Exhaustion had claimed my body and while the idea of just sleeping in swirled in my head, I realized burying myself under a mountain of pillows and bedcovers didn’t hide the pain, it made it worse.
“Fine,” I muttered.
“Sweet.” He gave me one of his sloppy grins then wrinkled his nose. “No offense, dude but you need a shower and while you’re at it, a fucking shave. I don’t want people assuming I dragged a beggar in off the street to ply him with alcohol.” He winked. And for the first time in three weeks, I heard myself laugh.
Two hours and a shit ton of alcohol later, I squinted across the floor of the third bar we’d staggered into. Austin chased some skirt as usual then headed for the bathroom when he got bored while I sat at the main counter overlooking a scarcely filled dancefloor. Most of the patrons seemed to be holed up in one corner of the place, shooting pool or playing darts. Loud music from an ancient jukebox drowned most of the chatter around me.
The seclusion suited me just fine until I felt two bodies sit down on either side of me. Concentrating on my drink and letting the warm liquid do its magic of making me forget, I ignored them.
“What are you doing here, pretty boy.” I turned to the guy on my right and he leaned in closer. “Remember me, baby face?”
The smell of stale beer, sweat and cigarettes hit me full frontal and I scrunched my nose. Then recognition hit. It was the fucker from the last fight club, the one whose sister I’d turned down. Ignoring him, I went back to my drink.
“I’m talking to you, asshole.”
He stuck two of his stubby fingers in my glass and then brought it to his lips, his tongue making slurping sounds as he licked his fingers. All this I noticed in my periphery, not bothering to give him the time of day. He was spoiling for a payback fight. I wasn’t in the mood.
“I. Said. I’m fucking talking to you, rich boy,” douche one growled, douchebag two pressing in close on my left.
My expression one of boredom, I cocked my head to look at him. “This is a bar for men, shouldn’t you be at home playing with your pussy.” My gaze dropped to his crotch before flicking back to meet his face. He got the picture.
“Why you fucking piece of shit!” he spat at the same time jumping off his stool and swinging his right arm.
Gripping the edge of the bar, I leaned backward. His fist connected with his friend’s jaw, sending him flying off the stool with a hard grunt. Breathing ragged, douche one eyeballed me before he pursed his lips and let out a low whistle. Another man ran to his side, his face just as ugly as his friend who called him over.
“Let’s see what you got, pretty boy,” douche one sneered.
Smashed, I wasn’t likely to stay upright for long. I didn’t care. Standing, I was six feet three inches of solid muscle, the man was a good three feet taller than me and when he landed the first blow to my stomach, I welcomed the pain. Grinning, I straightened, clenched my fist and crowded him. “Is that all you got?” A few people gathered, enclosing us in a semi-circle around the counter.
He glared at me. “You little bitch!”
My right hook connected with his jaw. He staggered back, blood flying from his mouth as his face shook. “What the fuck is with the name calling,” I hissed. “Don’t you know any other words? Has your mother not taught you how to use your fucking mouth for anything other than dick?”
Both him and his friend lunged forward. I stepped back, bracing myself for the impact but two hands shot out of nowhere, grabbing both guys around the neck and jerking them back sharply. Douche one tried to lash out but the hand holding him whipped out like it was holding a frisbee, sending him crashing into the counter. The other guy was struggling to breathe before sagging to the floor in a gasping fit and clutching his throat.
My eyes lifted, meeting the casual smirk of a man I thought I’d never see again. Remo Rossi cocked a brow at me. Then he calmly slid out a gun from under his jacket and rested the muzzle against douche one’s brow after he attempted to jump Remo.
“Ever seen brain matter splatter, fucker?” He shoved the muzzle and douche one’s head snapped backward. My gaze dropped as someone pointed to his crotch. A dark stain quickly grew, soaking his faded denim. He gulped when Remo just stared at him saying nothing. “If I ever catch you around this boy again. Trust me. You’ll know what your brain matter tastes like too. Get the fuck out of here.”
Douche one scrambled for the exit as the crowd dispersed, his friends in hot pursuit. I shifted my gaze as Austin came into view and shook my head. He nodded and stayed away. “What the fuck are you doing here,” I growled at Remo.
He waisted his gun, righted his jacket and slid onto a stool. When he was done ordering a drink, he looked at me. “What did they teach you in that fancy private school? You could say thank you for saving your ass.” He tossed back the whiskey the bartender set in front of him.
I wasn’t sure what got to me more. The fact that he knew I’d gone to a private school, his sudden appearance so many years later or that he’d deprived me of the need to smash someone’s nose to pulp.
“I didn’t fucking need your help. I had everything under control,” I snarled.
“Not from where I stood.” Brow cocked, he ran an annoyingly smug gaze the length of my body. “One you could handle. Three. Unlikely.”
“You don’t know shit about me.”
He shook his head. “Not a boy anymore I see, but still an arrogant prick.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I repeated, more than ready to go a round with him, maybe finish what we’d started way back then.
“It’s a free country, boy, I can go where the fuck I want. Now sit your fucking ass down and have a drink with me.” I didn’t miss the underlying threat to his words.
Catching Austin’s worried look, I gave him a reassuring nod and slid onto the stool. I reached for the whiskey Remo set down.
