Page 43 of Sinful Lies
“Give me a beer.” I growl at Elle behind the bar. I don’t need the sympathy in her eyes. I’m sure she’ll slide right back in my bed if I told her to. Except I don’t want her. I don’t want anyone except the one who ran out on me.
“How about some coffee instead?” She pushes a steaming hot cup of coffee in front of me.
I raise my brow at her. If my head didn’t feel like it was about to explode, I’d argue with her, but I don’t have it in me right now. Instead, I sip the coffee.
More sound joins the booming thundering through my head when someone turns on the television. The morning news fills the large screen as everyone listens for any reports on what went down last night. It may have been stupid of us to leave Ben’s body, but it wasn’t a bullet from one of our guns lodged in his head.
Elle’s face drops and she stares at me, tears brimming in her eyes. What the hell’s gotten into her? I’m in no position to try to figure out the mood swings of women.
“Oh, fuck.” Fuel’s voice cuts through the static in my head.
“Shit.” Cobra’s voice is next.
I swivel on the stool to face the television and see what’s gotten everyone so worked up.Why is Dia’s picture on the news?
“Turn it up.” I growl, standing up to move closer so I can hear the news reporter clearly.
“Preliminary reports say the car heiress Dia Cross was driving in the early morning hours, skidded off the cliff behind me and burst into flames. It’s suspected that high speed caused this tragic fatality.” The news reporter informs, standing in front of the gut wrenching scene.
“Turn it off.” I growl, chucking the cup of coffee into the television screen. I spin around, gripping the edge of a table in my hands to steady myself. Cat scrambles for the remote, quickly powering it off.
The rage I drowned in the bottle reignites in a full-on inferno. I lift the table and slam it back down, then send it flying into a nearby wall.Can my heart possibly break any more?
“Church now.” Chainz pushes me towards Church before I destroy everything in sight.
I’m pacing the length of the room, my fists clenched at my side. When I passed out, I thought this nightmare couldn’t get any worse, but I was wrong.
“Last night was rough man but this. Shit, Tank I can’t imagine.” I can’t even form a coherent reply at the moment, so I grit my teeth and continue pacing. “We’re here for you brother whatever you need.”
I stop, splay my hands on the top of the table and lean forward, “I need Denny’s patch.”
The silence is deafening. All their eyes are on me. Watching. Waiting.
“What are you saying?” Chainz asks.
“You heard me. I. Want. Denny’s. Patch.” I pound my hands on the table to emphasize every word. “Twice he’s put her life in danger. The first time, she’s kidnapped. This time she’s...” my voice croaks. I can’t bring myself to say the word. They think I’m being irrational, but I blame him, and he’ll never be able to right this. “His job was to protect her. If he did that, she wouldn’t have been able to leave. The fucking prospect has to go.”
I drag my hand through my hair and inhale a deep breath. After several minutes of silence, Chainz nods his head. “Let’s vote. Everyone in favor of Tank stripping Denny’s patch?”
“Yes.”
“Agreed.”
A head nods.
A tap on the table.
The others joined in agreement. Whether justice for Dia, me, or simply peace in our house, I don’t care about their reasoning. It feels like a small piece of justice.
“Then it’s final. You can have Denny’s patch.”
I storm out of Church, heading to the common room with the Club officers at my back. I charge at Denny like a raging bull. I grab him by the front of his shirt and shove him backwards with such force he crashes through a table. The wood snaps, splintering under the weight of his fall. He looks up at me, fearful eyes peeking out from behind his long, disheveled hairstyle. “What the fuck?”
“Get up,” I growl.
He stands toe to toe with me. At twenty-one, the prospect wants to be a big man and stand his ground, but I can feel him tremble. And rightfully so. After two-years Prospecting for the Krymson Destroyers, he’s seen me throw a punch. There’s not much I’m good at, but fighting is something I do particularly well. I drive my fist straight into his nose. The bone snaps against my knuckles. He raises his fist and swings back, the skull ring on his finger colliding with my lip. The taste of blood seeps into my mouth. I chuckle, swiping the back of my hand across my split lip. It stings like a mother fucker but it’s better than the ache I feel everywhere else.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
