Page 137 of Bona Fide

A mirthless chuckle escapes my chest as the young bartender places my drink in front of me and gives me a sweet smile. I shoot her one back and Reagan flicks her cinders on my jeans.

The reason I know is because some of the fuckers are still hot.

Instead of reacting, by clutching her throat and spreading her legs wide for me to step in between, I take a large swig of my liquor to tamper down any irrational behavior or old habits.

“Are you done tossing around your power?” Reagan snaps, still perched in my direction before she takes another hit.

I toss back the rest of my whiskey and place a twenty on the bar then pluck the cigarette out of her mouth.

Placing it between my own lips, I take a hit, letting the nicotine hit my lungs and restore them to start working properly again. Exhaling, I slam the end into her napkin, smothering it out.

“I don’t know, Sox, you tell me.” I rise from my stool. “I suggest you smoke the bitch out of you before it causes you to lose everything.”

Then I leave her sitting in the bar alone, in the midst of men and single fucks who’ll circle her like a fresh piece of meat.

She wants to fuck to forget, let her.

I’m already doing it.

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