Page 17 of How May I Please You

“You heard me,” he replies. “What? You got a fucking problem?”

The bouncer quickly steps from his position in front of the door and stomps up to the asshole. “Hey, you get the fuck outta here. I've been putting up with your shit all night, and now you're antagonizing VIP members. You're banned from The Black Collar. Now go, and don't ever come back.”

“Banned? Are you fucking kidding me?” he blares, throwing his hands up in the air. “Fine. Fuck this place and fuck your VIP members—a bunch of fucking freaks who pay monthly to come be degenerates. You all fucking disgust me. I’m outta here.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just fucking go,” the bouncer replies.

The man from the line takes a second to stare down the bouncer, but eventually walks away just as Journey and I start across the street. I keep my eyes on him even as we reach my truck, and I see it when he slips into the darkness of a nearby alley, probably using it as a shortcut to get to the parking lot on the other side of the club.

This is it. Get him now or forever hold your peace. Defend Journey or be a little bitch in her eyes until the end of time.

Once I realize what he’s doing, I jump in the car and start the engine in a hurry, pressing on the gas and speeding out of the lot the second Journey gets her door closed.

“Where are you going so fast, Sir?” Journey asks.

When I look over at her, she’s smiling a wicked grin. I see the devil in her eyes and she sees the beast in mine, and we both know the answer to her question.

chapter

twelve

Rage scorches my veins as I try to push the gas pedal through the floorboard of my truck. The engine roars like a lion on four wheels, catapulting us forward as we hit the street and swerve around the corner. I run a red light, seeing nothing but my destination as I go, and Journey sits beside me silently. The two of us are a match made in hell because we feed off one another. Knowing she won't reach over and grab the steering wheel to try to stop me only makes me want to defend her more. Nobody else could be this perfect for me. No one else could sit next to a madman breaking traffic law after traffic law and love every second of it, especially knowing the way this will end. When I get to where I’m going, we both know it won't be anything pretty.

I swear it’s going to be fucking hideous.

I reach the other side of The Black Collar in what feels like only a few seconds of driving, and bring the truck to a stop at the end of the alley. There are barely any lights on my end, and even less in the alley itself, so I open my door knowing there’s almost no chance of cameras being in this area. Music beats against the walls loud enough for us to hear it, so I know the noise we make will be drowned out. Good.

What I’m about to do will be in the dark, so the only thing I need to be concerned with is witnesses walking past the alley on either end. Fuck it. If they see something they’re not supposed to, I have Journey to cover me. She’s a fucking detective. We can get to anybody if we really need to. Witnesses are only witnesses if they can speak.

Journey and I get out of the car together, holding hands as we stalk down the obsidian alley. In the darkness, the asshole from the club comes into view just before the halfway point, and when he recognizes us, he chuckles to himself.

“Oh, what is this shit? You bring your whore to protect you while you try to confront me in the fucking alley?” he blares, raising his arms as if challenging me.

He’s unafraid, which I commend him for. The only problem is that the lack of fear has nothing to do with the outcome. Plenty of people have gone into battle fearlessly and died horrendous deaths.

I let go of Journey’s hand so that mine can curl into a fist as I keep walking, not saying a word. Nothing I want to say requires me to speak. When I don't respond to him, the unnamed asshole fills the silence with his own words.

“You really wanna do this?” he asks, this time with a little quiver in his voice. Maybe his bravery is a front after all, but it’s too late now. Dread will neither protect nor save him.

As we finally come together, my heart pounds in my chest, rattling all of my organs as aggression brings my blood to a boil. I lock eyes with him one last time, just before I take off in a full sprint that brings our bodies colliding together. I lower my shoulder and slam it into his gut, lifting him entirely off the ground in a tackle that would make any linebacker proud. We hit the ground with a thunderous thud that bounces his head on the concrete like a basketball.

“Fuck!” he screams, trying to get me off by flailing his arms.

You would think that someone talking so much shit to a bouncer would know how to fight. To my surprise, this prick is just like any other asshole looking to bully strangers on the street. He’s arrogant and used to getting his way—used to talking shit to people and being ignored. His parents probably let him cry his way out of everything when he was a kid, so now he’s a fucking asshole as an adult. Well mommy and daddy can’t save him now. No one can.

Instead of swinging my arms like an insufferable jackass, I swing once, curling my hand into a fist and bringing it crashing down on his face like an anvil. His head bounces against the ground again as blood splashes from his nose like a water balloon bursting. His hands suddenly stop flailing and slam against his face, his eyes cinching closed in agony as he screams.

“Shut the fuck up,” I yell, before lowering my mouth to his ear and whispering. “Stop screaming, or I promise I’ll get the knife from my truck and cut your fucking tongue out.”

“You broke my fucking nose,” he bellows in response, still holding his face and writhing beneath me.

I turn to Journey and don't even have to say it. My Little Devil grins and turns on her heel, speed walking to the truck. As she goes, I turn my attention back to the man still struggling under my weight.

“You called my Little Devil a whore,” I say as I wrench his hands away from his face and bring my forehead down, slamming it against his nose in a vicious headbutt.

He screams again just as Journey returns holding a switchblade from the glove compartment of my truck. She forces it into my hand while simultaneously replacing my hand with hers to hold the guy’s arm down.

“No! Get the fuck off me!” he screams at the top of his lungs when he realizes what is about to happen. It’s too late now. He should've realized I wasn’t kidding when I warned him before.

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