by Andrea Joan
Shit. Why the hell did I just say that?
“What’d you just say, bitch? Trust me, I have a dick. I’ll show it to you, slut, and you can autograph it for me.” Mason grabs at his crotch and stumbles closer to us as Liam releases my hand to shove Mason back. The whiskey bottle falls from his fingers and shatters, pieces of glass flying everywhere.
Adrenaline courses through my veins so rapidly I instantly feel sick to my stomach. A dam of violence is ready to burst and I have to stop it if only to protect Liam from getting jumped by three guys because I can’t keep my damn mouth shut. I step forward, completely ignoring Liam’s previous instructions, and place myself between him and Mason. Standing on my tiptoes I grab his face and pull it to mine. What I see almost has me taking a step back in fear however because Liam’s once gray eyes, are now black; his pupils completely dilated.
“Look at me, Liam,” I command softly. His eyes finally focus on mine but still look dangerously savage. “He’s just taunting you. He wants you to react, so don’t give him the satisfaction. Don’t let him win. Let’s just leave and go through the front, okay?”
I can see him regaining focus right before me as his breath slows and his body stops shaking. I didn’t even realize his body was shaking until it went still. Probably because I’m shaking too. But there is a distinct difference because I know mine is from fear and he seems to be shaking with anger. Liam shoots the most menacing glance at Mason, like not kicking his ass is the hardest decision he’s ever had to make, grabs my hand, and turns to walk toward the street entrance. I breathe a sigh of relief until I feel a sweaty hand seize my wrist and rip me violently from Liam’s grasp, sending me careening toward the ground. My left hand instinctively shoots out to break my fall and I feel something sharp pierce painfully through the skin of my palm.
Don’t look, Skylar. Don’t look.
I look.
A large piece of glass protrudes from my hand, blood spilling from the wound.
An angered roar grabs my attention and I look up just in time to see Liam lunge directly at Mason, grabbing him by the throat with his right hand and landing a solid left hook to his face. Then another. And another. Liam now stands above Mason, pounding him into the ground, as Mason tries to block the decimating blows with his arms. Bryce starts to run at Liam, but Liam must have seen him in his peripheral because he slams his elbow up and into the assailant’s face.
Holy shit.
Bryce stumbles backward as blood pours from his nose, hitting the cement with a loud thud as something white flies out of his mouth.
Is that a tooth? Gross.
Derek, the third asshole, takes off running like a coward. Mason pushes himself off the ground and drives his head into Liam’s stomach. But Liam fires back, landing solid shots to his kidney and ribs with very concise precision. The hits are so hard I swear I hear a rib crack. To think I was worried about Liam being attacked and outnumbered. Now I’m just worried he’ll be arrested for assault…or murder. This has to stop before someone is seriously hurt.
I propel myself off the ground, ripping the glass shard from my hand in one painfully fluid motion, before running toward the back door, stepping over the now unconscious body of Bryce. I swing the door open and scream for help as loud as I can.
A crash comes from the kitchen before three men, including Liam’s father, almost knock me out of the way getting through the door.
“Goddamn it, Liam!” his father yells as if it’s his fault, while he and two other men move to break up the fight.
I watch in horror as it takes all three of them to pull Liam off of Mason. A hand clamps down on my shoulder and I whip around to see Noah standing behind me, his face looking as panicked as I feel.
“Skylar, what the fuck is going on? What happened? Jesus, are you okay? We need to get you out of here!” Noah grabs my wrist as he tries to pull me from the scene.
“Wait. Liam. I need to make sure…” I turn around, trying to get words out, but everything is moving so fast and I’m so confused. All I know is I don’t want to leave Liam.
Noah places his hands on my cheeks. “We need to go now before people decide to start taking your picture and you’re plastered all over the internet tomorrow. Okay, honey? Let’s go.”
Before I have a chance to argue, Noah grabs my uninjured hand and starts running through the bar. The last thing I see as I turn to look for Liam is his father, pinning him against the brick wall, saying something I can’t make out.
“LIAM. LOOK AT ME, Son.” I hear a familiar voice speaking, the sound muffled like it’s coming from underwater, swimming around in my subconscious. “Focus. Listen to me, Liam.” I’m trying but everything around me is fucking hazy and murky and I can’t see shit.
Fuck. I can’t breathe. The pressure on my chest is too much. I keep trying to concentrate on the familiar voice.
“Liam, can you hear me?”
I know that voice. Dad. My vision clears and I see him in front of me, forcing me up against a wall. Fucking trying anyway.
My body is fighting against his hold reflexively and I’m trying to suppress the fury dominating my actions. I don’t want to hurt him. And I could. Way too fucking easily. What the hell did I do?
I take in the wreckage left from the storm of rage I released. Bobby R. and Bobby T. are helping a bloody, dazed, and broken Mason off the ground as Bryce wipes blood from his nose and mouth with his shirt sleeve. Then Bryce bends down to pick something up off the ground.
It’s his tooth. Hope that hurt you fucking piece of shit.
My breathing starts to even out as I take in the whole scene around me. Blood stains my clothes and the ground around me, my battered knuckles aching with the punishment I clearly inflicted as flashes of the fight start to flood my mind.
Skylar.
A small crowd has gathered in the alleyway and they aren’t even trying to hide the enraptured looks on their pathetic fucking faces. Apparently they get off on all the blood. I look through the sea of faces trying to find hers as my dad relaxes his stance.
Big fucking mistake. Because I don’t see her anywhere and I’m about to lose it again as snapshots of her on the ground with a piece of fucking glass in her hand and a terrified look in her beautiful eyes starts replaying in my head.
“Where is she, dad?” I try to push him off of me, while my heart attempts to beat right out of my chest.
“What, Son? Where is who? Are you okay? You need to tell me what happened here so I can start to fix this.” He releases me from the wall, no longer able to hold me back.
I’m too fucking strong right now.
Too rabid.
I pace helplessly through the alley as I ignore his questions while looking for Skylar like a panicked mental patient.
She has to be here. She has to be okay. This is not like what happened to Ali. FUCK!
“Dad, she was right fucking here. She was on the ground bleeding. Where is she?” I shove my hands through my hair; a worthless attempt to keep the fear and anger rising within me to a more manageable level. Every second I can’t find her is another second that grants permission for my rage to take over. My eyes catch Mason’s, who’s still trying to stand with the help of Bobby R., images of him ripping Skylar from my hand flooding my thoughts, and that thin thread keeping me sane;
Fucking
Snaps.
I head right for him.
“Who are you talking about?” My dad grabs my shoulder, stopping me before I make it over to Mason. Good fucking thing, too, because I’m gearing up for round two.
“Skylar, dad! Damn! She was right fucking here. Is she okay?”
The small crowd is still standing around staring on in shock as they whisper to each other. This is bound to be all over the island tomorrow, spreading like wildfire. Liam O’Connor loses his shit…again.
“Hey, man.” I snap my head to the voice coming from my right and see Bobby R. cautiously walking toward me. “I saw her leave. Skylar Barrett, right?” I don�
�t know why but the fact that Bobby just used her full name fucking pisses me off.
Shit. I need to cool it.
“Her friend grabbed her and took her away. She’s fine, hermano.”
My whole body relaxes slightly at this news. She’s safe.
“Bobby, help Liam get home while I clean up here,” my dad says through a sigh. I’m exhausting him. I know it. I just can’t seem to get control of myself anymore.
“I think I can manage to get home, dad.”
“Let Bobby take you home. That was not a suggestion.” He’s using his fuck with me I dare you tone. I know that tone, I’ve perfected that tone. It’s probably time I leave.
“Come on, Liam. Let’s go. It means I get to leave work early so you’re doing me a favor,” Bobby R. says with a wicked smile.
Bobby is placating me. I’m not a fucking idiot. But looking around at the crowd and Mason specifically, I realize my dad and Bobby are both right. I need to leave.
The night had started out so promising. The thrill of seeing her and feeling like a fucking human being again just talking to her because anytime I smiled or laughed it wasn’t forced or for anyone else’s benefit or comfort. I know if I continue to stand here, thinking about Sky, about what Mason did to her, or the fact that she is probably somewhere shaking in fear and bleeding, I’m going to lose my shit. Right now Mason is starting to look like the best fucking target. So I let Bobby take me home and write this entire fucking night off as a loss.
Fuck. My head is killing me. I push my palms into my eyes hoping the pressure relieves some of my pain. Pressure closes off the nerve gates and hits the brain quicker than the sense of pain, or so I read once. It’s too early to be recalling this shit. And too cold. Why the hell am I freezing? The ice-cold wood from my bedroom floor burns into my heated skin.
I’m on my floor again.
I must have had another nightmare if I’m waking up on my floor, crumpled in the corner like a frightened little bitch. Every fucking time I black out this happens. I crawl over to my nightstand, because I lack the fucking strength to stand up at the moment. I snatch the water bottle, knocking my clock off the nightstand, wipe the sweat off my face with my hand, and guzzle the full twenty-four ounces. My dry throat and mouth relax significantly at the immediate relief. Grabbing the clock off my floor, I catch a glimpse of the red lights flashing the time.
9:27 a.m. I’m already late.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I’m supposed to be at the bar taking inventory of the liquor stock before it opens at eleven. Christ. I feel like I have a massive hangover, despite the fact I didn’t touch a drop of liquor last night. Unfortunately, this is a common side effect of my…condition.
Impulsive behavior. PTSD. Explosive anger. Intermittent explosive disorder. Or my personal fucking favorite, rage epilepsy.
Whatever the psychiatrist of the moment wants to call it, I don’t really give a shit, I just wish it would stop. But unfortunately I have no clear answer or solution, other than I may have sustained some sort of brain injury the night of the attack that led me here, to the person I am now. Rough. Unpredictable. Violent. Merciless. While the sane have a fight or flight response, I have a fight or kill response. It’s fucking ingrained in me now, as much a part of my DNA as my eye color. Without my dad by my side, taming me like a wild animal when I snap, I release an unrelenting hurt. God help the victim of my fury if they are fucking with someone I care about, someone I love, because I will make their punishment painful and lasting. I will never let someone I love get hurt again.
But my dad wasn’t there in the alley last night. Sky was. I was ready to walk away. For her. Because she asked me to. And that shit is fucking with my head right now.
A firm knock at my door alarms me, bringing me back into the present. I know that knock.
“Yeah. Come in, dad.”
He opens the door and walks cautiously into the room looking like he’s ready for one of those long discussions he feels he needs to have after an “incident.”
“How’d ya’ know it was me?”
“You have a very distinctive knock.”
“Ah. I thought I’d check on you, Son. Make sure you’re up. You’re usually awake before any of us.” He smiles at me but I can tell he’s worried. He pulls out the chair from under my desk and sits down.
I take a seat on my bed across from him, ready to repeat the same discussion we’ve had many times before.
“I’m fine, just overslept. Guess I needed it.” There’s an awkward silence, and I’m sure there’s something I can say to break it, but there’s really no reason. He’ll get right to the point.
“What happened last night, Liam?”
Right to the fucking point.
He rests his elbows on his knees and stares at me with a concerned look in his eyes. He thinks he’s lost me forever, and he’s probably right.
“When you went outside I thought we had everything under control. Next thing I know some girl is screaming for help and you’re in the alley beating Mason nearly to death.”
“I did have everything under control. I was in the alley talking with Skylar and then Mason came out of nowhere. He and his dumbass friends were harassing her and they just wouldn’t stop. She convinced me to leave, and the next thing I know Mason was grabbing her with his disgusting fucking hands and she was on the ground bleeding, and I just…I just fucking lost it.”
“You were walking away?” he asks, clearly as surprised as I am at the concept of doing it without his help.
But I have no explanation for him other than when I was looking into Skylar’s eyes, her hands on my face, pleading with me to leave, I wanted to get her out of there, to keep her safe, to do anything she asked of me. And I’m sure as shit not going to tell him that. It makes me sound like a fucking pussy.
“Yeah. I mean, Skylar asked me to,” I say as if this explanation is somehow the Holy Grail. Honestly, it fucking feels like it is.
“Are you and this Skylar girl seeing each other or something? I never heard you mention her before. She must be someone special to get you to walk away from a fight like that.”
Christ. He doesn’t even know who she is.
“No, I’m not seeing her. I barely know her.”
Why do those words burn as they choke out of my mouth? I don’t know her. I thought she would be some spoiled Hollywood rich bitch, and I was actually counting on that fucking assumption when I saw her sit down on that bench because I wanted nothing more than to seduce, fuck, and forget her in that alley. But she surprised me. She was adorable and sinful and innocent and tragically tortured all at the same time. I saw it in her eyes when she looked at me; it was like staring in a mirror. I heard it in her voice when she spoke, well rambled anyway, which I’m assuming she did because she was nervous. And that really hit deep. Skylar Barrett is the epitome of a dichotomy. She’s the saint and sinner, the devil and the angel, the savior and the one in need of saving.
My dad looks at me quizzically, as if he sees straight through my bullshit response.
“Where are Mason and Bryce now?” I don’t really give two fucks, but I need to know how serious this is, I’m also grasping for a change of subject.
“They should be released from the hospital sometime today.”
“They went to the hospital?” I try to mask the excitement and sick pride from my voice, but something tells me the smirk on my face has given me away. All I have are some scraped up knuckles from where my fists connected to their faces. And ribs. And kidneys. And stomach.
“Liam, you broke Mason’s eye socket and two ribs, sprained his wrist, and he almost bit the tip of his tongue off.”
Shit. Never caused that particular injury before. I bite my own tongue in an attempt to stop my smile.
“And his friend, you broke his nose and he lost two teeth. You caused quite a bit of damage. I’m somewhere between being incredibly pissed at you and exceptionally proud. Mason is a dick and he was an ass to your sister when th
ey dated, so that’s the only thing saving you from me,” he says with a slightly menacing smile.
Yeah, dad is the shit. But there was a time he could lay me out without even breaking a sweat. He never beat me, but he was my trainer for years so I am very fucking aware of his strength. For all I know, he’s still capable of laying me the fuck out with one hit; he’ll always be a brawler.
“I’m going to hop in the shower and get ready for work, but do I need to be worried about this thing with Mason? Are the cops going to come knocking?” A valid question because it would not be the first time the cops have come knocking at the O’Connor’s door, looking for me.
“They won’t come knocking. It’s been taken care of.”
Well, thank god for that. Getting arrested was not on my fucking to-do list today.
“Thanks, dad. Not sure how you pulled that shit off but I am beyond fucking grateful.” I pat his shoulder as I get off my bed and head towards my closet to grab some clothes before I hit the shower.
“As much as I appreciate your well-versed accolades, Son, I didn’t do anything this time,” he says.
“Then how the hell has this been taken care of?”
That dick Mason has been gunning for me for a while now, especially after Shay dumped his sorry ass, so I know he wouldn’t just drop this. The way my dad is looking at me right now has me thinking I’m not going to like the answer.
“How was this taken care of?” I ask again, crossing my arms over my chest as I lean against my closet door. If I appear relaxed, maybe he will be more willing to answer the damn question a little fucking faster.
“I called Mason’s stepdad last night to see if we could work this out without involving the police, and he informed me that some little hellcat showed up to the hospital and paid Mason and Bryce’s hospital bills. Apparently, she marched right into their rooms and paid them off to keep their mouths shut about the incident, then threatened Mason with assault charges if he filed charges against you. She was not polite about it, either, told both the boys she would unleash her team of lawyers on them so quickly—let me make sure I get this right—‘their future unfortunate spawn would still be paying off their backwoods’ daddy’s legal fees.’”
