Page 19 of Ryder
I had so much fucking anger burning inside of me, and no outlet for it. Torch had tried to make me take it out on him, and I know he kind of gets off on pain, but I hadn’t wanted to hurt him. And that other guy.Jesus.
Did I really try to rape a guy? Was I really preparing to try and force my cock into some guy’s ass, just to punish him for thinking we were gay or something?What the fuck had broken in my brain?
My door crashed open, and I realised I hadn’t made it very far. I was sitting on the floor with my back against the wall beside the door.
“Fuck’s sake. Are you drunk?” Reacher grabbed my arm and dragged me up from the floor, slamming the door behind him. We were alone, but why just him? I thought club business was club business or some shit. Maybe Stitch was balls deep in some club whore right now, not that we had many willing to associate with us.
“Sit down.” Reacher pretty much threw me into a chair, and I crossed my ankle over the other knee, while I rested my head back, staring at the ceiling. I still felt like I could cry like a fucking bitch. What I nearly did tonight… it had shaken me more than I’d ever admit to Torch.
I’ve never lost control like that before. The important thing about what I do is always knowing where the lines are that you should never cross. I fucking crossed one tonight. With that guy.
Was he right now sitting alone somewhere, cursing me for trying to do that to him? Was he with the cops? Trying to build a fucking sketch of me? Of Torch? Was he at the hospital, getting patched up, and trying to hide the fact that some bastard had tried to ass-rape him?
Jesus Christ.
A coffee was slammed down on the table in front of me.
“You’ll drink that, if you know what’s good for you,” Reacher snarled at me, probably still thinking I’d come back drunk. I wish. I wish I’d had a fucking drink. I wished there was something to blame for what I did.Instead, it’s all on me, and I can’t hide from that.
“I’m pretty sure coffee, the way you make it, is never good for me,” I muttered, staring at the too-dark drink in front of me. Jesus, did he even add milk? Have I even got any? I rubbed my face.
“Instead of being a smart-ass, talk to me, brother. Nobody else needs to know what gets said in this room. I can’t let youout there like a loose cannon, but I need to know what’s going on with you.”
I lifted my head to look at him. He didn’t look angry, or cranky, or any of the things I normally saw. He looked worried.
“What did Torch tell you?”
He groaned, rubbing at the piercings in his eyebrow. What did that actually achieve? Did it hurt? Did it tickle? Did it feel nice? I wanted to ask, but I’d just be stalling.
“He said that shit went down, and that you need to tell me yourself.”
Jesus fuck. I couldn’t look at him.
“Bar was a bust. Bartender remembers a blonde, but says it’s my responsibility to remember who I fuck.”
He snorted. “Yeah, guy’s always been a prick. I’ve had run ins with him before.”
“Oh… I think I’m barred now though. Torch too, maybe.”
He shrugged, sipping his tar-like coffee.
“No big deal. You’re on house arrest again anyway.”
“Fucker.”
His eyebrows were raised, as he stared back at me.
“I just know you meant to say thank you to your fucking Club President for having your back.”
I went back to avoiding his eyes.
“We had a run in with a guy outside the bar too.”
He didn’t speak, but I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t look him in the eye, or see his face, his reaction, when I told him.
“I was having a bit of a scuffle with Torch, and some bell-end thought we were making out or something.”
“Yeah, I’m guessing you took offense.”
