Page 5 of True Bastard
“It’s one man, and it won’t happen again, Mrs. Butler,” I muttered as her tiny Chihuahua growled and yipped in her arms. I hated that little fucker. Every chance he got, he shit in my yard.
“You keep saying that, and then it does. Do you have any respect for your neighbors? I know you have none for yourself. My God, girl. Look at you. You look like crap. A woman in my day would never leave the house looking like you do. Don’t you have makeup?”
Oh, and Shelly Butler was a bitch.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Butler. I had a... difficult night,” I mumbled, trying to shield my face with my hand. The lingering ache in my jaw and the tender spots on my ribs made even the simplest movements agonizing. My eyes were probably still bloodshot from tears I refused to shed, but a small, defiant part of merefused to let her see me completely broken. “I’ll try to keep the noise down next time.”
Mrs. Butler snorted, clutching Mr. Kibbles tighter. “Difficult night? It sounded more like a goddamn rodeo in there. And don’t you try to pull that‘difficult night’crap with me, Kyllian Ward. I heard enough last night to know the type of trouble your kind brings.” She eyed me up and down, her gaze lingering on the rip in my shirt that I’d tried to cover. “Honestly, child, you need to get yourself together. This is not how a respectable woman lives.”
I just nodded and rolled my eyes as the phantom ache in my ribs became a dull throb. Mrs. Butler’s tirade was just another layer of unpleasantness on an already shit-covered day. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Butler. It won’t happen again,” I repeated, my voice raspy. I desperately wanted to retreat inside, to lick my wounds in private, but the woman was a seasoned interrogator, her gaze sharp and unwavering. Her little dog, Mr. Kibbles, continued his pathetic symphony of yaps and snarls, adding to my general misery.
As I turned to make my escape, a familiar, guttural roar cut through the neighborhood. The sound vibrated in my bones, a strange echo of the terror I’d felt just hours before. My head snapped up, my gaze drawn to the edge of the road.
A gleaming black motorcycle, a vintage Triumph, slowly rumbled past my house, its rider a silhouette against the rising sun. The leather-clad figure didn’t look in any direction, just ahead, as if he were the only one on the road. Even from this distance, I could tell there was an aura of raw power about him, a stillness that spoke of coiled danger.
My breath caught in my throat.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of dread and something else, something I couldn’t quite name. Washe one of Jessup’s friends? Or just someone out for a Sunday drive?
Mrs. Butler, oblivious to the approaching storm, was still droning on about her prize-winning petunias. I ignored her, my eyes locked on the passing rider. He was a stark contrast to Jessup’s pathetic, broken aggression. This man exuded a chilling control, a calculated menace that promised a different kind of destruction, and as he passed my house, he turned and looked in my direction, and something inside me told me I didn’t want to know this man.
“Are you listening to me, Kyllian Ward!” Mrs. Butler snapped.
Blinking, I looked at the woman and simply said, “Yes, Mrs. Butler.”
Chapter Three
Kyllian
Two days later...
“You’re late!”
“Sorry, Cade. Won’t happen again,” I blurted as I rushed past the bar toward the club’s kitchen, where the staff lounge was located.
“You said that the last time you were late!” Cade’s booming voice trailed after me, and I cringed.
Shit.I did say that.
Seemed I’d been saying that a lot lately. Running into the small lounge, I dropped my bag when I heard, “You’re late again.”
“I know,” I huffed before pulling out my bar tank top. Laying it on the bench, I quickly opened my locker and shoved my bag inside when I heard Keelytsk.
“You are the last to arrive, Kyllian. You know what that means.”
Stiffening, my head whipped to the far wall. “No.”
“Oh, yes.”
Leaning my head against my locker, I groaned. “Please don’t make me. I’m begging you.”
Chuckling, Keely walked over and slapped me on my ass. “We’ve all been there, babe. Just suck it up and get it over with.”
“I hate this job.”
Pushing off my locker, I turned and wanted to cry. There, hanging on the rack, was a black velvet kitten costume that represented the nightclub I worked at, the Prancing Pussycat. I felt a wave of nausea wash over me as I eyed the ridiculous outfit. The thought of putting on that fluffy tail and ears and then parading around like a fucking trained seal for a bunch of horny degenerates made my stomach churn. “Can’t I just do the dishes or something?” I pleaded, my voice laced with desperation.
Keely just shrugged, a smirk playing on her lips. “Rules are rules, Kyllian. And you’re late. So, the kitten costume it is.”
