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Can't leave without a note. Shit, when did his head and his thoughts turn into one crazy rollercoaster of blurriness? He grinned to himself, throwing his arms wide over the hood to bask in the moonlight. Fuck, it had been a while since he'd gotten this trashed. Years and years. Getting drunk meant losing control, and he was lethal when he lost his grip on his choke chain.
Oh well, it was for a good cause, he decided. A few hours of oblivion sounded real good, and at least the hangover in the morning would rise from the dregs of top class vodka.
“Told you we shouldn't have left him to stew for so long,” a female voice chastised.
“I thought he'd be thinking over his choices, not fucking trying to sunbathe in the dark.” Male voice, pissed. Familiar.
“Better get him back inside.” Another male voice, not quite as pissed as the first. “Hey, J! You awake over there, old man?”
Old man, my ass. Braun was older than he was, goddamn it. Only by two years, but still. Jasper grunted and waved his hand in dismissal. He didn't want company with his misery, thank you. The vodka soaking his internal organs and the pretty night sky were all he needed to forget the clusterfuck of the evening.
“Braun, can you carry him to your office? Atticus is tending to Anarchy in the seating pit, but I can distract them long enough for you to get Jasper past them. We need to get him somewhere warm and safe for the rest of the night, away from people. Let him sleep it off. I can stay with him in the office.”
Jasper waggled his fingers at the Domme. He had a soft spot for Connie, despite her skill at worming her way into the human brain and painlessly dissecting it. She was a kind, compassionate woman, which was why it was so hot to see her dominate the men under her guidance.
“Probably not the wisest idea, Con. If Jasper sees his sub in the arms of another man when he's like this...we might have a problem. I'll just cart him over to the house, stash him in one of the spare rooms until he sobers his ass up and figures out how to undo this fucking mess.” Braun's voice was harsh, biting through the genial haze of Jasper's drunkenness and stirring the first wisps of anger awake. “I wish he'd told me what he was going to do. It was stupid and reckless, and now two friends of mine are hurting needlessly.”
“Fuck you, asshole,” Jasper slurred, struggling to sit up. The vodka had hit him hard, but he was determined not to be rendered useless.
“No, asshole, fuck you and your moronic ideas. You've thrown nine months of submission from a beautiful, willing submissive away tonight, and all you can do is come out here and sulk?”
“Braun, don't rile him up. We all know he doesn't drink heavily for a reason. Just calm down so we don't have to take anyone to the emergency room tonight.” Connie's voice didn't rise in the slightest. “Loki, can you give Braun a hand to get Jasper into the club? No, Braun, he's not staying in the house. If he turns violent, I'd rather Bodie isn't in the vicinity.”
Offended, Jasper managed to boost himself up so he sat on the hood, his head in his hands. He didn't recognize his own voice when he spoke; the words were tangled and smeared on his tongue. “Wouldn't hurt her.”
“You wouldn't mean to, I know. But accidents happen, and that girl has seen enough violence, Jasper. There's no point tempting a lifetime of regret for a drunken mistake, is there? You can sleep it off in the office, and in the morning, you and I can talk about what tomorrow is going to bring.”
He didn't want to talk. It was done, and Anarchy was in safe hands with Atticus.
Strong arms hooked under his and lifted him off his truck. His legs were cooked noodles, folding the moment his feet touched the ground. His stomach roiled, his head felt heavy, and the pleasant buzz of the vodka was quickly dissipating the longer his friends came down on his parade.
Disapproving blue eyes glared at him from the right, while sympathetic brown ones watched him from the left. Connie had been smart, bringing backup with her. Aside from Atticus, Braun and Loki were two of the biggest Doms in Avalon, well capable of manhandling Jasper wherever they wanted while he was incapacitated.
“I'll see if one of the guys will stay with you while you're babysitting, Connie. It's not that I don't trust you, Jasper,” Braun said tersely, “but right now, I don't think you're yourself. The Jasper I know wouldn't walk away while another Dom fucks his sub. He sure as hell wouldn't let another man give that precious little thing aftercare while he stews in self-pity and vodka, getting shit on by bats.”
Jasper bared his teeth. Fury was a rising tide in his guts now, filling him up quickly. “Shut up.”
“This is not advisable, Braun.”
“You want to take me on, boy? Fight me? Take your best shot. I'll lay you out faster than you can blink. I love you like a fucking brother, but this thing with Anarchy has curdled for too long. It's sour and bitter, because you fucked it up. I should take you in there and tie you to a chair, let Atticus fuck that sweet girl all over again just so you can hear her come on his cock. Watch her face as he gives her something you're too chicken-shit to offer her. Hell, maybe you did the right thing after all by tossing her to a proper Master.”
Never in his life had he been so angry. Adrenaline and rage burned through the alcohol in his system, and he wobbled unsteadily on his feet. Shoving Loki away, he met Connie's eyes and read the despair and exasperation in them before he turned his attention to the asshole beside him. Without a word of warning, he reared back and swung at Braun.
The left-handed swing was clumsy and missed by a mile. Jasper's knees trembled and nearly sent him sprawling into the gravel—only Braun's grip on his arm kept him upright.
“First shot's free. Try again and this shit gets serious.”
“Braun, stop taunting him. He can hardly stand, let alone fight.”
Bullshit. He was bred to fight. Born and educated to cause pain. A skinful of vodka wasn't enough to keep him from breaking bones. He swung again, and again. Missing his target every time, it seemed as though Braun barely moved in order to dodge the blows, looking calm and undeterred.
“C'mon, man, frame yourself. You want to hurt everyone tonight, go ahead. You've already devastated Anarchy, ripped your own fucking heart out. Go for the trifecta and do your worst with me.” He threw his arms wide, providing a bigger target. “You're better than this, Jasper. We both know this isn't you. Getting drunk and passing out on your truck? That's something a heartbroken man would do.”
Jasper snarled and rolled his shoulders, the imprint of his friend's grip on his arm burning. “I don't have a heart.”
He was three inches shorter than Braun, and maybe twenty pounds lighter. It didn't matter; Jasper had taken down—taken out—opponents far bigger, stronger, and meaner than his friend in the past. Memories of blood and pain scrolled through his brain, reminding him how good it felt to pound his fists into flesh, to feel a body dance to the rhythm of his punishment.
How alivehe became when his pain and theirs rose into a crescendo.
