Page 52 of Major Penalty

“Guilty,” I agree, watching her turn and disappear into the crowd fast.

She won’t be back. They never are.

It’s not like I didn’t try to be polite. But girls like that? They don’t listen. The word no just doesn’t compute. So, I adapted.

Fear works. It gets the message across real fucking clear.

Which is good. Because I don’t want them.

I want her. I want the girl sitting at the bar with another man. The girl who’s driving me insane. The girl whose panties I still have, whose moans I can’t get out of my head. And right now, she’s flirting with somebody else.

My jaw locks, and my fingers clench.

She’s moving too close, she’s smiling too much, and he’s touching her.

My vision goes red as I exhale slowly and tell myself to stay where I am. To stay the fuck out of this. This is what has to happen. She needs to forget about me and find someone who’s…not me. So, why does it feel wrong? Why does it feel like it should be me she’s laughing with down there? Why do I feel like I need to kill someone?

Damien slides up next to me and follows my line of sight. Sees what I see—Irene with the clean-cut asshole.

“Looks like she found herself a new friend,” Damien hums, swirling his drink.

I don’t answer. Instead, I down my whiskey in one go and tap the bar twice. The bartender knows what I need. Because if I don’t keep my hands busy, I’m going to break something.

I watch as he pulls her onto the dancefloor, his hands sliding too low, his fingers pressing into her waist.

My fucking girl.

Then the fucker leans in to kiss her, and my entire body locks. My vision blurs, my stomach dropping. I see Irene pull back with an awkward smile and shakes her head no. She’s trying to be nice about it, but he doesn’t let go. His hand slides down her perfect ass and yanks her back toward him when she pushes at his chest, her smile dropping.

I stand, blind with rage.

“Uh-oh,” Damien exhales.

I don’t stay to hear anything else. Everything goes red as I move down the stairs and into the heart of the club. The crowd splits as I walk through, like fish parting for a shark.

I’m behind him before the bastard even senses me. I give his shoulder a single tap. The bastard stiffens before he turns his head, sees that he’s looking at my chest, and cranes his neck up to meet my eyes.

He scoffs. “What the fuck is your prob—”

Good-fucking-night.

I throw my fist, an uppercut to the jaw, and he’s unconscious before his limp body even hits the ground.

The music doesn’t even stop; the bass keeps thumping, and the lights keep flashing.

But the energy shifts. The people closest to us freeze and stare.

And then—screaming and commotion. The music is still thumping, but a few men rush to me, one of them screaming at the top of their lungs.

“What the fuck, man!”

I turn my head toward them, barely suppressing the rage still boiling inside me. The blond man’s friends rush forward, shouting, one of them crouching down to check on his unconscious buddy.

“We’re pressing charges!” he yells, pointing a shaking finger at me.

“Be my guest.” I don’t give a shit about charges. Or consequences. He touched her. That’s all I need to know.

The guy stares at me, gaping, but I don’t stick around for the fallout because I have something more important to deal with.

---