“Oh.” I press a hand to my head. Fuck me. My brain feels like it’s being severed in two. I’ve been hungover plenty of times, but goddamn. I feel like I’ve been hit by a goddamn Mack truck.
“Oh, fuck.” A warm mouth wraps around my cock, and I lift the sheet.
Destiny’s eyes lift to meet mine, and she grins around a mouthful of my cock.
“Fuck.” Falling back on the bed, I fist her hair in my hand, guiding her up and down my length as images of Frankie’s face flash in my mind.
Destiny’s mouth suctions around me like a Hoover.
Then the image of Frankie crying flashes to the forefront of my memory. “I can’t do this.” Tightening my fingers in her over-processed hair, I yank Destiny off my dick, and I shove her away. “You need to go.”
Her brows snap together. “I don’t understand. You begged me to come in here last night. You said?—”
“Get out!” I growl.
Hurt lashes across her face. “Fuck you, Bane. This is it. I’m done with you.”
Jumping out of bed, I charge towards her. Her eyes round to saucers as she scurries back. Caging her against the door, I wrap my hand around her throat and squeeze. “Don’t act like I fucking owe you something, whore. You’re not my woman, and you never will be. You’re here to fuck and suck dick. That’s it.”
Her nails dig into my arm, drawing blood as I squeeze tighter.
My eyes drop to my hand around her neck, and I yank it back. “Shit. I—” What the fuck am I doing?
I move away from her slowly. “I’m sorry.”
Destiny sniffles, touching her neck. “Fuck you, Bane.” With that, she opens the door and hurries out of my room.
What have I done?
Stumbling to the bathroom, I lift the toilet seat and puke my guts out, heaving until there’s nothing left but bile. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I turn on the shower and step inside. The water does little to wash away the self-loathing, but at least I don’t smell like a walking brewery anymore.
After brushing my teeth twice, I throw on clean jeans and a black T-shirt and head downstairs, needing something to take the edge off. Hair of the dog and all that shit.
The clubhouse is quiet with everyone still passed out after their night at Kitties but my mother is behind the bar, wiping glasses with a towel, her face set in hard lines.
“Son,” she says coldly, not looking up.
“Ma,” I reply carefully, sliding onto a stool. Her tone makes it clear she’s pissed, but I’ve got no fucking clue what I did to earn it.
“Can I get a shot of Jack?” I ask, rubbing my temples.
She slams a glass down in front of me, her blue eyes narrowing to slits. “You know, I never thought the son I raised could be so goddamn cold.”
My eyes widen. My mother only swears when she’s fighting mad.
“Not sure what you’re talking about,” I mumble, though I have a sinking feeling I know exactly what’s got her riled up.
She throws her dishcloth at me, hitting me square in the face. “Foxy told me all about how you hurt that poor girl.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What girl? What the he-heck are you talking about?” I catch myself before cussing at my mother.
“Frankie!” she shouts, her voice echoing through the room. “She was here yesterday! And you... you used that whore to drive a stake through her heart!”
My stomach rolls again for a completely different reason. “Oh fuck.” I run my hands through my hair, tugging at the roots. I just keep fucking up. I thought her being here was a dream—a drunken hallucination.
“Yeah,” my mother sighs, her anger deflating as she sees the realization dawn on my face.
“I don’t know what to do, Ma,” I whisper brokenly. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. This gut-wrenching, soul-crushing pain that comes from knowing I’ve hurt the one person I can’t stand to lose.
