Page 59 of Bucked Hard

The sun is beating a hasty retreat behind some dark clouds when I slam on the brakes in the dirt parking lot at Crutches. I don’t even bother to find a space. It’s busy and I just don’t have the time.

I climb out and turn to Leroy. “Sorry, you can’t come in. I’ll bring our girl home, don’t worry.” I slam the door and break into a run toward the front of the bar. I do my best to scan for Clifford in the parking lot, but it’s a waste of time with it so busy. Saturday nights at a place like this, every other fucking vehicle is a pickup.

Besides, it’s not her pickup I’m after, it’s her, and whether I can see any sign of it or not I know she’s here. It’s that sixth sense again.

I’m not fucking waiting in line to get into the club. In my state of mind, I could probably take both the hulk bouncers at the door and still have enough in the tank for a marathon, but that would take time, and time is one thing I don’t have.

Instead I hustle around the side of the building. The back door to the kitchen is standing open and bright light is streaming out into the dusky parking lot.

I don’t bother to ask – I’m inside and half way through the kitchen before anyone notices, then I’m out the other side before they can lay a hand on me.

And that makes them the lucky ones. Because if they had tried to stop me they would have regretted it.

I slam into the swinging door separating the kitchen from the bar, and the pulse of the crowd and the beating music feels like a wave crashing against my eardrums.

Then I remember, the owner, Crutch. She said he’s as close to a father as she’s ever known.

I’m pushing through bodies, not asking as I throw them aside, looking for a glittering black tank top so I can ask where I can find the owner. It’s hot as fuck in here and the crowd is so thick, trying to move is like walking through molasses.

My head is throbbing. There’s a pull in my gut and something as close to heart break as I’ve ever felt has my throat tight and my steps frantic.

My six feet five inches comes in handy scanning over the crowd. A second later, my eyes light on a waitress who could be the younger version of Morticia Adams if she was a stripper, and I’m in pursuit. Pacing through the crowd, I use my body to block her path. At first her eyes narrow like she’s about to let go on me, but when she scans me up and down, her expression shifts. She pushes her chest out toward me and licks her lips.

“Is Rachel—” I catch myself. “Lori, where is Lori?”

The raven haired waitress smirks, fucking me with her eyes. Rachel’s here, I know it.

“Who?” She bats her finger-length false eyelashes at me and the heat rises in my core. Not a good heat.

“Fucking Lori. Where is she?” I growl because I can see this bitch is playing and it’s not fucking playtime.

Her smile drops, and it’s good for her because I’d never hit a woman, but I’m not myself right now.

“She is in the office.” She tips her head back toward the long bar where she sat that first night at the back table. “If you’re who I think you are then I’m not sure she wants to see you.”

Her editorial leaves me with a tightening in my chest, but I’m already running and pushing through bodies until I see a door cut into the black wall in a hallway down from the end of the waitress service area.

For a moment I hesitate, the future I was sure Rachel and I were going to have together flashing in front of my eyes. All the dreams I’ve managed to cram into the short time we’ve been together feel like they could crumble to dust.

Thoughts of our wedding day, our first baby, the way she looked at me the moment she lay under me, taking me inside her for the first time. They all thunder inside my head, but I shake them away. No matter, she can run, but nothing will change the fact that she belongs to me and I’ll tie her up and carry her out of here if need be.

I grasp the brass door knob and swing open the office door, ignoring the sign that says,Do not Enter without a written invitation.

My invitation got lost in the mail.

The vacuum of silence inside the office damn near pops my eardrums, and it takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the bright light. Then my gaze falls to the corner and snags on her red-rimmed eyes, the expression on her face hurting me deeper than anything I’ve felt before.

“Boy.” A booming voice and a giant of a man steps out from behind the door, greeting me with that single word.

The crutch under one arm, the leg cut off at the knee, the fire in his eyes, I know this must be him: Crutch.

Rachel looks so small as she sits there on a ratty green sofa, her hands folded into her lap. The sadness in her face is something I never want to see again. Something that I didn’t realize could hurt so much.

“Rachel.” I fall to my knees in front of her, clutching at her hands. “What happened? What the fuck is going on?”

New tears crest her lower lids and I realize at that moment that I am capable of murder because I’m ready to kill whoever made her feel this way.

“Boy, you best get on now.” Crutch swallows and I note the subtle cues in the tightness of his lips, the way he sucks in his cheeks. He’s protective of her, so we are on the same team. I just need him to realize I’m at the head of this little man pack.

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