Casa nodded an okay, already understanding and putting a plan together to help me sort out my fucked-up head. He knew me well enough to help me do what needed to be done, and I trusted him well enough to put myself in his hands. Because if there was one thing that Casa knew how to do well, it was how to deal with my shit. He started to ride and I forced myself to tear my gaze away from Laney, and our home, knowing that I was going to regret it.
I followed Casa, and we rode until the sun set and the moon was high, and then we pulled into a small bar just outside our town called The Ranch. It was filled with far too many people for such a small place, meaning there was always way too much testosterone floating around and leading to just what I needed right then: a fight.
I parked my bike next to Casa’s, shut off the engine, and hung my helmet, and then we were walking across the parking lot and heading inside. The doorway was already crowded with people trying to get some fresh air while they ironically smoked cigarettes, filling their lungs with the nicotine that got them through the days.
The women’s eyes appraised me and Casa as we closed in and the men put protective arms around their waists, letting us know that they had already been claimed, as if that meant anything to either of us. If I wanted one of their woman, I’d have her because no one was fucking man enough to try and stop me. And Casa, shit—panties practically fell at his feet wherever he went. That was just the way it was. The way it’d always been.
We pushed past them all and headed on in. The music was already loud and thumping from outside and practically ear-splitting on the inside. Bodies were squashed against one another, women’s skin glistening in sweat as they ground against each other on the dance floor, putting on a full on show for the men watching from the sidelines. The whole place reeked of sweat, stale beer, and pussy, and I fuckin’ loved it, immediately feeling myself loosen up.
We reached the bar and I held up two fingers when the barmaid looked in our direction. She nodded and turned away, and a minute later two ice-cold beers were set in front of me. I handed one to Casa and slid twenty dollars across the bar toward the barmaid. She was slim, with curves in all the right places and a mouth that looked like it could suck the chrome off a bumper.
She smiled at me, fluttering her long, fake lashes and hoping to keep the change. I sucked in my bottom lip, seeing her gaze fall to my mouth and her eyes dilate as she watched me.
She was a pretty little thing, though she was wearing too much crap on her face—thick eyeliner under her eyes and bright red lipstick—and with her short skirt and tits practically spilling out of her top, I couldn’t help but stare.
“Come on, bitch, get me a fucking drink!” a man, if he could even be called that, yelled from the other end of the bar.
Spell broken, she turned to him, muttering her apologies to both me and him as she grabbed a beer and popped it open. As she handed it to him, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, whispering something into her ear. For all I cared right then, he could have been her old man and he was whispering sweet nothings to her, but I turned and handed Casa my beer and he took it with a sneer, already knowing what I was about to do.
I stormed my way around to the other end of the bar, cracking my neck as I walked, and watching as other people take note of me and get the hell out of my way. I’m a big guy, and most people moved when they saw me coming. If it wasn’t the wide set of my shoulders or my six-foot three frame, it was the dark gleam in my eyes that got people’s asses out of their seats. Laney once said that she could swim in my blue eyes, that’s how deep they were, but right then they were filled with anger and hate, and were probably blacker than the deepest hole in hell.
I reached the guy just as he let go of the barmaid’s wrist, almost pushing her away like a cheap piece of meat. Her gaze flicked to me, and I smiled at her and then wasted no time in grabbing the back of his neck before slamming his face into the wooden bar. He grunted out and I smiled in satisfaction as the vibrations from the hit ricocheted up my arm. His body went slack and I dragged him from his stool, letting it fall to the floor as I pulled him backwards and outside into the cool night air.
A path was cleared as I threw him to the ground and he tumbled and rolled, finally rousing as his body came to a stop near the sidewalk. He groaned and put his hands to his face, his eyes not focusing on anything else but the blood on his hands as they pulled away.
But I was only just getting started.
I stormed over to him, enjoying the blood gushing down his face and the fear flashing through his eyes as he saw me and struggled to get back up on his feet. I cracked my knuckles as I got closer and he scooted away, not being able to find the energy to stand up and fight me like a real man.
“Please, I’m sorry,” he begged, and I heard Casa laughing from somewhere behind me. “I didn’t know she was your woman.”
“She’s not.” I spat on the ground next to him and cracked my neck from side to side.
“Then why do you care?” he yelled, sounding angry.
“I don’t,” I replied, enjoying the look of fear that crossed his face.
I stood over him, sneering down as he pleaded apologies for whatever it was that he was supposed to have done. Dumb fuck didn’t even realize that he hadn’t done anything—and even if he had, that wasn’t why I was doing this. He wasn’t really the reason I was doing this.
I was doing it because if I didn’t find some way to get rid of the anger, I’d self-combust.
I kicked out at him, my heavy booted foot kicking him straight in the face, and I watched in satisfaction as more blood gushed free from his nose. Cheers and chants echoed behind me, but I ignored them all in favor of my red-hot fever, the burning self-hatred and anger that ran through me like liquid fire, and I kicked and I kicked and I kicked…
At some point Casa decided that the guy’d had enough, and he was probably right because the dumb fuck wasn’t moving anymore and the crowd that was cheering me on had gone silent—a clear sign that I might have gone too far.
Casa laughed and grabbed the collar of my cut before pulling me away. “Come on, loverboy, let’s go get you that pussy now, yeah?” He laughed and dragged me back to the bar entrance, slamming the door open and pulling me inside.
Casa pushed to the front of the line, but neither of us could see the hot barmaid from earlier, so instead he ordered us two more beers from the barman, who eyed us both warily but served us regardless.
That time Casa paid, and then we headed further into the bar, my chest finally feeling free of some of the deep anger I’d felt only twenty minutes earlier. My boots were covered in blood, and now that the red mist had cleared I spared a thought for the poor fuck outside who I almost just kicked to death. I patted Casa on the shoulder, glad that he stopped me.
I downed most of my beer in one go before spotting my barmaid collecting bottles at a table near the back, and I handed my almost-empty bottle to Casa.
“You sure about this?” he asked, his couldn’t-give-a-shit-façade slipping.
I hated myself.
I hated my life.
