Last, they meant something else entirely to me.
And as he tore through me with that song, intentionally lashing wounds that already were laid bare and never would heal, I heard Kellie snap, “I didn’t buy into this shit,” and I knew.
I.
Fucking.
Knew.
I was not there because Kellie got a wild hair to drag me back to life.
I was there because of something else.
I ripped my stare off Hop and looked through the bar knowing what I’d find before I found it.
Then I found it.
Off to the side of the stage, at their own table with a RESERVED sign on it, sat Tack Allen.
With him was his woman, Tyra.
Also the one they referred to as Lanie.
Worse.
Boz. Hound. Big Petey.
And Logan.
The men were aiming their loathing at me. It hit true, the toxin coating my skin and sinking deep.
The women were looking shocked.
They got to Kellie.
They got to my girl.
And she’d jumped on board being fed promises of healing wounds that had no cure not having any clue their play would end me.
I shot out of my chair, tucking my purse under my arm, and rounded the table, winding my way their way, eyes to my guess at the ringleader.
Tack’s new woman.
“Millie!” Kellie screamed.
I ignored her and kept going, brushing people, twisting past chairs. Well before I got to the Chaos table, all were standing, the men in aggressive defensive postures, the women uncertain.
I stopped at their table, Hound stepping mostly in front of me, but I kept my eyes pinned to Tyra.
“Stop!” I shouted, knowing my face was twisted, certain it was ugly, but not caring, only needing one last thing before I ceased to exist.
And that was to get my message across.
“I—” she began, but I cut my gaze to Tack.
“Make her stop!” I demanded.
“Millie—”
That was Logan. He was close. I could hear it and I could feel it.
But I had eyes to Tack, who was injecting my bloodstream with the venom of his gaze at the same time opening his mouth to speak.
Kellie got there before him. “You motherfuckers!” she screeched. “Total fuckin’ bitches. You played me! You goddamned fuckin’ bitches. Got me to play my own girl!” she shrieked.
Tack looked from me to Kellie, then down to his woman.
“Tell me you did not,” he growled.
She looked up at him, face pale. “Kane, honey—”
“Millie.”
That was Logan again and I felt his hand on me.
It burned.
God, it burned.
Seared.
Scorched my flesh to nothing.
I twisted my arm viciously, yanking away, slamming into Kellie and tipping my head back to look up at him.
I lifted my hand, pointing a finger an inch from his face.
I couldn’t shroud the agony and I didn’t care about that either when I shouted, “Make them stop!”
“Babe—” he began, lifting his hand but before he could get to mine I tore it away.
“I’m done walking through fire for you, High!” I yelled. “I’m done not because I’m done but because there’s nothing left of me to burn. You have it all! You’ve always had it all! I gave up everything so you could have it all! Please! God! Leave me to my nothing!” I swung an arm out to their table. “And if you gave one single shit about me, ever, make them let me have my nothing!”
On that, I pushed, shoved, desperate to get to a place where I could completely fade away and do it alone. Having been given too much too soon and paying the price by having it ripped away so that was all I’d ever have. Nothing. All I’d ever be. Alone. With all that, I made my final dash through the flames, making my way through the bar, out, and I ran to my car on my high heels.
Destined to fade away.
Ready to fade away.
Needing nothing but to leave it all far behind.
High
“Woman, I fuckin’ told you.” High heard Tack snarl.
But he couldn’t pay any mind to what was unraveling because Cherry couldn’t keep herself to herself.
He was moving.
Moving to get to Millie, her words battering his brain.
I gave up everything so you could have it all!
And then he was not moving because Kellie was in his space, in his face.
“You fucking motherfucker!” she screamed, shoving at his chest.
His body locked, his jaw tightened, and both were good because they stopped him from reciprocating in any way when she shoved him again.
“You ruined her!” she shrieked, and his locked body strung tight. “Wasn’t that enough?” she asked. “Do you and your bitches gotta get your jollies by fucking her up again?” She looked beyond him in the direction of the table. “Newsflash, assholes, there was nothing to fuck up. She was gone. You didn’t need to make the effort. But awesome,” she snapped sarcastically, “you hit it just right, bringing back the only fuckin’ thing on this earth that would tear her shreds into tatters.”
And on the last, she jerked a thumb High’s way.
“Memory serves, bitch, someone else was in shreds after your gash laid him to waste,” Boz returned.
“Oh yeah?” Kellie asked, eyes narrowed dangerously on his brother.
“Yeah,” Boz shot back.
“You didn’t see.”
Hop was now at their table, the band still playing onstage, but the players embroiled in the current mindfuck could be anywhere, their attention completely on what was happening right there, right then.
Especially when Kellie whispered those three words.
And how she did it.
They all heard it; High could sense how they heard it.
But he felt it.
Each word.
“What didn’t we see?” Pete asked.
High watched Kellie’s body twitch, then she shook her head. “You don’t deserve to know that. You don’t deserve,” she looked to High, “dick.” She raised a hand to point a finger in his face. “Keep the fuck out of her life, asshole. Leave her alone.”
“She left me,” High growled.
“Wasn’t her who walked away,” Kellie returned.
High’s shoulders strained taut in a way it felt any movement would make them snap.
Jesus.
Fuck.
Jesus.