Page 121 of His Turn

Chapter Thirty-Three - Bric

I drink the entire weekend at the Club. I don’t even go downstairs to play. And Jordan never shows up, so… it’s just me and my bottle of brandy. By Monday, I feel like shit. I’m too hungover to care about Club members or people coming in for lunch at the restaurant, so I sit up in Smith’s bar, nursing a ginger ale.

I’m getting old, I think.

No, that voice in my head says. You’re feeling guilty.

I don’t have anything to feel guilty about. So fuck that. Nadia asked for this. She wanted to play the game. She practically begged me.

But she never asked you to fuck with her past or her head.

That’s what I do. That’s who I am. She came into this game with eyes wide open.

She came to have fun and be challenged. Not to get mentally raped.

Mentally raped? Jesus Christ. My internal monologue is out of control.

I stand up and lean on the half-wall that overlooks the lobby just as the lunch crowd is picking up. I see Jordan walk through the revolving doors. He looks right up at me, heads for the stairs, pushes his way past the sentries I have posted, and storms into the bar.

“What the fuck did you do to her?”

“Who?” I ask.

Jordan takes a swing. It’s so sudden I don’t even have time to process things until his fist crashes into my jaw. I swing back, but miss, then swing again and connect. He charges me, like a fucking bull, and we crash into the table. Glassware goes flying. My bottle of brandy breaks on the floor. I vaguely log the sound of people gasping down below.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I yell. The bartender and server are there, pulling Jordan back by his shoulders.

Jordan stares me down as I get to my feet. He wipes blood from his lip just as I taste my own blood in my mouth. “What the fuck did you do to her?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The fuck you don’t,” he yells. “What did you do to Nadia?”

“We played,” I say, trying to shrug and come off nonchalant. “She lost. End of story.”

“She lost,” he says, still trying to wipe the blood from his lip. “She lost? You broke her, Bric. You fucking broke her.”

“She’s fine,” I say. “It wasn’t that bad—”

He lunges for me again, but the bartender grabs him before he gets very far. “She didn’t show up for work today.”

“So? Maybe she’s sick.”

“Or maybe you broke her.”

“Shut the fuck up. She wanted to play, so we played. I was just showing her who’s boss.”

“You?” he says, still breathing hard. “You’re the boss? You’re fucking pathetic, Bric. No wonder Quin left you and took everything you loved with him.”

“You better control that mouth—”

“You broke her,” he says again. “I told you. I fucking told you I liked this girl.”

“So why did you leave her alone with me?”

“Because she was a gift, Bric.”

I just… stare at him for a second. “What the fuck are you talking about?”