Page 44 of Double or Nothing

“Fuck you,” I shout, not caring who hears or sees. “Fuck you for not caring about me, not caring for me. I didn’t ask to be brought into this world, but you punished me for your fucking mistake. Don’t worry, though. You never have to worry or think about me again. As far as I’m concerned, you’re dead to me.”

My feet move quicker with each step until I’m running. Bolting from the pain, the hatred I saw in his eyes. Coming here was more than a mistake. It was goddamn torture. The words I shouted, truthful as they are, weren’t as freeing as I thought they would be. Saying them, a small part of me hoped there would be a sense of relief.

Nothing.

Nothing but pure agony at his hand. Again.

The car ride back to the Sapphire was more than ample time for my mind to wander to places it didn’t need to be, roads I didn’t need to travel down. Just like the path I took to that godforsaken trailer park. I shouldn’t have allowed it, but I did, just like the memories and emotions that flood me.

Leaving the rental car at the valet, I head straight to the nearest bar and demand, not request, a drink from the bartender, my fist slamming on the countertop. With wide eyes, he serves me the shot. Slamming it down, I demand another.

Why I think this is going to work when it never has before, I’m not sure. There has only been one thing that ever calmed the storm inside me, and she’s standing just a few feet away.

Kat’s head is tossed back, her dark hair cascading down her back, a genuine smile on her face, and some guy’s arm around her. It’s a different guy, not the one I saw her with yesterday. This guy is into her. I can tell in the few moments I watch them in the way he touches her, the look in his eye. He wants my Kitty Kat.

Downing one more shot, I slam the glass onto the counter and storm over to them.

“Get your hands off her,” I yell as I step in front of him. My eyes lock with his, and I stare him down, daring him to challenge me.

“Excuse me?”

Where there should be fear or at least concern, all I see is amusement. He doesn’t give a damn I’m pissed or that I want his hands off her. The smug smile on his face only infuriates me more.

“I said, get your hands off her.” My words are an order, no question about it, but an order he isn’t heeding. Every second that ticks by with his hands are on her, I get more pissed and more prepared to knock his pretty head off his fucking shoulders.

“Sutton,” Kat scolds me. I can see the warning in her eyes. She’s telling me to stop, to back down.

Why is she scolding me when this asshole has his hands on her? When all I’m doing is trying to fucking protect her?

Maybe I’m trying to protect what’s mine, but still.

“Listen, man…”

“Don’t tell me to fucking listen. Do you have any idea who I am?” I shout, taking another step toward him, closing the distance between us.

“That’s enough,” Kat says. As she speaks, she steps out of the guy’s arms toward me. When her hands reach me and force me to step back, I put my arm around her and tug her against me. She says my name again, warning me, but I don’t feel like listening because having her this close feels too damn good. Hell, if he can have his hands on her, why shouldn’t I? She’s mine, whether or not she wants to admit it.

I press my lips against hers, hard and demanding. I get a taste, the slightest taste of her before hands are on me, yanking me away.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” It’s Mac… a very pissed Mac.

The guy I wanted to punch resumes his place at Kat’s side.

“I’m fine, Anthony, really,” she tells him.

“Of course, she’s fine, Anthony. I would never fucking hurt her.” Only I did. I’m the reason that he’s at her side, not me. I’m the reason we’re broken. Unrepairable.

Kat’s standing there, tears in her eyes. “Get him out of here, Mac.”

Mac’s hands are on me, dragging me toward the elevators.

“I wouldn’t hurt you, Kitty Kat. I love you.” My words slur as they slip out.

I hadn’t intended on saying them, but the alcohol is controlling me, and it’s doing a fucking doozy on my heart. The words are out there, and I don’t regret them. Not a single one of them because it’s true. I love her. Always have. Always will.

“She’s mine, asshole,” I tell the guy. “I was her first, and you damn well better believe I’ll be her last.”

Dragging me until we’re near the elevators, Mac slams me against the wall next to it and angrily jabs the button.

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