Page 25 of Anger

What I’d like to know is when they started offering psychology degrees to women shaking their asses in cages?

Blue must have thought she had one to be able to diagnose me so quickly.

I know I shouldn’t have called her out like I did. She might have had good intentions and all that, but unfortunately for her I’m not in the best place in life to give a damn.

The problem is I never tipped her for what little time she gave me, and that’s not fair to her.

Blue is simply trying to make a living just like every other person in this world, and I cut her down at the knees, dismissing her as nothing more than a broke bitch when I know those girls bust their asses trying to scrape by.

That’s why I’m back at Myth tonight, my stare keeping Patrick in view as I approach him.

He probably has two reasons to kick my ass to the curb tonight: the fight Shane and I started and the fact that I got a free show last night without even bothering to pay the woman.

He eyes me like he’s about to give me another strong elbow to the spine, but instead, his eyes narrow down and a smirk stretches his lips.

“Really?” he asks with laughter in his deep voice. “Man, I thought you learned last night. Dickheads like you always have money to burn.”

This jackass is going to rob me blind every time I show up, but I respect the corner he’s crushed me in.

Grabbing my wallet, I pull out five, crisp, hundred-dollar bills then slap them in his palm.

Patrick’s lips roll over themselves, the corner of his mouth tilting up.

“Did I tell you I went to an eye appointment today? Got some new contacts. They work so much better than what I had last night. All that fog is gone, you know?”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, sarcasm dripping from every damn syllable. “You’ll have to give me the doctor’s name. Guy sounds like he performs miracles.”

With a laugh, Patrick nods. “That he does, my friend. But I think the blindness could still come back … at the right price.”

This son of a bitch is going to demand I mortgage my house before long. “The price keeps getting higher.”

He shrugs. “Inflation. You know how it goes.”

I pull out another two hundred and hand it over.

“Ah, yeah, a little blurry, but—”

I slap another hundred in his hand.

He smiles. “Guess I need to make another appointment soon. These contacts ain’t worth shit.”

My eyes roll. “Never mind on that recommendation.”

His boisterous laugh echoes through the parking lot.

“Hands to yourself,” he reminds me as I head in the door to the club.

Patrick’s not a bad guy, and I laugh to myself as I step foot inside.

As usual, I’m met with the same high-energy music thumping the walls. Myth is packed tonight, but that’s to be expected on a Saturday.

Still, the crowd parts as I walk through. Either I’m doing a shit job of hiding what I’m feeling, or most of the bastards here remember me from one fight or another.

There are certain perks when your violent reputation precedes you but also drawbacks. The first of which is standing at the base of Blue’s cage after I climb the stairs to the second floor.

Knowing Blue’s manager won’t let me within fifty feet of her, especially after the recent fight, I make my way to the bar instead, catch the bartender’s eyes then hold up a finger to let him know I’ll take a beer.

He’s quick about sliding it over. I give him a fifty and tell him to keep the change.

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