Page 5 of Glamour and Grit

“I didn't mean a therapist, necessarily, though quite frankly Easton knows a number of really good ones.”

I scoff anddrain my glass.

“You’re on a first name basis with Mrs. Big Time Hollywood Actress now, are you? Her Academy Awards might look nice on her and Jax’s mantle, but they don’t motivate me. I’m not part of your little Platinum Security clan. I don’t need to be managed by committee.”

“No one’s trying to manage you. We’re just trying to help. There are a lot of guys who have similar experiences to yours at the office. You could try talking to one of them.”

I roll my eyes and slam the empty glass down harder than I need to. This draws the attention of pretty much everyone in the bar, and not in a good way.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Bastian, I don’t want to talk about it. Can’t you understand that?”

“I know you don’t want to, but I think you really need to. You’re carrying around a ton of guilt, and it’s not healthy.”

“Oh, you’re going to lecture me, Bastian? Mr. Fight Club? Mr. Bad Boy? Didn’t you show up on your girlfriend’s doorstep with a bleeding knife wound?”

His brows come low over his eyes.

“Stop deflecting, and there were extenuating circumstances about that stab wound. Don’t you realize that if you keep on like this, you could die?”

“Something’s gotta kill ya.”

The bartender gives the two of us a dirty look and I grin back at him.

“Dane, how much have you had to drink?”

“Not enough. What are you, my mother? Harlowe should have told you that I don’t put up with that nonsense from her, and I’m not putting up with it from her husband, either.”

Bastian shakes his head sadly at my blatant provocation. He’s not going to rise to the bait.

“Anyone can lose their way, man. You’re not angry at me, or Harlowe, or anyoneelse but yourself.”

I nod, arching my brows. “Yeah, you’re right. A plus plus. Gold star for you. Do they still put gold stars on kid’s homework at school?”

“How the fuck should I know? Look, Dane, I know you find it annoying when people care about you, but you need to get over that and let yourself get some help, man! Look at this place. You could have picked a bar where we were less likely to get stabbed.”

“Ah, this place isn’t so bad.”

The sound of broken glass draws my attention to the pool table. The gangbangers crowd around the terrified waitress. Vodka from the broken glass on the floor spreads out in a pattern that looks sort of like a skull.

I’m up and moving before I really think about it. Someone’s in danger, and I run toward it. A great habit for a military man. A bad habit for a civilian.

I drive my fist into the temple of the gangbanger holding the waitress by her wrist. He twists around and collapses against the pool table. I quickly usher her behind me as Bastian shakes his head.

“Fuck, Dane, you’ve done it now.” Bastian sighs and finishes his coke as the gangbangers come around the table and approach us. “I hope you’re not too drunk to fight.”

“I’m never too drunk to fight.”

A banger with his do-rag flopping in his eyes steps up first, wielding a pool cue in one hand and a beer bottle in the other.

“Hey, you got a problem, asshole?”

It occurs to me that he came up talking shit rather than swinging. That means we could de-escalate this. I could talk my way out the door without resorting to violence.

But I don’t wanna.

I launch into a Pearl Harbor attack, going on the offensive with zero warning. I swing with my whole body, putting extra ass into my right cross. The banger’s head snaps to the side and then he stumbles back until he falls ass-first onto the pool table. Two of the balls roll over and clackinto the pockets.

“Neat, you’re a better player with your tukus than you are with a cue.”

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