Page 12 of 1 Last Shot

I see her pout on the screen in front of me. "I wasn't doing anything!" she protests.

"Crystal, I canseeyou. Keep his fucking clothes on."

Her pout stays glued to her face for the rest of the dance, but at least her hand stays off his zipper.

The couch rooms are steadily busy for the next few hours. My attention stays glued to the cameras covering the private dances, which means I haven't been able to look at the club floor. I wanted to have a better read on the weirdo in black by the time I switched to working security out there, but unfortunately, that's not how things happen.

Regardless, my focus zeroes in on him the second I take up my place as the floater bouncer on the floor. There are the usual drunks and too-touchy assholes, but this guy is the one I'm watching.

Marcus was right, he talks to every girl who’ll give him the time of day. He talks a mile a minute and looks at them almost expectantly at the end of his sermon, and every time, the girls give a polite smile and extricate themselves.

It occurs to me after a few minutes that he looks like he's trying to sell something. I don't know if it's a physical something or some kind of idea, but his physical mannerisms reek of used car salesman.

As soon as I make the observation, I see his face light up when the new girl in his lap eagerly nods at whatever he's saying.

My hackles are up even before I see him reach into his pocket. By the time he slides whatever's in his hand into the front of the girl's thong bottoms, I'm seeing red.

Flashes of images assault me before I can calm myself down. Little bags of white powder in my mom's hand. Loud music and bottles of alcohol littered all over the living room. The massive beating that always came the day after.

I'm striding across the room before I even realize I'm moving.

Gripping the guy by the shoulder, I jerk him off the chair and dump him on to the floor. I don't bother responding to the yelp the girl lets out as she tumbles off his lap and tries to right herself.

"What thefuck, dude?" the guy yells, hurrying back to his feet.

"What did you give her?" I roar, shoving him in the chest. "What did you give her?"

"Jesus, man, relax," he says, holding his hands up in surrender. "She just wanted to take the edge off a little."

I turn back to the new girl, taking in her blown-out pupils and the pounding pulse in her neck.

I couldn't stop myself from punching the guy in the face even if I wanted to. Even if I took a second to try to calm down, even if there was someone screaming at me to stop, I've never been able to control myself when it comes to my triggers. The memories don't allow it.

I'm cocking my fist back for a second punch, already knowing what the crunch of cartilage is going to feel like under my knuckles, when I feel myself pulled away from where black suit is stumbling into the chair I pulled him out of. I know it has to be one of the other bouncers, because they're the only guys strong enough to separate me from a guy giving drugs to a woman.

"Kane, man,stop," someone yells. "The cops are already on their way. He's going to press charges if you keep going."

"Fuckinglet him," I snarl, a burst of energy making me try again to break free of the bouncer's grip. "I'll kill him before they get here."

"Kane,enough," another voice barks. "What thefuck, man. I can’t keep covering for you with this shit.”

I feel powerless, unable to stop the violent urges from taking over, even as I hate myself for it in the same breath.

My boss lets out a frustrated exhale. “If you stop now, I can say it was his fault. But I can't protect you if you keep going."

"Hey!" the guy protests, clutching his bleeding nose. "Heattackedme!How am I the one at fault here?"

"Shut up," the owner of the club and the bouncer still holding on to me snap in unison. My feelings about drugs might be extreme, but we all hate the random drug dealers that come in here just to make trouble.

Slowly, reluctantly, I come out of the haze I fell into so quickly. I shake Marcus's grip off me and turn to the dancer who was in the middle of all of this.

"Give it to me," I order.

She looks scared, like she's been forced down from whatever high she was riding before I rushed in here. But when I gesture impatiently with my hand, the look changes to pleading. Like she really doesn't want to part with the drugs.

"You don't need it," I tell her in a rare spout of words. "It's just an illusion; it doesn't change anything.You don't need it."

I don't know if it's the words or the probably insane expression on my face, but she pulls the baggie of white powder out of her thong and places it in my waiting hand. I close my fingers around it and feel my chest loosen immediately.

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