Page 2 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

“Generous as hell,” I replied, smirking. “This place is a shithole. You know that, right?”

He chuckled and shrugged. “I guess that’s why it’s filled with turds like you.”

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and glanced up at the bar’s sad attempt to decorate. A single red heart dangled from a piece of ribbon over the bar, swaying slightly in the breeze from the ceiling fan. It was a weak nod to Valentine’s Day, which was a month or so away. It was a holiday I hated with a passion.

I reached up, yanking the thing down and crumpling it in my fist. “You really let Hallmark sucker you into this crap?”

Riggs shrugged. “Keeps the ladies happy. You know, the ones who still believe in romance. Puts them in the mood for love.”

“Idiots,” I muttered, tossing the crumpled heart aside.

Riggs laughed, shaking his head. “You’re a real charmer, Kannon.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I’m charging you two bucks for messing up my heart,” he said.

I snorted a laugh. “Worth it.”

I finished off my whiskey, slamming the glass down a little harder than necessary. It was time for another. Riggs grabbed the bottle and filled it up.

He got a look on his face that said bad news was coming my way. I inwardly sighed. “What?” I asked.

“Did you hear about old man Jacobs?”

The name made my stomach tighten, though I didn’t let it show. I took a long slow drink, buying myself a few seconds to steel myself. “No. What about him?”

“He croaked last week. Poor bastard.”

“No shit?”

“At least he’s in a better place, lord rest his soul. He didn’t have it easy there at the end.”

“Yeah,” I said slowly, my jaw tightening.

I didn’t come here to brood or to think about the hereafter. Death was a bitch, sneaky and unfair. I’d been tempting Death for years and the fucker wouldn’t mess with me. Nope. It only took the good ones. The weak ones that didn’t deserve to die.

I slammed the whiskey. It didn’t do shit for me. If I wanted to get drunk, I would need the bottle. Maybe that was a sign I needed to cut back.

Fuck that.

Turning back toward the room, my gaze swept over the crowd again. I needed someone to lose myself in. If I couldn’t get drunk on whiskey, I would drown myself in pussy.

This time, my attention snagged on a woman at a corner table. Tattoos snaked up her arms, the dark ink standing out against her creamy skin. She was laughing at something, but her eyes were sharp and watchful, like she wasn’t as carefree as she wanted everyone to think.

She was sitting with a guy—her boyfriend, probably—and a couple friends. But the way she shifted in her seat, angling slightly away from the guy, told me all I needed to know. She wasn’t happy. She was looking for something.

And I was the guy who could give it to her.

I took a second to check her out. Thin, almost too skinny, but she was pretty enough. She didn’t have the curves I liked in a woman but I wasn’t trying to date her. I stared at her, waiting until she caught me looking. Her blue eyes met mine. I gave the slightest jerk of my head, beckoning her to me.

She hesitated. Her gaze flickered briefly to the guy sitting next to her before turning back to me. That slight, almost imperceptible pause told me everything I needed to know. She was intrigued, maybe even a little curious, but definitely not committed.

I smirked. Tilting my glass to my lips and watching her over the rim, I took a slow sip. The alcohol burned just the right amount. By the time I placed the glass back on the bar, she had made up her mind. She excused herself from the table.

“Don’t start shit in my bar,” Riggs warned.

“It’s not me starting anything,” I said without looking back at him.