Violent Circle Boxset

by Shade, S. M.

  He is gorgeous.

  Dark hair with a sprinkle of gray, and a beard to match. Deep blue eyes and a jawline that couldn’t have been drawn better by an artist. He doesn’t catch me ogling him with drool dripping out of my mouth because he’s frowning down at the kid who is getting louder and more obnoxious by the second.

  Now, I understand toddlers throw tantrums and kids whine. I have nieces and I’ve babysat plenty of times, but this kid is at least eight years old. He tugs his mother’s arm, who looks down at him with a forced, weary smile.

  “I want cookies! Chocolate chip! I only like chocolate chip!” He points to the row of six cookies in the display case.

  “Yes, baby,” she replies. “You can have a cookie, but we have to wait our turn.”

  “I want it now! And two! Two cookies!” he screeches.

  When she ignores him, he kicks her in the ankle and drops to the floor, flailing around. “Two chocolate chip cookies!”

  I have a sudden urge to get a hysterectomy.

  The man who will be starring in my fantasies tonight turns back toward the counter when the barista asks for his order. His voice is smooth and deep as he asks, “Are these all the chocolate chip cookies you have left?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay, I’ll take all six cookies and a large coffee, please.”

  Oh my god. I can’t keep the snort of laughter from leaping out of me, but I try to cover it with a cough. The mother is going to bear the brunt of it, but he’s making sure the little brat doesn’t get his way.

  Little Lord Scream and Kick doesn’t realize what’s happened until the barista hands over the coffee and scoops the last of the cookies into the bag.

  “Mine!” he screeches. “Mom! He took my cookies!”

  Sighing, she tries to explain. “I can’t keep other people from buying cookies. You’ll have to pick something else. Look, they have the chocolate muffins you like.”

  He isn’t having it. His mother tries to order a latte, but it’s hard to hear her over the screaming, so she grabs his hand and practically drags him out of the place.

  The man stands outside, talking on his phone and still cradling his bag of cookies.

  “Ma’am, may I take your order?” the barista asks.

  “Yes, a large iced mocha and a large latte, please,” I tell her, making a quick decision.

  After I’m handed my coffees, I drop two dollars in the tip jar and head outside where the mother sits at a table, trying to talk to her kid. He has stopped screaming and his glare jumps between his mother and the man who bought the cookies, but as I approach, I hear him say, “Because you’re stupid and you won’t go make him give me a cookie! I hate you!”

  “Excuse me,” I say. “I thought you may need this.”

  Her face is pure gratitude as I place the coffee in front of her. “Thank you.” She starts digging in her purse for money.

  “Don’t worry about it. It looks like you’re having a rough day.”

  She looks at her kid, then at me. “He doesn’t take disappointment well.”

  He’s got more issues than that from what I can see, but I’m not going to judge. “Well, have a good day,” I chirp and make my way toward my car.

  As I pass the man, he pockets his phone and smiles at me. That smile could be considered a weapon because it damn near knocks me over. Trying not to trip over my own feet, I flash a smile at him and say, “How’s it going?”

  “Better now,” he replies.

  I’m busy congratulating myself on how smooth and cool I acted when I feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s worth mentioning that I have a habit of talking to myself. So I’m sure he overheard my breathless utterance of “You came off totally cool and normal.”

  My mouth falls open, and my cheeks heat with embarrassment. He doesn’t call me out on my weirdness. Instead he holds up the bag of cookies. “Do you like chocolate chip? Because I don’t.”

  Laughter spills out of me. “I’ve never met chocolate I didn’t like.”

  “Good, just promise me you won’t give it to Tantrum Tommy over there. He’ll never learn.”

  I take the bag from him, and his phone starts to ring again. He glances at it and sighs, “I have to run.”

  “Thank you!” I call after him, watching his ass as he jogs to a big, white truck and hops inside.

  I don’t have the heart to look at the mother and son as I toss the bag of cookies in my passenger seat and buckle my seatbelt. I feel bad, but the guy has a point.

  And, you know, more cookies for me.

  I get back to the groomers just in time, and I’m shocked by the sight of my dog. The little gray creature with a particularly unpleasant scent is now an adorable tan colored pup with a white nose and little white feet. His ears are perked up like a little bat and his eyes shine with what I’d swear is happiness. I guess I’d be glad to get all that extra fur shaved off too.

  The groomer kneels down to give him a treat. “He’s a pleasure to work with. He didn’t even fight me cutting his nails. You bring him back anytime.”

  “That is so adorable!” I exclaim when he turns, and I see she’s left a bit of extra fur around his backside. It looks like a fluffy little heart. I really need to think of a suitable name. After paying the lady, I hook the leash to his collar and lead him out to the car. The sight of him trying to jump in with his short legs is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. I scoop him up and place him inside. He sits in the passenger seat, staring at me like he’s impatient to get moving.

  When I park in front of my apartment, Noble waves from his front step, and I walk my new friend over to meet him.

  Jani steps out the front door as I’m approaching. “Oh! He’s so cute!”

  Both of them fawn over him, and he just eats it up, licking their hands and wagging his hind end. “He has a puffy butt!” Jani exclaims, scratching his back. “What’s his name?”

  “I haven’t come up with one yet.”

  “Come here, puffbutt,” Noble calls, laughing as he obeys.

  “Noble,” Jani laughs. “Don’t call him that.”

  “Why not, he likes it, don’t you puffbutt? Got a puffy old butt, don’t you?” Noble coos, letting the dog lick his face.

  “Puffbutt it is,” I chuckle. “Maybe Puffy for short.”

  Chapter Two

  Samantha

  Mallory hesitates at the door to Silvy’s Bar and Grill, and I know exactly what she’s worried about.

  The swivel.

  No matter what you look like, male or female, the second you walk into a small bar like this, all heads turn to see who walked in. So many eyes, sizing you up and either finding you lacking, mentally stripping you, or just turning back to their conversations after satisfying their curiosity.

  “Come on, we’ll grab a table, have some drinks, it’ll be fun,” I coax, stepping through the door.

  Nodding, she follows me inside and to a table. “Quite a crowd,” she remarks, taking a seat.

  “Nothing else to do on a Friday night in this town.”

  It is pretty crowded, but we lucked into a good spot, a corner booth where we can see the stage beyond the small dance floor, and the bar along the far wall.

  “What do you want to drink?” I ask Mallory as a waitress approaches us.

  “Strawberry margarita sounds good.”

  I order one for both of us, but the sudden anger on Mallory’s face draws my attention. “Wait,” she calls as the waitress is leaving. “Give me a shot of tequila too.”

  Well, alright then. I hold up two fingers to the waitress, and she nods with a smile.

  “So, I guess we’re getting fucked up tonight. What changed your mind?”

  Mallory gestures with her chin. “End of the bar.”

  I have to look twice because I barely recognize him. “Is that Dennis?”

  “Yes,” she hisses. “He’s over there trying to talk up college girls.”

  This might not go well. I guess I should’ve known him bein
g here was a possibility since it’s the only bar in Morganville, but he was never the bar hopping type. Neither is Mallory though, so fair enough.

  The waitress drops off our drinks and hurries to her next table.

  “Do you want to go somewhere else?” I didn’t bring her out to torture her by watching her soon to be ex-husband drool over co-eds.

  “No, he’s not dictating my life anymore.”

  “Fuck no, he isn’t.” I hand her a shot. “To freedom.”

  “And to getting laid by someone who can actually get me off.”

  Laughter nearly makes me choke, and the tequila burns its way down my throat.

  “I have to ask, what the hell is on his head?”

  She snorts and takes a drink of her margarita. “He wanted to get a toupee before, and I told him it’d look ridiculous.”

  It looks beyond ridiculous. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a man wearing a hairpiece, anymore than a woman wearing a wig. To each their own. But what he’s wearing looks like it was found on the street.

  “It looks like a dead ferret.”

  Grinning, she drains her drink. “I hope it’s neutered.”

  “The ferret or Dennis?”

  Her laughter rings out, drawing the attention of a few people around us, but she no longer seems self-conscious. A few shots and two drinks later, and we’re having a great time. The conversation jumps back and forth between her plans for the future and talking shit about her ex as we watch him strike out with nearly every woman there.

  It’s pathetic, and if I didn’t know him and what a dick he is, I’d probably feel sorry for him. Since we’ve been in our little corner, he hasn’t noticed us. I have a feeling that’s about to change.

  “Let’s dance,” Mallory suggests. I’m so happy to see her having a good time. It’s the happiest I’ve seen her in a long time.

  “Let’s do it!”

  We make our way onto the small dance floor just as the live band starts a slow song. Damn it. She shrugs, but before we can retreat and wait for a fast number, a young, blond man smiles down at her. “Would you like to dance?”

  Her eyes nearly pop out of her head, but she nods quickly, then throws a stunned smile at me as he leads her a few feet away. Call me petty, but my first reaction is to look for Dennis to see if he’s spotted her.

  Hell yes, he has, and the glare on his face must be making her day. There’s nothing more damaging to self-esteem than being cheated on. Even if you know it’s a flaw in the other person, not you, that causes such a thing, you wonder why you weren’t good enough. Question your appearance, behavior, success, everything. To have a young, cute guy show interest in her, even just for a dance, is huge.

  I’m almost off the dance floor when an arm circles my waist. “Not so fast, beautiful.”

  Ugh, I hate arrogant men. I turn my head to tell him to get his hands off me, but my words fizzle at the sight of deep blue eyes. It’s him. The man from the coffee shop. Damn, is everyone in town here, tonight?

  “Cookie guy,” I laugh.

  “Nick,” he says. “Dance with me?”

  My gaze runs over his dark beard with a little sprinkle of gray thrown in. God, he’s sexy. And that voice makes me never want to wear panties again.

  “Okay.” The word comes out so soft I doubt he even heard me, but he attacks me with his smile and pulls me into his arms. His body is firm under his navy button down shirt. I’m affected by him for some reason and it’s messing with my head. I never have trouble talking to men. It’s one of the few things I’m usually good at, but this guy can steal my words with a glance.

  “What’s your name?” he asks, as we move to the music.

  Oh yeah, most people do introduce themselves, Sam. Get it together. “Samantha. Sam for short.”

  “I don’t usually see you here, Samantha. Special occasion?” Oh, it’s like he’s caressing my name with that deep voice.

  “Just helping a friend get back in the game.” I’m relieved to find I can speak in intelligible sentences again. “Do you hang out here a lot?” Did I seriously just ask him if he comes here often? Shoot me now.

  “My brother owns the place, so the crew meets here once in a while after work for a few beers.”

  “The crew?” I tease. “Are you a rapper? Got a posse I should watch out for?”

  Laughter rumbles his chest. “Work crew. I’m a roofer. Private contractor. What do you do?”

  “I work at Rock Plastics.”

  The song changes to one I don’t recognize, but the pulsing beat has everyone getting close. With a wicked grin, Nick grabs my hips and pulls me against him. Alright then, this I can do.

  Wrapping my arms around his neck, I move my hips with his, grinding to the beat of the music. When my gaze meets his, I watch his pupils dilate slightly. Running my fingers down his neck, I feel his pulse thumping beneath his skin. If there’s one thing I recognize, it’s the sign of a man when he’s turned on, and I’ve got him.

  It isn’t until his gaze drops to my lips that I realize, he’s got me too.

  Eons pass as he leans in and presses his lips to mine. They’re soft and warm, such contrast to the rasp of his beard against my skin. My thoughts instantly turn to how that beard would feel between my legs.

  Warmth washes over me and his lips have barely left mine when I kiss him again with a soft hum. Our bodies move to the music as he drags his mouth down my neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

  “You’re a good dancer,” I breathe.

  “Not all I’m good at.”

  Before I can respond, there’s a commotion to our right. I turn to see Mallory dancing with a different guy and cover my mouth to hide my surprise. For someone who was so self-conscious a few hours ago, she’s sure loosened up, and it’s amazing. She turns and starts rubbing her ass against the guy’s crotch and he’s all for it, running his hands down her hips and keeping up with her. She’s having a blast, but not for long.

  The noise I heard was Dennis slamming a mug on the bar, then jumping off his stool so hard it fell over. He’s making a beeline for Mallory. This could get ugly.

  “Shit,” I curse under my breath and start toward them.

  Mallory sees him coming too and excuses herself, heading off the dance floor. Dennis catches up with her the same time I do.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing out there, Mal? You’re making a goddamn fool of yourself!”

  The flicker of doubt and embarrassment that crosses her face enrages me. She was having fun, which she has every right to do. She’s had a great night and he’s not going to take that from her.

  “What’s the matter, Dennis?” I snap. “You mad she’s beautiful and getting attention from all these young guys when you look like shit out mashed potatoes?”

  Mallory grins, and I can see her courage coming back as she realizes she’s getting a rare moment here. He’s jealous.

  “You look like a slut!” he shouts at her, ignoring my remark.

  People are starting to gather around, watching the drama unfold. “Go fuck yourself with that animal on your head, Dennis. Did you get one for your old ass crotch too?” Mallory asks, liquid courage pumping through her veins. I feel someone at my back as Dennis sneers at me.

  “This is what you’re going to do now?” He stares at Mallory like she might infect him. “Act like Samantha? Fuck anything that moves?”

  Nick steps between us, and I grab his arm to pull him back. “I can handle this. He’s just a drunk idiot.”

  “Don’t talk to them like that,” Nick says, his voice calm.

  Dennis wavers on his feet. “Why not?”

  “Because we’re ladies, assface!” Mallory exclaims.

  Dennis seems to consider his options for a moment as his almost ex-wife stands in front of him, along with a man he couldn’t beat if he were sober. Drunks are stupid. Jealous drunks even more so, and he proves it by looking around Nick at me. “You might want to get to know her before you rush to h
er rescue. She’s like a penny. Worthless, two faced, and in everyone’s pants.”

  He barely gets the last word out before he’s laid out on the floor, his jaw swelling and turning blue. Laughter rings out when the poorly attached toupee flies off and Mallory grabs it.

  Dennis seems to be trying to figure out how he ended up parallel to everyone’s feet as Nick stares down at him. “You need to get up and get out of here.” There’s no malice or threat to his tone. If anything, he sounds bored. Most guys I know wouldn’t have stopped at one punch, and I’m glad to see this isn’t turning into a white trash brawl.

  Dennis scrambles to his feet and points at Mallory. “She’s my wife!”

  “Not anymore. I filed for divorce yesterday.”

  Seething, he holds out his hand for the hairpiece. The grin on Mallory’s face tells me this is going to be good. She glances up at the ceiling fan slowly rotating above us, then chucks it up there. Her aim is good because it catches on the edge of the blade. Laughter echoes through the place at the sight of it spinning around like a drunk Tasmanian devil.

  Two guys walk up, one the size of a mountain, and Nick nods at them. “He needs to be removed,” he says, tilting his chin at Dennis.

  “He’s the one who hit me!” Dennis shouts, but the men don’t seem to care what he has to say. The bouncer grabs his arm and escorts him to the door while the other guy shakes his head, grinning at Nick.

  “Did you hit him?”

  Nick holds up his hand, his thumb and finger about an inch apart. “Little bit.”

  “You never hit people.” The man’s eyes flash, and I notice the resemblance. This must be his brother who owns the bar.

  “He deserved it.”

  Mallory is looking unsteady on her feet as they talk. I hate to leave, because damn, the man can kiss, but it’s time for us to go. “Hey, sorry for the trouble. We’re going to go,” I tell them.

  “You didn’t cause any trouble. There’s no need to leave,” Nick argues.

  “I think my friend has had a little too much.” I keep my voice low so she doesn’t hear me. “I’m going to get her home.”

  He lays his hand over the screen of my phone when I open the Uber app. “Let me take you.” His mouth broadens into a grin when I raise an eyebrow at him. “I’ve only had two beers.”