Page 23 of Quiet Rage
“No, see, that’s where you’re wrong.” Nico shoves him up against the counter, right in front of where I’m standing on the other side, frozen in horror. He pulls his arm back, and I barely have the chance to realize what’s about to happen before he drives a fist into Dad’s face.
That’s what shakes me out of my frozen shock. “No!” Scrambling out from behind the counter, I try to throw myself between them, using my body to shield Dad. It’s instinct, pure and simple—I mean, what could I hope to do, really? But I have to do something. I can’t stand here and watch him be beaten.
“Get the fuck out of the way, little girl.” Dante pulls me off him, shaking me until my shoulder threatens to pop out of place. “We’re here to do a job, but we could spend a little time with you, too, if you want. What do you think, Dad?” he asks, laughing as he turns toward my bleeding father.
“Fuck you,” I snarl before stomping on his foot as hard as I can. He howls in pain, giving me a second of satisfaction.
Before he growls and backhands me hard enough that my head snaps to the side, and agonizing, white-hot pain explodes in my head. Add that to that the pain of being thrown to the floor, and my body is one big, throbbing ache.
And all I can do is scramble backward and cover my face with my hands once I’m against the wall. I can’t stand the sight of them beating Dad up in the middle of the ruin they’ve created.
It’s bad enough that I have to hear it.
Chapter 11
Kellen
ShouldI be drinking at Dad’s bar? Sitting in the corner, nursing a whiskey? If the cops around here cared, probably not. They’re good at looking the other way, though they wouldn’t know unless one of the regulars gave them a heads-up. Everybody around here knows better.
Besides, no one is showing up here trying to pay attention to anybody else’s business. They are too busy doing their own shit—drinking their problems away, and letting a smiling, anonymous woman flirt with them and provide a little excitement and maybe even comfort at the end of a long day. Everybody’s got needs, and Dad makes it his business to serve them.
So what’s my need tonight? That’s easy. I need to forget. That’s the mood I’m in as I lift the glass to my lips, inhaling the aroma of the whiskey before letting it touch my tongue and burn a path down my throat. Warmth spreads through my chest, and I welcome the sensation. It’s real. It reminds me I’m alive.
What else is there, besides being alive?
I’m in that kind of mood as memories of this morning creep in no matter how hard I fight to push them away. I got my fix, and now I want more. It doesn’t seem like there’s any amount of booze that will be enough to make me forget. I need to be numb, and I haven’t reached that point yet. I’m starting to think my liver will give out before that time comes—and the empty glasses lined up in front of me sort of back up that theory.
This is why I can’t be with my friends, even though they invited me over for pizza and movies. There’s no way I could sit still, staring at the TV, while they cuddled or some shit with their girls. I would only bring everybody down—or worse, they would get all up in my business and ask endless questions that would only piss me off. By the end of the night, I would have to leave before things got any worse.
Safer to stay here, with a bunch of people who have the same idea as me. They mind their business, I mind mine, and we all drink ourselves half to death.
I’m so deep in thought, unsettled, and miserable, that the tapping of fingernails against the back of my neck makes me jump. My shoulders rise defensively before a shiver runs down my spine.
“Sorry, baby.” The throaty laughter sets my teeth on edge. The girl responsible for startling me rounds my stool and flops down next to it. I don’t remember inviting her.
When I don’t react, she taps one of those long, pink fingernails to one of the empty glasses on the bar. “What’s going on tonight, baby?” she purrs. “Drinking alone. What happened?”
Right. Because that’s what I do. I sit around pouring my guts out to one of the prostitutes Dad keeps around here. Dim lighting isthe name of the game—it’s easier to forget things like family and financial responsibilities when everything’s dark and shadowy. Easier to find a cheap, momentary connection with a hooker just looking to earn a night’s pay.
The lighting makes it tough for me to know who I’m talking to. I’ve been with her before, more than once, but I never bother to confirm her name. Haley? Bailey? Something like that. Her name doesn’t matter. I don’t want company tonight. At least, not hers.
“I had a long day,” I mutter, emptying my current drink before leaving the glass next to the others.
“That’s a shame.” Her touch is light, moving up and down my arm. She’s making my skin crawl—if she wasn’t one of Dad’s biggest moneymakers around here, I would fling her hand away and tell her to fuck off and find somebody in the mood for her fake act. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s this song and dance. Pretending to be into me when really, she’s into money. Of all people, I would know about that. I grew up around women like her. I know all the tricks.
Now her nails gently scratch the back of my head, combing through my hair. “Why don’t we go upstairs?” she murmurs close to my ear. She smells like too much perfume, but it’s the mint coming off her breath that sickens me. Like she just finished blowing a guy, then came out to the bar to look for her next client.
Of all times for Tamson’s face to show up in my head. Not that she’s been out of my head all day, but every drink I’ve slammed down my throat has pushed her a little further back. Now she’s at the front again. Now I can see her blue eyes looking up at me,now I can almost feel the softness of her damp cheeks under my hands.
“Why don’t you go find your next client somewhere else?” I ask, signaling the bartender for another drink. “I’m not good company tonight.”
“But I can make you feel good…” she purrs. There I was, trying to be decent. I don’t want to upset one of Dad’s best earners.
Brushing her off, I mutter, “Get lost. I’m serious.” She rolls her eyes and mumbles something under her breath, but at least I got rid of her. The bartender gives me an arched eyebrow before sliding another glass my way. He knows better than to question my tolerance.
A couple of guys walk in, laughing and elbowing each other like they’re celebrating something. Nico and Dante. They must be coming back from collecting for Dad, going around to the different people who owe a debt. They come up to the bar and sit close enough for me to hear them reminiscing.
“It’s gonna take them the rest of the weekend to clean up.” Nico sounds proud of himself, tapping a beer bottle to Dante’s before taking a long swig.
