PROLOGUE
Hush
I’m simply existing. Not living.
There’s nothing left but emptiness.
Darkness.
Every time I close my eyes, the pain continues to consume me. I want to claw out the organ from my chest every second of every day. Rip out what’s no longer beating and feed it to the goddamn birds. The agony never stops. It hammers away at me, day by day, night by night. Then washes through me like a tidal wave, drowning every bit of humanity I have left with it. Little by little. Until there’s nothing left.
I welcome the day. For it may be the only chance I have at breathing again.
The afterlife is uncertain, but it must be better than this. Before, I would have told death to go fuck itself, but now? Well, now it seems like a gift. A hope. A promise. There’s nothing left for me here.
“Hey, asshole. I’m talking to you.”
I still with the glass of ice water inches from my mouth. The large figure hovers over me and knocks the glass out of my hand, water spraying over my face. The counter. Everywhere. With an odd solace present, I reach for a napkin square and dab at the small sections on my wet skin.
The bartender eyes me before glancing over at the biker. He then turns, busying himself. It’s the look of someone who was used to this type of confrontation. But also, a warning.
“This is our turf. We don’t allow outsiders here.” The foul stench of the big biker’s breath hits my gut. “You got five seconds to get up and get the fuck out of here.”
My gaze never falters, staring straight ahead, studying the little swirls of the backsplash.
“One,” he seethes, and I slowly close my eyes.
“Two.” His musky breath lingers to my left. “Three.”
I turn my head and inhale, focusing on steadying my breathing.
“Four.” He pauses before spitting out his last number. “Five.”
I exhale.
“Time’s up, motherfucker.” He crashes his heavy hand on my shoulder, and I grab it, squeezing it like a chew toy. I then twist his sweaty arm back, slamming his head onto the bar’s countertop.
“My arm!” The biker’s pain echoes throughout the bar even over the loud music. Dislocating the shoulder is a pain beyond belief. If you haven’t experienced it for yourself, you don’t have a clue on how it feels.
Two of his buddies jump up from their seats, stalking over. I hurl my guy, whose cheek was previously enjoying the oak top, causing them to stumble like bowling pins and it gives me just enough time to reach for the pool stick resting next to me.
Twirling it once, I throw a beer bottle up and swing the stick, sending the glass flying. It hits the other biker in the face, and he screams in pain from the multiple cuts to his forehead.
“It’s over for you!” The bad breath biker regains his footing but before he can get to me, I swing again like I’m back in high school playing baseball, and it collides with his left kneecap right before it splinters in half. He goes down with a shriek of misery, holding onto the same knee rolling in half circles.
That’s definitely broke.
They’re out of shape, making this way too easy. Though all I wanted was to be left alone. Hydrate in peace. That feeling was hard to come by.
Shouts and hollers surround me from each watching bystander. But they’re not cheering for me. They want the bikers to kick my ass.
Fair enough.
One guy pushes a woman out of the way, trying to get to me, but I hold out an arm before she can fall. This allows him to get a good blow to my jaw and my head snaps to the side from it. The taste of blood coats my tongue from my splitting lip.
He goes for another jab, but I duck, thrusting the broken end of the pool stick into his exposed arm.
A loud shot fires in the air, and I’m left staring at the end of a shotgun barrel.
