Petty Rage: Westbrook Blues Book 4

by Mpofu, Thandiwe

  And then Noah went to work.

  People clamored to go outside and see the show, but for some reason, three huge dudes were blocking the entrance, blocking people from following but they left the doors open. All we could hear, even above the loud music in the bar, were screams, and broken shouts of mercy in between the unmistakable sound of flesh pounding on flesh.

  I glance down at Noah’s knuckles and just as I guessed, they’re busted and bleeding. He didn’t even bother to take care of them.

  “So, you expect me to believe that you came to check on me out of the goodness of your shady heart, huh?” he grits out.

  “Yes,” I whisper softly, as if talking to a wounded, ruthless animal. “You have to trust me.”

  “I don’t fucking think so,” he growls.

  “Why not?”

  “See, I have this feeling about you.”

  “What feeling?” I ask, feeling like I’m hanging on to his every word.

  “Something tells me you’re about as trustworthy as a viper.”

  “I’m not a snake.”

  “You might as well be, slithering around in private property at this fucking time of the night, stalking me, watching me, wanting something from me,” he seethes, stepping even closer. “If you wanted my dick, all you had to do was fucking ask, Kim Possible.”

  “Kim Possible?”

  “The shittiest cartoon character ever made.”

  I don’t know what to say about that, but for some reason, I feel… hurt.

  “I don’t want your dick.”

  “Money then? You reek of cheap, drug store perfume and desperation.”

  “It’s curious to me how you know what desperation reeks of,” I bite back. “Is it a familiar feeling to you? Hating your brother for dying?”

  It’s as if the Walls of Jericho slam between us. He shuts down faster than Disney at quitting time.

  “Careful with the crap that comes out of your fucking mouth.”

  This time, something tells me to heed the warning.

  “If I ever catch you following me again, Astraea’s new shiny toy-friend or not, I will burn your entire life to the ground.”

  Two things happen when he says those words that totally knocks the breath out of my lungs.

  After the violence I saw tonight, there’s no doubt in my mind that Noah will follow through on his promise.

  The electricity between us goes from a hum to a dangerous buzz.

  We both freeze.

  I frown and he watches me, equally confused and getting ridiculously pissed off.

  “You might be new to my town, but just in case you think you can tell anyone what you heard out here tonight, including to Baby Blue, you won’t know what hit you.”

  With one last scathing yet lingering look at me, he shoulder-checks me as he leaves, but no way am I going to let him have the last word.

  “You know, for someone with so much money and has so much power in this town, and apparently made a name for yourself as the one everyone just loves and adores, you sure are one lonely, sad boy.”

  He halts to a stop as soon as I say that.

  I have his full attention now. Good.

  “You drink all alone in cemeteries in the middle of the night, right after leaving a guy bleeding and crying like a bitch baby in the parking lot of a bar.”

  I see his shoulders start to shake. His arms are pressed to his sides, visibly bristling at every word I say.

  “You have three—nope, you have two—close friends that are like brothers to you, but days after you lay George to rest after a pathetic funeral you and your boys were not a part of, here you are, mad as hell at him and frustrated with the world, alone.”

  In the blink of an eye, he’s back right in front of me.

  Without hesitation, he gets into my face, a snarl on his handsome face. He slams me into the tree behind me and presses the bottle of Jack he’s been drinking to my throat and digs in.

  For a second, I think he’s going to apply a bit of pressure and force the bottle right through my neck.

  For a tiny, brief second, I get a front row show to the violence that flashes in his eyes as he stares me down, but instead of freaking out, something in me starts… responding. Noah frowns.

  His stare alone could wither roses that are in full bloom within seconds. How could people around him not see it?

  “Is that it then?” he hisses, his eyes wild. “Were you following me just to analyze me, you pathetic piece of trash?”

  I don’t take offence to that. After all, pain is pain.

  “To check if you’re all right, actually.”

  “Did you read the plaque at the gate when you snuck your way in here or are you an illiterate stalker?” he snaps.

  “I—”

  “But judging by the way you look, you’re more than poor and desperate, aren’t you? Stalking people in private burial plots.”

  “Maybe I’m odd.”

  “Oh, I got that from your 3 a.m. dick hunting disguised as sleepwalking, and thereby, trespassing.”

  “Uh, do you go around thinking every girl in this town wants to be fucked by you?”

  “Actually, yes, but you…” he drops his voice. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Kim—”

  “Kim Possible, yeah I fucking know your name but that’s not what I’m asking you, is it?”

  Shit.

  I have to think fast or everything will go to hell and I can’t risk that.

  I know what hell feels like, there’s no way I’ll subject the only people in this world that keep me sane, to that hellish predicament.

  “Answer me,” he demands. “Who the fuck are you?”

  How could I resist answering?

  “I’m just a girl who knows what it feels like to carry a pain that no one will ever know, and I know what it feels like to be alone, trying to numb out that pain.”

  He reels back as if shocked by what I just said, but even I know I gave him too much.

  I just told him a raw truth when I should’ve simply lied and told him something generic and useless.

  “So that’s what it was,” he mumbles, stepping back, but eyeing me like he’s trying to decide what to make of me.

  Dazed and regretting my words, I stare up at him and croak out. “What?”

  “When I first saw you… you looked like you wanted to light the world up in an angry inferno as you made your way to the admin office at school, daring anyone to say a word to your face.”

  Like him…

  “But see, who would mess with someone from the wrong, dark, dilapidated side of the tracks?”

  Shocked, I look up at him. “W-what?” How does he know?

  “You know struggle, don’t you?” he says venomously, with an impassive look on his face. “You come from nothing. It’s all over you, hood rat.”

  “I might be a hood rat, Noah, but I’ll break your fucking nose if you ever call me that!” I seethe. “You have no idea where I come from, rich boy.”

  “Careful. Your insecurities and pain are showing, Kimmy,” he taunts, stepping back.

  “You don’t know me!”

  “You don’t know me either, so how about we call it a night and you crawl back to God only knows where and fuck off.”

  He turns to leave, but I can’t let him leave like that.

  “If you ever tell anyone—” I start, but he cuts me off with a smirk on his face.

  “About how destitute and desperate you are? As if I don’t have better things to do. But I’ll do you one better, if you ever utter a word of what you heard here tonight…” he trails off, his warning ringing clear between us. But what he’ll soon find out is; I’m smarter than that.

  “Well then it seems to me like we both have things no one should know, so…” I trail off but he’s right there.

  “So, we make a fucking deal.”

  “So it would seem,” I say softly, feeling undone for some reason. “Silence after all—”

  “Is golde
n.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  He turns to leave. Just when I’m about to release the breath I’ve been holding for a while, he speaks again.

  “And to be fucking crystal clear, Kim Possible,” Noah calls out as he goes. “If I ever catch you in this cemetery again, it won’t end well for you.”

  I believed him.

  Chapter 2

  NOAH

  Past

  ME: Just so we’re fucking clear, you and I don’t know each other.

  Stormy Stalker: How did you get my number?

  ME: Just like you sleepwalk, I dreamt it.

  Stormy Stalker: Do you even sleep?

  ME: Every now and then…

  Present

  The road to hell is paved with fake, fucked up good intentions.

  I should know, I’ve spent my fucking entire life doing my fucking best to be good. Well, as good as I’ll ever be.

  The thing is, that word was marked the day I was born but after tonight and what I plan to do, there’ll be no fucking doubt in anyone’s mind that I’m a fucking asshole. And I’m not even sorry.

  Everyone thinks they fucking know me.

  They think they know my story. That they know what I’m all about.

  They would’ve been right, if this was fucking ten years ago before the biggest clusterfuck hit my life like a tidal wave of the fucking century, erasing all traces of humanity in me.

  After all the blows I’ve taken, I’m pretty fucking sure I’m no longer a person with a damn soul or a working conscience for that matter because if I did, I wouldn’t be here right now with a plan for disaster ready to go the moment I spot her.

  See, I no longer have the ability to tell right from wrong. It’s all one and the same now.

  And forget about forgiveness and amnesty! Life’s been bashing at my door and serving me shit. It’s high time I reigned down hell on this world in retaliation.

  Only weak ass punks take punches and smile about it. I should know, I was one before.

  Craig decided to leave me and made sure that I’d be the one to find him, a big FUCK YOU to my face because now, all I see whenever I sleep is his half blown out head.

  I let my own fucking best friends lie to me, keep secrets from me, treat me like I’m a fucking retard and then turn around and tell me it was all for my good.

  One of them, fucking George, faked a death which precipitated a fuck load of crappy events that brought up crazy revelations and death.

  His was fake. True death and loss were felt more acutely by my other best friend.

  Even though King was an asshole, I wouldn’t wish the pain of loss on him, especially when he had to share that loss with Astraea, all because of her twin brother, George.

  Then there’s the last asshole. The one who kept a monumental fucking part of his life a secret. Now, it’s as if I don’t even know the guy at all, which is laughable because he’s currently babysitting me right now.

  “Remind me again, what time are you kicking rocks?” I snap, after an hour of cold silence between us.

  “When you leave, I’ll leave,” he says, looking completely unbothered as he leans back in the couch, with one leg crossed over the other like a freaking God.

  “I didn’t invite you to tag along.”

  “Lucky enough for me, I don’t give a shit whether you want me here or not,” Emmett says in that low baritone of his. If you heard his voice in a dark alley, you’d shit your fucking pants.

  “Why are you here?”

  “You’ve got that look in your eyes.”

  I roll my eyes, reaching for my drink. We’re sitting on opposite sides, with a leather-bound table with a stripper poll on it between us, which is to say, this isn’t a regular club that silent, brooding assholes like Emmett Easton are comfortable in.

  The god of secrets doesn’t do seedy, strip clubs.

  While I’m drinking rum and coke like water, he’s been drinking a fucking club soda, watching me the entire time.

  “What fucking look?” I demand.

  “That look.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Shocker,” he mumbles. “You know, the day you quit acting stupid when caught in your mischief will be the day this world ends in fire.”

  “That’s so funny, give me a second to find a laugh for that.”

  “That was dry,” he fires right back. “Even for you.”

  We stare at each other.

  Don’t get me wrong. This isn’t the first time Emmett and I have gone to a bar together.

  I mean, since Astraea left Westbrook Blues for good over two years ago, and King followed literally hours after we graduated high school, Emmett and I’ve been partying it up together.

  Hell, we go to the same college now and live in a huge fucking penthouse off-campus together, but he’s never been up my fucking ass like he is right now.

  He’s always on his side of the penthouse, spending hours in his fucking lair, listening to sad, dying man music.

  Sometimes, I feel sorry for him but then I remind myself that there’s no way I’m going to lose him too, so I remind him about how life is kinda worth living even though it fucking sucks, by riling him up.

  “What is it that you want?” I mutter, rolling my eyes.

  “Me? I don’t want anything.”

  “You know, you don’t have enough guaranteed heartbeats in that fucking chest to be lying right now,” I taunt. He doesn’t even flinch.

  “As opposed to your newfound specialty?”

  An impasse.

  We reach it constantly when we both decide to go at each other’s throat. But neither one of us has ever backed down. That’s just not us.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” I demand, lowering my voice as I stare at my roommate—the highest honor I can give him right now.

  “Again, just like whatever scheme you’re brewing in that head of yours, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  I do. But that doesn’t mean I’ll admit it.

  After all, my newfound specialty, as he so delicately put it, is being a lying jerk with anger issues.

  Especially today.

  Today was the beginning of Hell Day, marking ten fucking years since Craig blew his own fucking brains out.

  I never used to be like this.

  Well to be honest, I’ve been the kind of jerk that fucks girls—always made them cum at least twice, so don’t fucking judge me—and then never calls them again.

  I prank people and then die laughing at their expense until they start crying. I was that kind of jerk, but I’ve never been one to lie.

  I used to hate lying, until the one person who promised me she’d never fucking lie to me… did.

  Don’t get me wrong. She wasn’t the only one.

  King was almost the same way, but in his own way, he wasn’t a liar—which, let’s be honest, is pretty fucking shocking.

  Emmett, well, he’s always been blunt about everything so him keeping secrets about his health has been a big fucking blow to the gut.

  And George, well, that motherfucker is now persona non grata to me after the Hollywood sized stunt he pulled.

  To put it simply, I’m not the naïve sad boy I used to be.

  “That’s all nice and grand but you should leave now.” Emmett just stares at me. I get the message loud and fucking clear. “If you don’t leave, I’ll leave.”

  “Something tells me you’ll leave right after you do whatever the hell it is you’ve planned to do here tonight.”

  “The only plan I have, dearest Emmett, is to get shitfaced.” I give him my best fuck off smile that he just shrugs off, completely unbothered.

  “You’re always shitfaced.”

  “Then I want to go all out.”

  “You always go all the way out. Even when you’re not supposed to.” He isn’t wrong. I always do the most these days. “I’m surprised J.D. isn’t your drink of choice tonight.”

 
; Ahh, now J.D. is the shit.

  I’m pretty fucking sure that sixty fucking percent of my body is made up of my favorite friend, Jack Daniels.

  He keeps me warm when I mostly feel like the chill that set in my bones right after my thirteenth birthday would finally take me out.

  He did all the heavy lifting, numbing out the unmentionables that I don’t deign give a name to because it doesn’t matter.

  Nothing fucking matters and that’s a fact that I used to run from.

  Which is where the ‘they-think-they-know-me’ fucked up part comes in.

  I spent half my life—if not more—trying to paint myself with bright fucking colors.

  The neon threads I wore were not just for fucking show—though I eat that shit up too—it was a poor attempt by a miserable shithead of trying to be a cheery person who could shake shit off his shoulders.

  I failed at that.

  But that’s not all I failed at.

  “Is there something wrong with switching it up?”

  “For normal people, no,” Emmett says. “But for you, I’d say you’re a few ticks away from getting your ass into some fucking trouble.”

  What did it matter that I was out trolling for trouble tonight? It’s none of his fucking business but here he was, annoying the fuck out of me the one night I need to be alone.

  “Who told you to babysit me?” I demand.

  He decides to act Sunday School dumb and innocent with me.

  “Well, you can tell whoever the fuck it was that I said a big fucking FUCK YOU!” I seethe.

  See, this is the shit I hate about my friends.

  They treat me like I’m the one who’s a few screws loose in the head and need protecting. Protecting from myself and my own fucking actions.

  “People should really learn how to mind their own fucking business,” I seethe. “It’s not like my life is falling apart.”

  “You think aspiring to be an alcoholic with a seriously fucked up moral compass isn’t the definition of falling apart?”

  “Since when have either of us had a moral compass?” I deadpan.

  He mulls it over for a second. “You’re right about that but still, it’s this new, over the top reckless behavior that has me in this fucking club, watching you like a damn child.”