Page 88 of Kings Against the World

Mace steps into my face. “You’re acting a like a fucking ass. My patience is running thin. Get your shit together!”

“Or what?” I challenge, getting up in his face like he’s gotten up in mine. I grin crookedly at him, daring him to make a move. “What’re you gonna do, Mace? Punch me in the jaw again? Go ahead—I can take some hits. Yours are cake anyway.”

“None of that!” Silver quickly interjects himself, using his arm to push both me and Mace away from each other. “Keep your damn hands to yourselves. I mean it.”

“Yes, Dad,” I taunt. “Actually, I’ve got a father already, Silver. He’s back in California and he considers his only son to be dead. Maybe that’s how things need to be with the club too. I never belonged here. Later.”

I turn for the door, the tension pressing down on my chest. I need to get the hell out before I break something.

Or someone.

Logan’s hand lands on my shoulder, his grip firm enough to stop me. “Hey, you need a listening ear. Somebody to rant to. I’m around. I’ll drop by your trailer.”

I shrug off his hand. “Don’t bother.”

Nobody else stops me as I shove the door open and stalk out of the office. I can feel their gazes burning into my back as I leave, but I couldn’t give any less of a fuck. They don’t get it. They don’t get me. None of them do. They think I can be fixed, like I’m some busted bike in the Chop Shop waiting on a new part.

But some things stay broken.

Three hours and one trip to the liquor store later, I’m tossing back shots of White Oak like it’s water. The whiskey torches my throat like a trail of fire on its way down. The first few shots made me cough—hack, really—but after losing track of how many shots I’ve taken, the burn’s begun to feel good.

The edges of my vision have blurred, growing fuzzier, like the world’s distorted itself for me.

The bottle clinks against the rim of the glass as I pour yet another shot and end up spilling some on the floor.

It doesn’t matter. I’ll worry about stuff like that later.

Funny, considering I finally gave my place a deep scrub. That was when I first returned from Vegas and convinced myself I could do better.

I shove away from the kitchen counter and stumble back into the living room toward the couch. My boot catches on a loose floorboard and I nearly eat it, but I manage to crash down onto the cushions instead. The suede’s peeled and worn, creaking under my weight.

But it feels damn good sinking into it. My head lolls back and I laugh at my own clumsiness, the sound echoing in the empty trailer.

Mace. Silver. All of ’em act like they’ve got me figured out, like they even give a damn. They think they know what’s best, but they haven’t got a fucking clue.

I’ve tried my hardest. I’ve fought to keep my shit together. But no matter how straight I walk, I’m always the one people expect to fall—and they’re right.

No matter what, I always find a way to screw up.

There’s a reason it’s been the common thread in my life. I’m destined to be a wreck and nobody wants to deal with that kinda liability.

Not the guys at the club. Damn sure no woman.

My fuzzy mind wanders to Zoe for the first time in a while, though I try to course correct. I’ve been avoiding thoughts of her. Refusing to let myself think about how I fucked that up too.

I had a woman by my side for the first real time and I messed that up by pushing too hard. I turned her off and then wentrunning scared when it came time to confront things. But Zoe wasn’t the only one afraid of getting close to someone.

What was the point when they always left in the end? If I didn’t fuck it up with Zoe in Vegas, then I would’ve fucked it up later down the road, and it would’ve been worse.

She’d come to her senses, realize I was a terrible partner, then she’d bail.

It would end the same anyway, so I might as well stop fixating on it. Push any thoughts of Zoe from my head.

I rub the heel of my hand against my eye socket, my brain too loud in the quiet. My thoughts pick me apart from the inside, the noise unbearable. I grab the glass again, throwing back another shot like it might shut it all up.

It doesn’t work.

I can’t take it anymore. Something’s got to change.

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