Page 11 of Pretty When He Bleeds

Thebarispackedand buzzing with students and townies looking to blow off some steam. I’m tucked away in the corner of the bar, nursing a third whiskey and listening to a shitty cover band murdering a classic rock song.

The air is stale and smells like sweat, spilled beer, and bad decisions. It’s loud—too fucking loud but it drowns out the noise in my head. It’s also the perfect place to watch without being seen.

I don’t even have to look up to know when Roman and his merry band of idiots walk in. The energy shifts, the chatter picking up as people notice them walking in. Killian King leads the pack as usual and Roman is right behind him, wearing that confident smirk I hate so much.

I sip my drink and lean back in my chair as my eyes track him through the crowd. He’s dressed in black jeans and a black hoodie and is wearing a backward baseball cap. It’s not hard to notice how hot he looks and I fucking hate myself for noticing.

They take up a table next to the bar, laughing and throwing back drinks like they don’t have a care in the world. Roman, on the other hand, is scanning the crowd in search of something.

The band switches to a slower song and the energy in the bar shifts. Couples pair off on the makeshift dance floor while Killian’s group grows louder. Killian himself is busy flirting with a blonde who’s clearly eating up everything he says and Roman looks half-bored of the night already.

But it doesn’t take long for him to find trouble.

Some guy, tall and built like a fucking linebacker, bumps into Roman on his way to the bar. Roman says something the guy doesn’t like and words are exchanged. It actually looks like the fucker is goading the guy into a fight while wearing that shit-eating grin and the guy does not disappoint.

The swing connects and Roman’s head snaps to the side, but he just laughs as he wipes the blood away from his lips like it’s nothing. He doesn’t even bother retaliating, just stands there with that grin on his face that probably makes the guy want to kill him even more.

Then Killian steps in and drags Roman away before it can escalate, but I can tell the fucker isn’t done. He peers over his shoulder at the guy, still smiling, and daring him to take another swing.

I finish my drink then toss some cash on the table and walk out the back. The alley behind the bar is dark and smells like trash and piss. It’s the kind of place where you can expect to find a body if you squint long enough. But it’s a welcomed relief from the air inside.

I light up a smoke, but I don’t even have to wait long when the door swings open and Roman stumbles out, still wiping at his split lip, baseball cap long gone. He doesn’t see me at first, too busy muttering to himself as he leans against the wall.

“Do you really like getting hit that badly?” I say as I walk toward him, taking a drag from my smoke.

His head snaps up and he looks surprised to see me. Then he shoots me a glare. “The fuck do you want, Damon?”

“To know why you can’t seem to go one night without getting your ass handed to you,” I shoot back.

He laughs at this. “Why? Jealous or something?”

“Not in the slightest.” I reply with a roll of my eyes.

“Then why the fuck are you here?”

“Call it curiosity,” I shrug.

“Bullshit,” he snaps. “You don’t give a fuck about what I do, so why don’t you just walk away and mind your own business?”

I take a step closer, my hands itching at my sides. “Maybe I don’t like seeing you play the victim. You walk into fights begging to be hit and then what? You laugh it off like it’s a joke?”

“Yeah?” he smirks and licks the blood from his bottom lip. “What are you gonna do about it, Trouble? Glare at me some more?”

I grit my teeth at that nickname. “I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

I don’t think, I just swing.

My fist connects with his cheek and he stumbles back and hits the wall with a thud. When he looks up at me, I notice the damage my ring has caused. His cheek is split and blood is already pouring down his cheek.

“Shit,” I groan, flexing my hand, but Roman’s grin pisses me off even more than the pain in my knuckles. He leans against the wall, blood smeared on his cheek and looking like he’s having the time of his life.

I grab the front of his hoodie and shove him harder against the filthy wall, propping my forearm against his chest to pin him. “You’re fucking unbelievable,” I snap.

“And you’re starting to get predictable,” he says, still grinning. “What’s wrong, Trouble? Did I hurt your feelings?”

His words are meant to needle me, but I don’t take the fucking bait. Instead, I lean in close to his ear as my voice drops to a low, mocking drawl. “If you wanted me to touch you, Roman, all you had to do was ask.”

I pull back to see the grin on his face vanish, replaced with anger. He tries to push me away, but I use my forearm to pin him harder.

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