I went to take a look and was shocked to find Davis crouched down in front of the safe with tools laid out on either side of him. Damn. He wasn’t drunk. He never was. This was all just a ploy to fuck me over, and I’m not going to lie.
It hurt.
Hell, it hurt like a motherfucker.
He was so busy trying to open it that he didn’t even notice that I’d come up behind him until I growled, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing??”
Davis looked up, and relief flashed through his eyes the second he saw that it was me. He quickly stood and said, “I can explain.”
“There is no way you’re going to be able to explain your way out of this.”
I knew Davis was up to no good, and I gave him the rope to hang himself. Thankfully, the noose was set before it burned theclub. I’d never forgive him for stabbing me in the back yet again, and I’d never forgive myself for giving him the fucking knife to do it.
“You don’t get it. I’m not like you. I haven’t had everything handed to me on a fucking silver platter.” He motioned his hand toward his chest. “I need this.”
He always needed something.
It didn’t matter what he had or how much he’d been given. He always needed more.
And I was over it.
He had pushed too far.
Without warning, I swung, and my fist caught his jaw, jarring his head sideways. He stumbled, but he didn’t go down. Instead, he came back at me with a wild punch that caught my cheekbone and brought stars to my eyes. I recovered quick and went back at him. We crashed into the bookcase, and books and boxes went flying.
It didn’t slow us down.
He tackled me, sending us both slamming into the wall. I felt my lip split when his fist met my mouth, and the taste of blood seemed to fuel my rage. I punched him in the ribs and head-butted him in the nose, causing him to grunt. But he came up swinging.
His fists were sloppy now, and I used it to my advantage.
I hit him again and again.
Every swing carried years of heartache. Lies I’d swallowed. Excuses I’d made for him. Disappointment.
But the hurt burned out fast, like gasoline catching fire, and what was left was pure rage. I pinned him to the wall with my forearm and snarled, “You played me.”
“Sure did,” he replied, sounding winded. “And you bought every second of it.”
Then, he laughed.
That’s right. The motherfucker laughed.
I was about to lay into him again when Seven charged into the room. One glance around the room, and he knew what was up. This was my mess. I was the one responsible, so I stepped back and released my hold on Davis. “Get out.”
“Come on, now. You don’t gotta be like that.”
“I’m not going to say this twice.” I leaned in closer as I growled, “You’re done here. You don’t step foot in the Vault again. You don’t come near the club. And you don’t come near me. Ever.”
Davis used the back of his hand to wipe the blood from his mouth. “And what about my shit?”
“It’ll be at Dad’s in an hour.”
He looked at me but didn’t say a word. There was no apology in his eyes. No regret. Nothing at all. Just anger that he hadn’t gotten what he wanted.
He turned on his heel, and on his way out the door, he spat, “Fuck you. Fuck all of you.”
Memphis and Skid were out in the hall. They’d heard everything and followed him down the hall, making sure he didn’t try anything stupid.
