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I try to think back to that night, but after the head wound, things became a little blurrier.
Lee carries on. "She was a fucking witch. Her slimy hands were all over him, all over us too when we tried to distract her so he could talk to you."
Thinking about Drew makes me want to see him and talk to him. Why isn’t he here? I should’ve asked Seb earlier when he said he wouldn’t be here why he wouldn’t be here? I drag my cell phone out from under the table and tap out a quick text to him.
Me: Hey, where are you? At The Mill eating pizza.
I wait for a response, but all it says is delivered. I try not to let the disappointment take root and put my phone away, focusing my attention back on the conversation.
21
DREW
The anger simmers in my veins. Deeper and heavier than before, like a sticky paste. I have more questions than I have answers, and it’s frustrating as hell. Playing detective isn’t my thing, and having the patience to wait it out is also not standard for me.
My go-to at this point would be to find someone, start a fight, taunt the fucker, and then lay him out, or fuck the first willing girl I find, but neither of those things will get me Bel back, and I’d rather cut off my cock then put it in someone else at this point. So I take myself back to the gym to pound my rage into the bag some more, since my earlier session ended short.
I want to see her. I want to go home, drag her into my bed, and force her sweet little mouth down on my cock. It feels like it's been too long even though it really hasn't.
My phone beeps signaling and incoming text and I pull it out staring down at the screen.
Flower: Hey, where are you? At The Mill eating pizza.
I’m tempted to toss my evening plans aside and crash their little shit show, but even I know that would be a terrible idea. With the mood I’m in right now, there would be no stopping me from getting into a fight with Sebastian and or kidnapping Bel. I want to do that on almost any day, and today would be the worst when my temper is flaring, and my tolerance for bullshit is at an all-time low. I tell myself I’ll text her back later and close the message before sliding the phone back into my pocket.
I’d be shit for conversation right now, and if I’m going to do better by Bel, that means I’m going to rein my temper in and fix my shit before I talk to her. As I walk into the gym, I find there to be fewer people than usual.
There are a couple of the new mill guys a couple of yards ahead who cast glances every so often but none of them go out of their way to converse with me. It’s almost like I’m wearing a blinding neon sign that says: Don’t Fuck With Me.
I slip a headphone in my ear, but just one. Two would leave me distracted and potentially jumped by one of these fools. Steadying the heavy punching bag between my hands, I breathe deeply, and then rear my arm back and throw my first punch.
My fist slams into the bag hard, rocking it, and I release a long sigh of contempt.
Yes, I need this.
I punch and punch and punch until I'm panting and have to stop, hugging the bag to catch my breath. It feels good but it's not enough. The steady rock of the bag isn't my father's face splitting open under my fists. It's not his eyes swelling shut, or his lip bleeding.
I need something else, something a little more violent and dark than this to quiet the beast that’s clawing under my skin, itching to get out. But I can't get what I need quiet yet. There are still some answers I need and things to put into place. I throw a few more punches at the bag but the initial satisfaction tempers. I breath and catch the new guys whispering and exchanging cash.
I turn to face them. "What's this? Collecting money for the book club?"
One of the kids, Tyson, or Taylor, I can't fucking remember his name glares at me. "Actually, it's for a bet."
For a second I'm just glad they didn't bring hard drugs into my training center. "Bet for what?"
The other one I don't even bother trying to recall his name shakes his head at his friend like he doesn't want to tell me.
I take one step toward them and the dumb one raises his hands, cash still in his fists. "It's for a fight, okay. That's it."
I won’t lie, my curiosity is piqued. "What kind of a fight?"
"The underground, illegal kind. Every two weeks they have them at the old Sears center, where the mall used to be in Blackthorn.”
Well, shit. Why the fuck am I just now hearing about this? I study them for a minute. "You've got business at Blackthorn, so much so that you know about secret illegal fights?"
He swallows hard and nods. "Yeah? I used to attend, but got kicked out. My sister still goes there and I have a ton of friends there so I try to make visits back to see them when I can."
I shrug and crack my knuckles. "Funny enough I could use a good fight right now. When do they start, and how do I find more information?"
