Page 14 of Waging War
God, but it’d be too easy to pound a few shots, then help myself to every fantasy I’ve had from the moment she allowed me to bind her. That foreign vitality between us stretches beneath my skin even now.
That hellraiser’s a live wire, teasing me with a tantalizing buzz, only to electrocute my very core once I grab hold.
I take a long swig of vodka from the lip of my frosty highball. There was a stretch of time in my twenties when I heavily depended on alcohol and sex as coping mechanisms. It began at Royals, then grew worse when we started up The Pound. The combination of both vices allowed me a numbness I couldn’t find anywhere else, and before long, I was going weeks without a single sober day while burning through my condom stash.
My head gets that familiar rush when I turn away from the woman. Sam is the first female I’ve been with in a long time, but even that is nothing more than a shallow agreement. We scratch a simple biologic itch for each other. Aside from our random hookups, I’ve lost the desire for anyone else.
Well, mostly anyone.
Lights flash from the stage across the room, where a band covers an old rock song. The music pumps around the space, and for an outsider looking in, this place doesn’t look so bad. It’s one of Diablo’s nicer underground spots because it’s one of the newest.
The bartender brushes her tits across the counter when she hands me the bottle of Grey Goose I requested, making sure I’ve got a great view of her rack. “Here you go, handsome.” She slides her hand over mine with a flirty wink, and I watch her pink tongue glide over her pristinely white teeth.
“Thanks.” Gripping the bottle’s neck, I give her a tight smile before waving her off. Disappointment colors her gaze, but there are plenty more men here to satisfy her.
Cool liquid burns its way down my throat. I place the Goose back down with a shaking hand, reminiscing on a life that feels decades away from the one I’m living now.
The first time I accepted a job such as this for Diablo, Jack and I had just broken away from our first real home. We’d left our grandfather’s house for a life unknown because I’dknownthere was more out there—something grand and shiny meant just for the two of us. I wasn’t going to stop until we had the best.
What a joke that turned out to be.
Instead, I’d pulled us from a perfectly stable home into a world crueler than I could have ever imagined, and what awaited me was a job being a glorified bodyguard.
Jack was content to bartend and fill in when I needed an extra strong arm, but the real hard work fell to me. The line between bodyguard and bounty hunter blurred a lot, but Bruce didn’t seem to care as long as I got him the money he was owed from the people who tried to cheat him out of it.
I chased people all over east Texas, fulfilling some obligation I felt was justified. But nothing I did in those early years compares to what I’ve done now. The people I went after before were criminals; they were bad men playing another bad man’s game. I didn’t mind teaching them a lesson or two.
“No, please. Don’t do this.”
They always beg.
Another swallow of my drink, and I can finally suppress the chills pinching my skin.
Things are so different now. Diablo is sickening this town with Remi, as Rhyomine is known on the street, and he’s begun targeting innocent people. It’s as if he would rather kill the men and women whose businesses he’s overthrowing than try to negotiate with them. But I won’t murder to get what he wants. That piece of my humanity remains intact.
I down another hefty gulp, welcoming the humming sensation building at my fingertips, ensuring reality will soon begin to blur.
The casino is alive with people walking all over. Some play slots, some play cards. But all stay far, far away from me.
Another piece of my soul disintegrates every day I stay at Bruce’s compound. I’ve even resorted to sleeping at a motel multiple days a week or working all hours of the night because I can hardly stand to be around his filth.
One of us…
“Shut up,” I mutter to the voices in my head.
I get this sinking feeling that he’s waiting for me to slip up before he makes the killing blow, and I’m terrified. Not for myself, but for my family at The Pound and even Hazel and her—severely dysfunctional—family.
A hand smacks against the counter beside me. Years of training keep me from flinching, but my insides coil like a snake ready to strike.
The female bartender swings her gaze our way, but I barely acknowledge the man now crowding my personal space. I figured this moment would come, but I anticipated it much later than now.
Cooper makes himself comfortable on a stool next to me. “You look like you need another drink.”
I slide a sideways glance his direction. As expected, his scowl gives me the idea that he’s contemplating strangling me.
I’m not nearly drunk enough for this.
“Funny seeing you here. Didn’t take you for the gambling type.”
