by Jaci J
“You’re right. It won’t, ‘cause I’m here.”
He’s impossible.
It’s a Friday night, and people are packing the place. The Grill & Grind isn’t big, but it’s not small either. The place is always packed on Friday and Saturday nights, when the small town people have nothing better to do than drink their weekly woes away.
Tray loaded with shots, mixed drinks, and a couple bottles of beer, I weave around a few stray chairs and stop at a table full of rowdy men. Rock’s anger grows every time I stop by this particular table, but I don’t have a choice. I’m working and they’re paying, so I’m serving.
“Ah shit, she’s back,” the dick from the group announces loudly. The douche canoe next to him snickers and gives me some crazy side-eye.
Taking a deep breath, I rest the edge of my tray on their table and start unloading their drinks. “Here ya go.”
“Mmm…thanks,” the dick hums, his eyes looking down the front of my V-neck. Jesus, my tip better be stellar.
“Yep.” Righting myself, I tuck the tray under my arm and step back. “Anything else I can get ya?”
Before he can answer, Rock is yelling my name from across the bar. His voice is loud, and of course, cutting through the crowd noise. “Ellison! Get your ass back over here.” Still claiming his barstool, he doesn’t bother getting up. He just yells, staring right at me, along with everyone else here.
“I’ll be back to check on you all later,” I tell the table of men before I turn on my heels and march myself across the bar and up to Rock.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Besides that motherfucker starin’ at your tits?”
“I’m working.” It’s all part of the job, and he knows it. He also knows I don’t like it, but what woman would. I deal with it because it pays my bills.
“Me too,” he growls, shooting a flare over his shoulder at the table of men.
“You’re working my last nerve,” I mutter, walking around the bar.
It’s going to be a long night.
***
And long it is. A few hours later, I’m tired, and the bar is packed. There was a high school reunion at the local Elks Lodge around the corner, and the after-party is apparently happening here at the Grill & Grind. People with little sticker nametags on their chest dance, drink, and drone on loudly at their tables.
They’re the class of 1996. “Twenty years, bitches!” Some drunken fool shouts as he stumbles by, clinging to his falling barstool.
Rock’s crew has grown by two. Tank and Buck are now sitting with him and Rampage. Now I’ve got four fuckheads scaring the hell out of everyone.
In the corner of the bar, I hand a couple beers over to the stained T-shirt wearing guy and his buddy, hiding out in the back with a few friends and their girls. They’re loud and irritating, but so is everyone else.
“Here are your beers.”
Turning to leave, the guy catches my arm, stopping me. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” Sweetheart? Please, don’t make me gag. Glancing over my shoulder at Rock, who happens to be looking at Rampage and not me for the first time in hours, I wish like hell he was staring.
“El,” I tell the guy, pulling my arm back.
“El, huh? You’re a pretty little thing,” he tells me, running his finger down my arm.
“Listen,” I start to say, but the guy stands, getting in my person space. “Dance with me,” he slurs, slipping a hand around my waist.
Oh hell. I don’t need this shit tonight.
Hauling me into his chest, he wraps both arms around me and sticks his face in my neck. Stale alcohol and dirty laundry waft off of the man in nauseating waves.
“No dancing. I’m working.”
“Come on, baby.”
One minute I’m upright, wrapped up in unfamiliar arms, and the next I’m on my ass, a glass of beer in my lap.
Rock’s on the guy. His fist meets the scrubby man’s face, and all hell breaks loose.
“Rocky!”
Nine
Bloody Knuckles
Rock
My fist bounces off the motherfucker’s face. The crack and crunch of bone sends a sweet pain through my knuckles. The look on his face is fucking comical when I hit him.
“What the…” he groans, but doesn’t finish when I aim to knock a row of teeth down his throat.
I’m lacking in common communication skills, but punching people seems to explain what the fuck I’m trying to say. Don’t touch my goddamn girl.
Hitting him again, he sways back on his heels, his head damn near snapping off his scrawny little neck. Putting a hand up in front of his face, he tries in vain to either hit me back, or defend his busted mug.
Swinging shallow, I bust him in the mouth, and his teeth meet flesh.
“Rock! Jesus Christ, stop!” Ellison’s voice penetrates somewhere in the back of my mind, but I don’t let up.
I can’t fucking stop.
I don’t want to stop.
All the rage I’ve got bottled up inside of me just leaks out all over the guy I’m beating into ground hamburger meat.
He goes down after the third hit, and I go down with him. I hit him repeatedly, sending blood all over the goddamn place. His nose is spewing blood and snot when I connect again.
My hand is cramping and my vision is blurred, but I keep at him. I get a sick satisfaction from hurting this piece of shit.
“Rock, brother.” Buck grabs me, wrapping a hand around my shoulders after a sixth hit. “You’re gonna kill him.”
Good. That’s what I’m aiming for.
“He…” I’m breathing hard, mad as fuck. Fuck, he touched El.
“Calm the fuck down. We’ll be gettin’ the pigs here soon.” Buck jerks me up and onto my feet.
On the floor, the guy’s groaning and rolling around in pain. Standing over him, I feel like I’ve lost my mind. I have lost it. Shaking my shit out, I try to get the feeling back in my hands, and my control back. Swear to fuck, my fists have a mind of their own.
“Get him outta here,” I say to whoever the fuck is listening. I don’t look at the guy, ‘cause there’s a real possibility I’ll kill him if I do. Someone better get him the fuck outta my sight before I crack his skull with my boot. This grubby motherfucker touched my girl with his dirty hands. I should rip each finger off and feed them to him. “Get him the fuck outta here!”
Rampage moves, going for the guy, while grumbling something that sounds like “Dumb motherfucker,” at the shit stain as he drags him through the bar by a foot and out the door, a little trail of blood smearing the floor.
“Fuck.”
I give myself a second, trying to bring my fucking heart rate back to a normal beat. Jerking on my hair, I pace, counting to ten and shit.
“Stop it, Rocky.”
Twisting my neck, I look for El and find her standing a few feet behind me, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes narrowed. Fuck.
“El?” She won’t look me in the eyes, because she’s too busy glaring at my chest. “Look at me.” Grabbing her jaw, I force her to look at me. Right now is not the time to fuck with me. Her eyes pop up and she stares, eyes narrowed and lips pinched. We’ve been through some shit, her and I, but nothing is worse than when she’s disappointed in me, and right now, it’s radiating from every pore in her body.
What the fuck was I supposed to do? Stand around and just watch that motherfucker put his hands all over her? I don’t give a fuck what everyone else thinks or says. El is mine, and no one touches her but me.
“Babe.” Jerking her face out of my hand, my fingers leave smudges of blood on her face. “Baby, he touched you,” I try to reason.
“I asked you not to kill anyone.”
“You suddenly grow a conscience?” Since when does a little blood and violence bother her?
“I don’t give a fuck who you kill, but I asked you not to do it here. I asked you not to kill anyone tonight.” She’s cute as fuck when she gets mad at me like
this. I’ll take mad over disappointment any damn day.
“I didn’t kill him,” I counter, not that I didn’t want to. Jesus, I really wanted to.
“I’m gonna get fired, Rocky,” she grumbles, dropping her hands down at her sides. “And it’s all your fault.”
“No, you’re not.”
“How the fuck do you know that? You just caused a scene because of me,” she moans, slapping at my cut. “Jesus, you’re such a pain in the ass.”
“Yeah. Right back at ya, baby doll.”
“God, I’m getting fired.”
Looking at Buck, I tell him, “Handle her boss. Make sure she’s still got her job, and make it clear to him that he saw nothin’.” Looking back El, I smile. There, I fixed the problem. “Shit’s fixed. I handled it.”
“Like you handled that guy,” she accuses, walking away from me.
Exactly like I handled that guy. “Don’t underestimate my ability to get shit done, Ellison.”
“Don’t underestimate my need to hit you,” she bites back, disappearing into the back room. Hell, I should let her hit me if it’ll make her feel any better. That’s something, right?
***
“Why do you always do this shit?” In the breakroom at the back of the bar, El’s standing by a little shelf full of shit, clothes, and purses. Her hands are on her naked hips, a pair of pretty nonexistent panties on her ass.
I can’t stand the thought of someone touching her. Call me a caveman. Call me controlling, obsessive, whatever you want, but I am the way I am, and there’s nothing that’s going to change that. El’s mine until she tells me different, and I’ll do whatever the fuck I want to when it comes to her.
“Because I’m a jealous fuck.” That’s the truth, and I’m not too concerned about admitting it.
“Jesus.” She folds up her wet jeans she tosses them on her purse. Pulling a pair of jeans up her legs and over her ass, she adds, “That’s just stupid. There’s nothin’ to be jealous about.”
The fuck there isn’t. Assholes tend to flock to her kind of beauty, wanting a piece for themselves. They’d steal it given the chance.
“You asked. You wanted to know the truth, so I gave it to your ass.”
“But I’m here, with you. You don’t have to hurt people to prove that.”
Maybe not, but I do have to set a damn precedent. I let one asshole get away with it, and then I’ve got all of them trying shit. I can’t have that.
“I know I don’t say it a whole fuck of a lot, but I love you, and there’s no way in hell I’m sharin’ you. That includes anyone lookin’, touchin’, or takin’.”
El smiles at me while twisting her hair into a messy knot on top of her head. “That was sorta sweet, Rocky.”
“Well, what can I say? I’m a sweet motherfucker.” I give her a cocky smile. “Plus, that pussy’s mine. Definitely not sharin’ it.”
“You just had to add that last part, taking all that sweet and throwing it out the damn window.”
“But I still love your crazy ass,” I tell her as she walks out of the room shaking her head.
“And the pussy too?” she laughs sarcastically. Oh yeah.
“And the pussy too,” I echo. Definitely the pussy. Always the pussy. “Oh, and El?”
“What now,” she asks, frowning at me over her shoulder.
“You’re done workin’ here. Done dancin’ too.”
“Oh really? Just like that, because you said so?”
“Yep.” Pretty fucking easy.
“We’ll see.”
“Yeah, we will.” She’s never coming back here if I can help it. “You’re done, baby.”
“Mm hmm.”
“Promise, babe.” She frowns, but she knows I mean it. A promise is a promise.
***
Standing in the parking lot, El keeps her distance from me. She’s pissed and pouting. Her boss told her to go home. Usually that shit would make her happy, but tonight it’s my fault, and she hates me.
“I’m not riding with you.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she holds fast. Standing in front of her 4-Runner, she challenges me with her stare. Got her out of the bar, but that’s about as far as I’ve made it.
“Why do you do this shit?”
“What? Stand up for myself.”
“Babe, I’m not forcin’ you into doing shit. I’m just tryin’ to give your crazy ass a ride.”
“I have a ride,” she tells me, throwing a hand out towards her car. “I’m fully capable of driving myself.”
I’m too tired for this shit. “Fine, drive your ass straight to the club. No stoppin’, ya hear me? Take your cute ass to the club, and nowhere else.”
“We’ll see,” she says sweetly as she crawls in and fires up her Runner. Happy as a pig in shit that she got her way, she smiles to herself when cranking her head. Rolling down the window, she grins and says, “See you around, sucker.” Fuck me.
Rolling it up, she pulls off, leaving me standing there wondering what the hell is wrong with me for putting up with her shit for so damn long.
On my bike seconds later, I go to fire it up, but not a damn thing happens. “What the fuck?”
Crawling off, I do a quick walk around. “Not startin’?” Buck asks, walking with me.
“Clearly.”
Looking up, I catch the Prospect lingering by the door. “What the fuck happened?” I ask him. It’s his job to watch the bikes. He pales and shrugs. “Dunno. I’ve been out here all night ‘n didn’t see anything.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” This sketchy little fucker needs to go.
“Got it,” Buck grunts, cutting in. Bending down, he starts poking around. “Disconnected battery cable.”
“Seriously?” How the fuck does that happen when she’s been sitting here? Leaning over, I fix the issue real quick.
“That’s weird as fuck,” Tyler grunts, throwing a leg over his bike.
Yeah, too goddamn weird, but I don’t have the time to worry about it now. Ellison is too far ahead of me. A minute behind Ellison is a minute too long.
Ellison
I don’t see it until it’s happening.
Until it’s too late.
One minute I’m happily singing along with the radio, and the next I’m spinning.
Bright headlights illuminate the cab of my 4-Runner. My car lurches, and my foot pumps at the break feverishly.
Nothing happens.
The car slides.
My heart stops.
Metal on metal bends and groans while glass shatters, shards falling all over my lap.
It all happens in a single moment. I jerk to the right, my tires grinding and skidding along the wet pavement. Everything around me explodes. The noise is loud and angry, making me want to cover my ears, but my hands are glued to the wheel, hoping like hell I can control the slide.
“Shit!” I’m not sure if I whisper or scream, but in an instant, I know this can’t be good.
Losing control, my SUV veers off of the road and hits something solid. My body lurches and jerks against my seatbelt, causing my chest and side to burn. My head snaps back then forward, hitting the steering wheel with a hard thud. Pain explodes behind my eyes, my vision going cloudy.
Everything comes to a violent standstill, and my heart plummets.
Silence engulfs the dark cab.
I know it’s bad, but I’m too scared to move. My head throbs along with my heartbeat, and my fingers grip the steering wheel like a lifeline. My legs feel like Jell-O, and my ringing ears hear nothing for what feels like hours, until the roar of motorcycles fills the eerie silence.
“El! Ellison.” I can hear Rocky shouting.
My body shakes, and my head hurts so bad.
“Move! Get the fuck out of my way.” His voice is closer this time. Too scared to move, I listen to him and count his steps.
“Baby…Ellison?” His voice is soft and quiet, but close. “Don’t move.”
Pulling open the passenger door, he
reaches in and touches my arm. Relief overwhelms me. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m here.” Tears threaten to fall.
“Rocky,” I croak, a pathetic noise that sounds something like a sob.
Crawling inside, Rock gets close to me. He peels my hands from the wheel. “Look at me. It’s okay. It’s you and me, baby,” he says softly, his hard face a mask of concern.
“Promise?” My teeth chatter from the adrenaline that’s now fading from my system.
He nods strongly. “I promise, Ellison. Now, wiggle your toes for me.” I do, along with my fingers. “You have feeling?” I nod.
“I can feel everything,” I sniff. “I think I’m okay.” Just scared shitless. “That was…”
“Scary, I know. I got you now, baby.” Thank fuck.
***
I don’t remember getting here. I don’t remember much about the four stitches on my forehead in my hairline. But I do remember waking up next to Rocky with a bladder so full it was painful, and a body as stiff as a board.
After the bathroom, I find myself in front of small mirror on the wall next to the door. Looking, I cringe when I see what’s looking back at me. I look worse then I feel, that’s for sure. It looks like I got in a ring and lost after five rounds.
Standing in the doorway of the little hospital en suite, I catch Rocky in the small hospital bed with one arm propped behind his head, and the other thrown out, empty, from where I just was wrapped up in him.
Even asleep, he looks tired and worn out…drained. But he’s still so handsome.
I know he’s pissed, mad as hell that I was hit. Mad that I’m even here. Mad that my face looks like it met a cheese grater, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.
Touching my face, I feel the slight sting in my cheek. My bruises are worse than my injuries. There’s a small cut on my forehead, and a few bruises on my face and neck. Everything else is superficial, but I know that doesn’t mean a damn thing to Rocky. Any damage is too much.
It only took twenty minutes from the moment my tires left the gravel lot to arrive at the hospital, but it sure as hell felt longer. I’m tired, feeling like I ran a marathon.
Shuffling to the bed, I hug the hospital gown closer to me, cold from the gaping back. Such an unflattering piece of material.
