AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter One
Clint
Clint let out a gasp, dragging his covers back and stumbling off the couch before his eyes were half open. The claws of his nightmare clung deep, every marred piece of flesh tingling in memory and agony. His brain was so fucked that he could feel the suffering of his dreams.
His body flashed hot as he clutched the arm of the couch, his legs trembling under his own weight. Fire was tricky. What used to give him the greatest pleasure had also ripped his nerves apart, leaving him numb along the ravaged parts of his flesh.
The accident. He shuddered, pulling his shirt over his head before tossing it onto the floor. The air conditioning was cranked despite the cool night, but it still wasn’t enough to destroy the memory of smoke that clogged his nostrils. Sweat poured from his body, streaking down his back to the waistband of his track pants.
He ripped them off next, tossing them next to his shirt. Too hot. Too hot. They landed in a heap next to a similar pair that was riddled with just as many holes.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed the heels of his hands to them, trying to squash the phantom flickering of lights and the pounding headache.
It didn’t seem to matter how much time had passed or how many times the nightmares woke him. It never got any easier.
The same face still haunted him, so clear that he could feel himself touching Ross’ lips, his mouth open and slack and his sightless eyes staring. No more words. No more songs.
“Fuck.” Reaching for his blankets, he ripped them from the couch, tossing them among the rest of the clothes. They were damp to the touch, reeking of sweat and that sour tang of fear that coated his tongue and made his mouth run dry. No amount of alcohol or water would quench his thirst enough to remove that taste—not when most of it was in his mind.
It had been better when he’d been sleeping on the small waterproof cot in the old club with little for blankets and a sore back so he rarely slept deep enough to dream. But in the virtual lap of luxury and the comfortable couch, his mind had taken to wandering at night.
The king-sized bed was out of the question.
All it would take was one faulty wire in the walls, and it would all go up in flames. He knew the builders and trusted them enough to sink a few million dollars into the construction, but everyone made mistakes. A slip from an electrician or a bad day at work and poof.
“Fuck. Stop thinking about it.” He bit his lip, growling under his breath as he stalked to the bathroom. The plush carpet was soft against his bare feet, but just as warm as the rest of him. He needed ice, or ceramic tile cold enough to suck the fire right out of him.
Flicking the bathroom light on, he started the shower, adjusting the water as cold as it could possibly go. There had been a time in his life when cold showers had had an actual purpose, but now they barely helped him cope.
But how could he avoid them when Ross’ memory had been all but erased in the new build? Everything they had grown together from the ugly ass curtains he’d picked out, to the bar top that was hard to keep clean on the best of days. Even the fucking rat trap Clint had kept under the bar after Ross had seen one of the buggers scoping out the place—gone.
The only thing left were the dreams.
His skin prickled as he ducked under the water, a shiver running over him. In the dead of winter, it would be cold enough that it would feel like dunking under ice and trapping himself beneath a surface, where frost would be a blessing.
His jaw trembled and his teeth chattered of their own accord, his body fighting the brutal temperature. I can last. I can do this.
Finally, the fire started to simmer from its inferno, tapering to the numbness that was a part of his life now. The phantoms wisped away, his head clearing until he could see the beige tile of the bathroom and the black countertop through the sheer glass shower stall.
I’m awake. This isn’t a dream.
The numbness was easy to deal with compared to the rest. If someone got frisky in the bar and tried to land a punch, he hardly felt the bruise if it landed anywhere on his chest or stomach. He was lucky that he still had most of the feeling in his hands and could still mix a drink. Yeah…lucky.
He’d had to take care of fights more often than not since he’d owned the kink club Unkinked. Even after he’d moved the club from a bar to a more private setting, there had still been a few incidents. There was always drama in his life and people coming and going. It was the ones who stayed that made the lifestyle worth living.
Maddy, Trick, Derreck, Malone, Keady… He couldn’t list all the ones who had become the closest to his heart, even if they didn’t quite fill the gaping hole.
The truth was, he loved people, but they were assholes. Even his best friends were assholes when the mood struck them.
Trick, whom he’d known for years and had mentored, had still violated the community’s rules. And Derreck, his virtual fucking rock, had cracked before his eyes over a man who had weaseled his way into Clint’s employment, not to mention the stunt Keady had pulled—and Nikita, the secretive bastard.
Grabbing his body wash, Clint squirted some onto a cloth, running it over his skin as he tilted his head into the spray. The scent of citrus cut the last of the lingering smoke, soothing the ache in his chest.
Without them, he was nothing but a nurse turned kinky bastard. At the same time, sometimes he wondered where they would be without him. It was the selfish thoughts that had kept him from locking the doors and wandering off.
Why couldn’t I have been there for them sooner? Where did I go wrong? How the hell am I going to stop the next crash? He hadn’t found a cure for the drama yet.
He stayed in the shower as long as he could take it, roughly scrubbing his hair just before he stepped out. There wasn’t a spot of steam in the room, but his eyes were still cloudy, barely able to focus on the mirror that hung above the vanity. It wasn’t doing him any justice this morning.
