Page 46 of Mariposa
She said she thinks I’m broken, and it takes one to know one. Why is she ‘broken’? Why does she only let her guard down when she taints her blood with alcohol?
I didn’t report anything the night I found her drunk because I believe in second chances, and tonight, with how she’s going, it looks like she needs someone to look after her.
I used to overdrink myself until I couldn’t feel my past. I’ve been lost since Penny and Adam left—alcohol and painkillers were my home. Until a few years ago. Cleaning up my act tookme a long time. I knew if I hadn’t, I’d end up drinking myself to death, and Booker helped me through that dark period of a single soldier who had lost his reason.
“Dammit, Kade,” Karen whines. “Why did you ask me out here? I still don’t have your attention. You haven’t said one word to me about anything tonight. Why am I here?”
I bring the bottle to my lips, taking another swig as I stare at the wide, flat television screen. The game is tied, which means it may go into overtime.
Which also means that it is more of an excuse to babysit Violet.
I should feel bad, mainly because I don’t have an answer for her. I’m trying to repent, and maybe burying myself in Karen tonight will remove the lines I crossed with Violet yesterday. This is the most logical solution. To fuck the next woman’s brains out until I don’t seeheranymore.
Karen’s flinty, smoldering blue eyes remain on my face as she waits for an answer.
“Looks like it’s going into overtime.” I tilt my drink toward the screen.
“I don’t like football.” She flicks her beer bottle with her nail, causing it to chime. “I know we made it a rule not to talk about work while outside of the uniform, but things are getting bad where you’re going.” Her knee starts to bounce up and down erratically as she watches me intensely. “The things that roll in for intel…it’s bad right now.” She trails off with a blank face.
“I know what I signed up for.”
Loud whistles and cheers pull both of our attention to the source. As I roll to the side on the barstool, my chest tightens. Wrath blinds me momentarily. I didn’t know how much more pissed off I could get tonight, but lo and behold, Violet found a new limit for me.
I see fucking red…and it’s not the red dress swaying and lifting into the air as Violet dances drunkenly, almost falling off the high table while men circle her and stare at her inappropriately. She snakes her hands into her hair, on both sides of her head, flames flickering wildly in her eyes. They gain more flammability when she catches me looking. My jaw flares when she gives me a taunting look. Rolling her eyes, she continues to dance and ignores the scathing glower I’m giving her.
I swear to fuck if she rolls her eyes at me again.
Where the hell is Booker? Where is Slater? They wouldn’t leave her alone like this. Booker likes to fool around, but he wouldn’t abandon Violet like this while she’s clearly drunk. He must be out for a smoke or a piss.
A ringtone blares from Karen’s purse, and I try to control my seething.
“I’m going to step out. I need to take this.” She hops off the stool and strides, long and fast, toward the front of the bar. Before returning my gaze to the young woman who is the center of everyone’s attention, I ensure Karen can’t see what I’m about to fucking do.
I pinball my vision at every corner, still having false hope that Booker and Slater will show up and beat me to it, but as seconds that feel like minutes pass by, they are nowhere to be found.
Damn it.
Damn me for caring about her.
I should let her make mistakes so she can learn from them, but here I am. Sifting through my pocket until I find my wallet, I palm cash to cover mine and Karen’s tab with a tilt of my chin before I stand. The bartender, Isaac, smacks it and drags the money away.
Zipping through the crowd, my shoulders and sides bump into people as I snake my way in until I’m standing in front ofher with a heaving chest. I pop my knuckles, trying to gather my thoughts and stay indifferent toward this frustrating woman. She dances terribly, lost in the music. Swaying and moving with shut eyes as men continue encouraging her with oohs and aahs. It sickens me. Then, one sloppy dance move has her dress dropping enough to expose her breasts.
A man pulls out his cell in front of me and taps the camera app.
This fucking creep is going to take pictures of someone that doesn’t belong to him, maybe even video her making a fool out of herself. Sure enough, he attempts to do precisely that. Aiming the photo camera lens in her direction, he swipes to the video setting, and I crack my knuckles. Of course, Violet continues to sway her hips dubiously and rocks her head vehemently to the beat of “Father Figure” by George Michael, and her hair blinds her to what’s unfolding in front of her.
I smack the weirdo’s phone out of his hands until it thuds on the ground.
“Hey man, what was that for?” the fucker dares to bare his yellow teeth, and the stench of his liquor breath hits me. He is way too close for my liking.
My fist connects to his chin, sending him into the arms of his friends. They catch him as he tries to regain his stance. It’s a group of four young sailors staring at me with hesitant eyes. One of them studies his injury and flicks his stunned gaze to mine.
“You broke his jaw,” he murmurs in a voice that trembles with fear.
Good.
Straightening my back, my muscles quiver for release. They all look at me and then back at him, disappointed.
