Page 42 of Famous Last Words (New York Thunder #1)

CHAPTER 42

ROBBIE

M y vision tunnels, and all I see is some asshole with his hand on Fran’s ass. She moves away quickly, and I know I should check on her, make sure she’s okay, but right now, the need to knock this motherfucker’s teeth down his throat is overwhelming. The rage that courses through me is debilitating; it’s like I have no control over my own body.

Grabbing him by his shoulders, I yank him out of his seat only to throw him onto the table. Chairs, glasses, and bottles go flying. People dart about. A few voices shout words I can’t decipher through the fury thundering in my ears. I think someone screams.

I force the guy upright by his necktie, causing him to choke, and I glare down into his eyes. He’s fucking grinning at me. Grinning . Goading me. My hand itches with the need to break his fucking nose, but I manage to refrain, and only because I know there’s already probably a few cameras pointed in my direction by now, filming the drama unfold.

“Think you can touch my girl and not get fucked up?” I seethe, pulling him so close I can feel his scotch-lac ed breath whip against my skin.

“Hey, man, I’m just joking around,” he scoffs, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Joking around? You think it’s fucking funny to grab women?” I shake him, tightening the neck tie and causing him to cough. “You so much as breathe in her direction again, and I will fucking end you,” I hiss through gritted teeth.

His eyes move from me, off to the side and back again before he offers a quick nod.

I let go of him, smoothing down the front of his suit jacket with a casual smile, like I wasn’t just moments away from knocking his teeth down his throat.

Turning, I point at Fran who is watching on, eyes wide and full of concern. I tug on the guy’s sleeve, yanking him unsteadily and pointing at her. “Now, say fuckin’ sorry,” I order.

The guy scoffs again, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath.

I shove him again. Hard enough he almost loses his balance.

“Sorry,” he says with such insincerity my palm itches to slap the smart ass right out of him.

Fran ignores him, shaking her head. “Get out of here.” She nods toward the door. “All of you,” she adds, glancing pointedly at Tadd as he strolls casually past me, pushing his friend toward the door before tossing a wad of cash onto the floor.

The moment they’re gone, the people left in the bar start to whisper between themselves, a few of them eyeing me suspiciously. I drag a hand over my chin, inspecting the damage, and I’m quick to move, picking up the glasses that have been left intact on the floor. Vera appears with a brush and dustpan to sweep up the broken shards as Fran remains standing in the one spot, arms wrapped around herself, clearly a little shaken.

Standing, I wipe my hands on the back of my jeans, closing the distance between us. I cup her jaw, and her eyes lift to meet mine. “I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head. “It’s okay.”

“I heard you drop something and when I turned around, I saw his hand on you, and I don’t know—” he huffs. “I saw red.”

“Hey, why don’t you head out?” Vera says, her voice low as she comes to stand next to Fran, wrapping an arm around her. “We’re going to close up soon. I’ve got this.”

Fran presses her lips together and reluctantly nods. “I’ll just grab my things.”

When she’s gone, I glance back at the mess, my eyes flitting to Vera. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

She laughs, brushing me off. “I served at a biker bar in college. Trust me. This is nothing . There isn’t even any blood,” she adds with a shrug.

I chuckle, turning back to finish the last of my Coke before shrugging on my coat as Fran walks out from the back room.

“You ready to go?” I ask, gently wrapping my hand around hers.

She smiles up at me, and I can see just how tired she is. And I can only assume she’s exhausted, especially after our night together last night where not a lot of sleep was had. I have this unfamiliar feeling in my gut to take care of her, dropping her hand so I can instead wrap my arm around her shoulders and hold her close.

“Let’s get you home, Keller,” I whisper against her temple before pressing a kiss there.

Outside, the cool night air whips against my heated skin, and I feel an unexpected rush crash over me, my heart kicking up a notch like it does when I skate out onto the ice before a game. I guess it’s a late reaction, adrenaline from the almost-fight.

“Did you order a ride?”

I take my keys out of my coat pocket, jingling them in front of her face. “No need, baby.”

She peers up at me, her cheeks turning a dusty pink, and I know exactly what she’s thinking because I’m thinking it too. The last time I had Fran in my car, I fucked her raw and came deep inside that sweet pussy of hers. I’ve thought a bout it every time I’ve gotten into the Chevelle since.

“Come on, baby.” I grin, walking her down the dark, empty street and around the corner to the cobblestoned side alley where I managed to find a parking spot earlier.

The Chevelle gleams beneath the dull glow of a streetlamp, and I hurry to unlock the passenger door and open it for her. She pauses before getting in, her hand grazing my chest as she leans up on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to my lips. There goes my fucking heart. It’s like a drum, beating hard and fast. Almost too fast.

I wrap a hand around the back of Fran’s head, pulling her even closer so I can deepen the kiss, thrusting my tongue into her warm, sweet mouth. She grips the front of my coat, moaning against my lips, and my dick stands to attention, surprisingly hard as stone from just one kiss. This woman will be the death of me. Death by erection.

I reach down, my fingers toying with the hem of the too-short dress she wears to work, and I drag the material up, stopping just shy of her pussy, heat radiating through the thin cotton of her panties. I could fuck her right here in the street. In fact, it’s almost as if I need to. I’m suddenly so fucking horny.

Pressing Fran up against the side of the car, I break our kiss, dragging my lips down her jaw, her neck, stopping at her hot spot to lavish her with kisses, bites, and sucks, my hands gripping her waist so tight. “Fuck, I need you so bad,” I murmur against her skin.

“Not here,” she pants, gripping my shoulders. “Take me home.”

I pull back, staring at her face, her gaze heady and lips kiss-swollen. “You gonna be my filthy little slut tonight?” I nip at her ear lobe.

Her eyes flit between mine, a curious smile ghosting her mouth. “What’s gotten into you?”

Pulling back again, I drag my teeth over my bottom lip, staring hard at her, a desperate need to claim her com ing over me. Leaning in again, I whisper, “You’re mine , Keller.” I lick the shell of her ear. “Say it. I need to hear you say it.”

Fran pulls back just enough to look at me. But her smile is gone, and she holds her hand at my chest, keeping me at bay so she can study me. “Robbie? Are you okay? What’s this about? Your heart is racing .” She looks to where her hand is pressed against my chest.

And I don’t know why, but her questions and the look in her eyes only pisses me off. I cage her in, placing both hands on the car, on either side of her head. “Say you’re mine,” I demand.

After a moment of staring into my eyes, she nods just once, swallowing hard before finally saying, “I’m yours.”

Maybe it’s the tone, or the way she blinks when she says it, but something tells me she’s not being entirely truthful. And that only pisses me off even more.

An unexplainable anger surges through me, and I pull away from her like she’s burned me. Storming around to the driver’s side, I hop in and turn the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life through the silence of the night.

“Get in.”

Fran settles into the passenger side, and I can feel her eyes on me, but I choose to ignore her only because I feel like I’m on the verge of saying something I know I’ll regret. Instead, I chew on the inside of my cheek, feeling my heart race with unease as I pull away from the curb. Pressing my foot down, the tires skid as I turn onto Broadway.

My hands are clammy as I grip the steering wheel. My heart races to the point I can feel every beat against my ribs. I rub at my sternum to ease the tension in my chest, but it’s pointless.

The night lights are doing some seriously fucked up things to my eyes; I blink hard to try see straight, but it’s impossible. Something is wrong. I don’t know. It’s almost like it’s hard to breathe. Like something has my throat in a chokehold.

I’ve had panic attacks before. But this is something else. Suddenly my mind is rife with thoughts I shouldn’t b e thinking. Like the way Fran looked at me just now. Is she regretting this whole thing? Is she starting to realize she might be better off with a guy like Tadd? And how fast can the Chevelle actually go? I’ve never tested it out before. I wonder how fast I’d need to drive to miss every red light on West Street?

“Are you okay?”

I look down to where Fran’s hand rests on my thigh. Meeting her eyes, I see nothing but concern in her gaze and it only increases my anger. She feels sorry for me, and I hate that; I fucking hate pity.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I know I’m being an asshole, but I can’t seem to stop.

“Do you wanna be with Tadd?”

Her lips fall apart on a gasp. And at first, she looks hurt. But then, unbridled anger flashes in her gaze. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

I lift a shoulder in a shrug, looking at the blurred taillights on the car ahead.

“Did he say something to you?” she presses. “I saw him come over to you, talking to you… what did he say, because you’re acting really weird, Robbie.”

“Weird?” I scoff, shaking my head. Pressing my foot down a little firmer on the gas, I swerve around the car in front, and I know I’m going too fast, but I can’t seem to stop myself. “Maybe you should be with Tadd. You know, if I’m too weird and shit.”

“Robbie, that’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Fran says, looking from me to the road ahead. “And can you slow down? You’re going way too fast!”

My jaw clenches at the sound of her telling me what to do. Like she knows better than me. Fuck her. I press my foot down even more, glancing up at the traffic lights as they turn yellow. Sailing through them, I keep going, ignoring the honk of the car horn coming from somewhere.

“Robbie, please slow down!”

From the corner of my eye, I see Fran grip tightly onto the door jam, and I don’t know why but that only makes me laugh.

“Pull over,” she yells after a moment. “Let me out of the goddamn car!”

“Oh my God, calm the fuck down,” I mutter, easing off the gas. But just as I start to slow, blue lights flash in the reflection of the rearview mirror nearly blinding me, right as a siren sparks up, wailing loudly behind us.

“Fuck…” I groan, slowing down and flicking on the blinker before pulling over to the side.

The silence in the car between Fran and me is thick with irritation, and I glance at her to find her glaring straight ahead through the windshield, arms folded across her chest. Man, she’s fucking hot when she’s pissed.

A tap on the glass next to me pulls me from my thoughts and I jump, cracking the window just enough to hear the police officer standing there.

“You aware you just ran a red light?”

I play dumb. “No, sorry, officer. I thought it was yellow.”

“License and registration.” The man chews his gum, a bored look in his eyes.

I open the glove compartment and pull out the required documents, handing them to him.

“Robbie Mason,” he says after a moment. “The big-time hockey star, huh?”

“The one and only,” I sass, stifling an eye roll and forcing the man a smile. Maybe a quick autograph will get me out of this.

But when he doesn’t return my smile and only scowls harder, I quickly school my expression.

“Step out of the vehicle, please.”

My brows knit together. “What? Why?”

“Robbie, just do as he says,” Fran whispers, nudging me.

“Step out of the vehicle,” the cop repeats.

With a huff, I hop out, meeting the man. He looks me up and down, glancing from me to my paperwork and back again, his gaze unnerving as he studies my face.

“You been drinking tonight?”

I shake my head. “No, sir. I don’t drink.”

He scoffs. “That’s not what the newspapers say.”

“I don’t drink anymore ,” I add.

He continues staring at me, one eye narrowed, scrupulous gaze bouncing between my eyes before looking at the car and peering inside at Fran. “You okay, ma’am?”

“She’s fine,” I’m quick to say, probably more abruptly than I should considering he’s a man of the law and all that shit, but fuck him. What does he think? That I’d hurt her? I would never.

He rears back, looking at me hard. “Did I ask you?”

I roll my eyes. “Look, can you just write me a ticket or whatever, so I can get the hell out of here.”

He studies me for a long moment, chewing his gum excessively as a knowing smirk slowly ghosts his lips. “You on something, pal?”

I balk. What?

“No,” I say through gritted teeth, my jaw clenching at the insinuation.

“Stay there,” the cop says, taking my papers and walking back to his cruiser.

I look in through the window to find Fran’s eyes wide as they stare at me.

“Is everything okay?” she asks, panicked.

I nod even though I’m not sure if that’s true, but I really don’t want to stress her out. Glancing back over my shoulder, I notice the cop talking to his partner, both of them looking at me. When the other officer gets out of the vehicle, carrying a small breathalyzer device, my racing heart kicks into next gear, slamming hard against my chest. I don’t know why I’m nervous. I’m not drunk; I don’t drink. But my whole body is trembling.

“Robbie Mason?” The other office approaches me with a lot less aggression than his partner. “Have you had anyt hing to drink tonight?”

“I don’t drink. I already told him that,” I say again, a little more forcefully this time, jutting my chin at the first cop.

“You got an attitude with me, pal?” The first guy steps up to me and honestly, I have to duck my chin to hide my smirk. I don’t know why I’m laughing, but come on, I could annihilate the guy with one right hook. This is fucking absurd.

“Mind if we perform a quick breath test?” The other cop steps in front of his partner and I comply, breathing into the machine until I hear a beep.

“He’s clear.”

“I told you I don’t drink,” I say smugly.

The first cop, the one with the small dick energy, swings around, his eyes wide and full of anger as he glares down at me.

“That’s it, you piece of shit,” he mutters, pushing me up against my car with unnecessary force. “Get your fucking hands up and spread your feet.”

“You’re frisking me?” I laugh, and I know I should shut the fuck up, but I can’t help it. “Bro can’t charge me for a DUI, so now you gotta try make a fucking point.”

“What’s going on?” Fran yells.

“Ma’am, stay in the vehicle, please.” The second cop placates Fran with a hand held in the air. He turns to his partner, lowering his voice. “Come on, Mitch. Let’s just write him a ticket and be done with it.”

“Nah,” says Mitch , “homeboy here wants to talk a big game. Hotshot hockey player thinks he’s Mr. Fuckin’ Untouchable.”

He shoves my head into the car and starts patting me down each of my legs, then up over my torso, his hands delving into the pockets of my jeans, checking for anything. Again, I need to bite back my grin, because sure, this is highly unethical, but I can’t wait to see the look on his stupid face when he?—

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

I turn my head, notici ng a small baggie of white powder dangling between his thumb and forefinger.

“What the fuck?” I yell, because seriously, what the fuck?

“I’d say that’s a class D felony right there, huh Patterson?”

I glare at him. “That’s not mine!”

“Stay where you are, Mr. Mason!” the second cop instructs me.

“That’s not mine!” I yell again. “He put it there.” He had to. It’s the only explanation.

“That explains the pupils,” the first cop says to his partner. He spears me with an arrogant smirk. “Hands behind your head, pal.”

My heart races as sweat beads the back of my neck. “You fucking framed me, you dog!”

He just stares at me, chin held arrogantly high.

“Robbie Mason, you’re under arrest…” The second cop cuffs my wrists as he reads me my rights.

“It’s not mine, I—” Wincing at the pull in my shoulder, I look into the car to find Fran watching with eyes wide and full of fear, her jaw gaping. “Keller, I swear to fucking God, it’s not mine. Please… please, baby, please call Andy.”