Page 17 of Ryder
“He lost his phone, mate. We’re just trying to retrace his drunken steps,” Torch added, with a forced chuckle.
Shit. That actually sounded feasible. I should have thought of that, instead of acting like a fucking psycho. I leaned casually on my elbows, trying to look like I didn’t just want to tear the guy a new one.
“Yeah… phone cost a fucking fortune.”
He nodded, smoothing his long beard.
“Yeah, I get that. My daughter’s phone cost nearly a fucking grand. I’ll keep an eye around here, but if it’s that fancy, it’s probably been pocketed already.”
I nodded, that urge to punch him returning a little quicker than I liked.
“So you don’t remember the chick? No name? No number? Not a fucking single detail?”
He leaned forward, jabbing a finger at my chest.
“Listen, fucktard. If you can’t remember every chick you fuck, that’s not my problem. I answered your fucking questions. Next time, take a damn picture if your memory’s that crappy.”
I lunged at him, and Torch pulled me back, just in time, before my knuckles buried themselves in his face.
“And I don’t think I wanna see you in here again. Get the fuck out,” the bartender snarled at me, reaching under the bar for a baseball bat, which he held up, trying to illustrate his point.
I smirked at him. “I’m gonna ram that so far up your ass, that-”
“We’re going. It’s fine. Hold your fucking horses.” Torch started dragging me out of the bar, while I made more threats at the bartender on my way out.
“You’re a fucking headcase right now. You wanna calm down?” He shoved me against the wall outside, and I took a deep breath.
“I’m so fucking fired up, man. I need to punch something or someone. I need to let it out, or I’ll go fucking insane.”
He held his arms out. “So fucking bring it. Get it out of your system, because I need you using your damn brain right now.”
I glared at him. “I’m not gonna hit you, dickwad. I just need to get out some anger.”
He shoved me again, my back thudding against the wall, and my head cracking back against it.
“Fucker!” I snapped, shoving him back, before I rubbed at my head.
He lunged again, and this time I was ready. Instead of him crashing me back against that wall, I spun, throwing him against it. He snorted, straightening up, and then he cursed, when I slammed a fist into his face, my fingers taking the brunt of the punch.
He blocked the next punch, and shoved me hard, before I came back at him, and we tussled against that wall for a few minutes, each getting in the occasional face or gut punch.
“Hey, sod off and fuck each other somewhere else. Nobody wants your kind around here,” some guy yelled as he approached. We both stepped away from each other, and turned to look at him, both of us now pissed enough for a real fight.
His eyes widened, as he finally focused on our cuts, and realised just who we are.
“Fuck.”
He turned and ran back the way he’d come, and fuelled by our anger, and adrenaline, we gave chase.
We caught up with him in a dark alley between two closed businesses. He quickly realised he’d gone down the wrong route, and had no way out. Perfect.
“Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He held his hands up. He was a big guy, but he knew he was outnumbered, and about to get his ass handed to him.
I rolled my shoulders, cracking my knuckles, and getting my head in the game. Yeah, punching some homophobic prick would do the trick nicely. Maybe break a few bones for him in the process.
Torch was laughing beside me. “Wrong night to piss him off, fucker.”
“Jesus. I… look, don’t hurt me, please.”
