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She hated that he’d made her that desperate, that he’d given her his number like he’d known she would take it.
And she had.
After he’d left, she’d looked at that napkin until customers started hollering at her for more drinks. Butters had grabbed the napkin, shoved it in her pocket, and finished the night.
But now, it was going on three in the morning, and for as exhausted as she was, all she could think about, feel, was that little slip of paper in her pocket. It felt heavy, felt like it would burn a hole right through her jeans.
She had her keys in her hand, heard Jorro shouting at a guy who was leaned against the side of the building puking, and hurried to her car. Butters weaved the keys between her fingers, ready to jab a fucker’s eyes out if he messed with her.
She knew how to take care of herself, knew that this shitty part of town was dangerous, and she was a target simply because she was a woman, and men thought she was easy prey. They’d be wrong, because she’d tear an asshole’s balls off before he had a chance to hurt her.
Once in the car, she locked the doors and rested her head on the back of the seat. The streetlight cast a swatch of muted yellow light, covering the front interior of the car and making everything look even shittier.
Breathing out roughly, she lifted her ass enough to reach down and pull out the napkin from her back pocket. Looking at the number scrawled on the paper, she had the urge to crumple it and throw it away. But even if she wouldn’t fuck Mayhem or at least tell herself she wouldn’t be his slut, something inside of her wouldn’t let her throw it away.
“Dammit,” she cursed and put her key in the ignition. But before she cranked the engine, her cell went off. Grabbing her phone, she saw her neighbor’s number flash across the screen. It was late as hell, and the fact he was calling her had warning bells going off.
“Hello?”
“Butters?” Frankie said, his voice strained, almost urgent.
She’d known Frankie for the last year since she’d been living in her duplex. Her place wasn’t as shitty as it could be, not given the fact she didn’t live in the best part of town to begin with, but she occasionally spoke with Frankie.
He was a decent guy. Frankie was one of the only “normal” people in her life. How fucking sad was that?
“What’s wrong?” she asked, trying not to panic. The only reason Frankie would be calling her was if something was wrong.
“Your brother is sitting on your front porch, and he’s in pretty bad shape.”
She choked back her tears and hysteria. “I’m on my way.” After hanging up, she turned the car over and headed home, speeding, and not giving a shit if she was pulled over. She should since it would waste precious time, but she was too worried and frightened about Nathan.
When she finally reached her place, she pulled into the cracked driveway, barely put the car into park before cutting the engine, and rushed out of her car. Frankie’s lights were on, and as she ran up the steps, he pulled the door open and held it open for her.
She didn’t have to ask where Nathan was. As soon as she stepped inside, she saw him lying on the couch. His face was busted up with fresh and dried blood covering his nose and mouth.
His eye was swollen shut, already black and blue, and she saw bruising on his neck, disappearing beneath his bloody, torn shirt.
Butters felt pain in her chest at the sight of her poor brother.
“It took him a few times to agree to come inside my place. I couldn’t leave him out there,” Frankie said, standing back.
“Thank you, Frankie,” she whispered. “God, Nathan,” she wheezed out and moved toward him. She was aware Frankie shut the door behind him, but it made her feel trapped.
Her brother opened his good eye and looked over at her, and despite the damage to his face, she could see the emotional pain etched on it. Sinking to her knees in front of him, she took his hand and kissed his knuckles. “What happened?” He tried sitting up, but she shook her head. “Just relax.” She looked at Frankie. “Can you get me some ice? Maybe rags and some water or peroxide if you have it?”
Frankie nodded, and that’s when she noticed the bloody rags on the table. It looked like Frankie already tried to clean up her brother. Her tears spilled down her cheeks, and she brushed them away with her free hand.
“I tried to work things out with them.” He started coughing, and she saw the wound on his split lip open further. Frankie came back with the items, and she started cleaning Nathan’s wounds, wiping away the blood and putting the ice wrapped in towels on his face.
