I tried to turn it all off. Put up a wall, and strut around like I don’t need a goddamn person to survive. What bullshit that turned out to be, because here I am wallowing in my own self-inflicted misery. Karma taking a fucking sledgehammer to my head and that shitty wall.
My heart has shriveled up in my chest, and it seems no amount of booze is going to kill off the pain.
“Maybe we should call it a night, seeing as the sun’s up?” Popeye tries to persuade me to give up my bottle.
“I decide when I call it a fucking night, ol’ timer. Back off, or I’ll put that knife through your fuckin’ hand.”
The knife I’m referring to is the one my father stuck in the bar top ten years ago, no one is supposed to touch it. It’s a reminder of what happens when you cross the Club, and most importantly, its president.
“Easy there, Slash. I’m just looking out for my boy.”
“I’m not your fuckin’ boy. I belong to a fuckin’ man traipsing all around the world with his expensive pussy. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass about any of us anymore.” I tighten my fists till my knuckles are white. “You should have seen him eating at some fancy French restaurant dressed in a suit that probably costs more than my bike.”Cop out, deserter, cocksucker. Wereally are related and have way too much in common when it comes to bouncing on the people we supposedly care about.
“You saw him?” Popeye inquires.
“FaceTimed him. Yesterday.” The thought of that conversation kills me. For the first time in three years, I was able to speak to my father, and for half a second, life was good. It was almost perfect. And thenBAM!T-K-O.
I never saw it coming, but oh, man, did I feel it. I still feel it. And I have a feeling I’m going to feel it for a long-ass time.
Love is torture. A death sentence, and I’ve been convicted.
“How about I take you home, Slash?” Harley seductively slides her hand across the bar and rests it on mine. Her thumb ticks back and forth over my clammy skin as she gazes at me with come-fuck-me eyes.
Even in my drunken state, the touch feels wrong. It’s hard and heavy compared to the light, loving, dusting of my Snow’s. With blurry vision I inspect our adjoined hands. The contact makes my stomach twist into sickening knots. It feels criminal. Misguided, like a betrayal.
“I’ll take you home and make you forget all your problems,” she promises, leaning over the bar, her tits pouring out of her shirt and practically into my mouth. The busty brunette is hard to pass up, she’s a vixen blessed with wicked ways. I know because her lips have been wrapped around my cock more times than I can recall, and if I was another man from another time, I would take her up on her offer, lickity split. But I’m not another man. I’m Kira’s man. Kira’s possession. I belong to her, mind, body, and soul, whether I want to or not. She has possessed me in ways I can’t explain, and as easy as it would be to leave with Harley right now and forget all my problems in her warm pussy, my loyalty would never allow it.
No matter how I desperately need the distraction.
Sadly for me, the come-on isn’t even a turn-on, I’m limper than a dead fish in the seafood section of the supermarket. Nope, only one fucking woman can command this body, and I have done a spectacular job of amputating that relationship.
“I think you should take Harley up on her offer,” Popeye encourages. He and everyone else knows what she’s willingly serving up to me on a silver platter. A hell of a good fuck. No strings attached.
But I can’t even entertain the idea. I reject the notion. Kira has ruined me. Fucking destroyed me.
The recollection of her sweet surrender has me aching. “Fuck, I’m yours…I’m all fucking yours.”I steal a large swig of bourbon straight from the bottle, eager to numb my mind and kill off the memories invading it like the enemy. They haven’t given me a moment’s peace since I left her. They’re my demons dragging me into hell, and the only way to atone is to crawl back on my hands and knees and offer Kira something so rare it’s only witnessed during a full, blood red moon.
My remorse. My regret. My repentance. My admittance that I was wrong.
“Thanks for the offer, but there’s someplace else I have to be.” I push the bottle in her direction and stand. Swaying slightly on my feet, Hawk is in my face before I take two steps toward the front door. “Hold it.”
“Get the fuck out of my way, Hawkeye.” I command. That’s right, not order, not instruct. Fucking command.
“You aren’t going anywhere. You’ve been drinking all night.”
“I’ll take a fucking cab.” I push him.
“Slash,” he slams his hand on my chest and cocks his head. “How the fuck do you know you can trust her, man?”
“Because I fucking do.” And that’s enough.
“Don’t let some high-price pussy cloud your judgment.” He lowers his voice and achieves pissing me off in a new-record time.
“She isn’t just some high-priced pussy,” I wrap my hand around his wrist and squeeze. “She’s the most important person in my life, and I fucked up because of you.” Hawk’s expression morphs into surprise. He wasn’t expecting my blame, and was surely thinking what everyone else in this room was thinking. That I was just getting laid. Using Kira to get my rocks off, and maybe that was the original plan. But things changed. Everything changed. I changed. “Now get the fuck out of my way before I knock you into next week.”
We are tangled up in a face off when there’s a bang at the front door.
“Answer it.” I nod at Vet. Who the fuck would be rollin’ up in here this early in the morning?
