosh her drink on my shirt, and getting stiffed by a group of frat boy assholes, now I’ve got to deal with this biker piece of crap. My only hope is that they’re asleep.
I shove into the house from the garage, and I’m met with complete darkness. Caught off guard, I stumble and my chest gets tight.
“Dammit.” I hate the dark. I flip on the closest switch, which illuminates a single bulb by the pantry.
Trix knows to leave a light on when I have to work late. Now I know they’re asleep—or to be more accurate, passed out.
For a second, I almost envy my roommate and her biker hookup. They’re probably so deep in the land of the intoxicated that nothing short of being stabbed could wake them up. I allow myself the fantasy of driving a knife into Hatch’s leg after one of his wise-ass taunts and smile. A girl can dream.
My grin fades and I blow out a long breath. Dream, what a joke. More like nightmare. I lie in bed half the night, fighting sleep for fear the dreams will come: memories of the life I lived before I got free, locked up and alone with revenge as my only company.
I shake the thoughts from my mind and stay focused on the present, my immediate needs, and now I’m hungry.