Page 9 of Hurt

“I saw a man there.”

“Description?”

“Tall. Purple hair. Plays guitar. Dark eyes.”

Jamie nodded and exhaled a puff of smoke. “I’ve seen him around. He’s the bartender. Watched him break a guy’s wrist with a pool ball for getting handsy with a dancer.”

“I want information on him.”

Jamie looked at Grant through the smoke. There was a strange look on his boss’s face, one that silenced any questions he might have asked. For once, Jamie stayed silent.

They stood with their backs to the flaming home. The crashing of beams and walls was the only noise between them. When the flames grew too hot, and they could hear sirens in the distance, they left.

3

WHAT HAVE I BECOME?

“You don’t want to piss me off, boy!”

The drunk patron leaned across the bar and spit more than shouted. Kurt didn’t flinch. He stared down at the stocky drunk, face bored. Sid looked up from where he had been lingering by the stage, pushing himself to his feet to deal with the rowdy patron.

Kurt waved him off. He hardly needed his help to deal with this guy.

He glanced down at the ridiculous belt buckle the man was wearing. Kurt wondered if the man used it as an anchor to keep him from being blown away on windy days.

“Your mother must be devastated.”

The man faltered, his shoulders slumping in confusion. “What?”

“Because out of the hundred thousand sperm in your dad’s balls, you’re the one that managed to win.”

It took him a moment. Kurt watched the gears turn in his head before he finally understood that he had just been insulted. A hand reached across the bar and grabbed the front of Kurt’s shirt. The man was surprised when Kurt jumped across the bar, using his momentum to press him back.

The drunk stumbled back a couple steps.

“I don’t want to piss you off?” Kurt asked, feeling his irritation flare to life. He had a quick temper, and years of pushing it down, locking it away because the consequences would be too great, weighed on him. Occasionally, like now, he could let it break free. Explode out of him in a shocking amount of violence.

“You don’t want to piss me off.”

Kurt sent two quick jabs into his face, almost faster than could be believed. He rocked off his back foot, using his entire weight to throw the punches. The ring on his right pointer finger dug into the guy's skin, lacerating the soft flesh and digging into Kurt’s finger painfully.

He didn’t notice.

The guy feebly tried to hit back, but between the assault and the liquor in his system, he couldn’t land more than a weak slap. Kurt smiled ferally and cut two more hits. The man’s head rocked back, and then he collapsed backward with a thud.

Kurt worked his fingers to loosen the pain in his knuckles. It had been a long time since he had hit someone like that. The scars on his knuckles were already aching. He massaged the deformed joints, bent and swollen after years of taking abuse. Breaking and never healing quite right. The arthritis ached sometimes.

Willow came up behind him, handing him a rag full of ice and shaking her head. “What happened?”

Kurt glanced at his sister, taking the ice and applying it to his right hand. “Fucker thought I shortchanged him. He has the mental capacity of a squeaky toy.”

Willow cocked her head and examined the guy. “I think you broke him.”

“He came broken.”

“Kurt!!” a shrill voice cut through the bar. Molly stormed out of the small room that served as her office. Her tiny legs made the distance quickly, hands balled into small fists of fury.

“What the fuck!” she snapped, cuffing Kurt over the back of the head. “What did I tell you?”