Page 17 of Quiet Rage (Wicked Falls Elite #5)

Kellen

Should I be drinking at Dad’s bar? Sitting in the corner, nursing a whiskey? If the cops around here cared, probably not. They’re good at looking the other way, though they wouldn’t know unless one of the regulars gave them a heads-up. Everybody around here knows better.

Besides, no one is showing up here trying to pay attention to anybody else’s business.

They are too busy doing their own shit—drinking their problems away, and letting a smiling, anonymous woman flirt with them and provide a little excitement and maybe even comfort at the end of a long day.

Everybody’s got needs, and Dad makes it his business to serve them.

So what’s my need tonight? That’s easy. I need to forget.

That’s the mood I’m in as I lift the glass to my lips, inhaling the aroma of the whiskey before letting it touch my tongue and burn a path down my throat.

Warmth spreads through my chest, and I welcome the sensation. It’s real. It reminds me I’m alive.

What else is there, besides being alive?

I’m in that kind of mood as memories of this morning creep in no matter how hard I fight to push them away.

I got my fix, and now I want more. It doesn’t seem like there’s any amount of booze that will be enough to make me forget.

I need to be numb, and I haven’t reached that point yet.

I’m starting to think my liver will give out before that time comes—and the empty glasses lined up in front of me sort of back up that theory.

This is why I can’t be with my friends, even though they invited me over for pizza and movies.

There’s no way I could sit still, staring at the TV, while they cuddled or some shit with their girls.

I would only bring everybody down—or worse, they would get all up in my business and ask endless questions that would only piss me off.

By the end of the night, I would have to leave before things got any worse.

Safer to stay here, with a bunch of people who have the same idea as me. They mind their business, I mind mine, and we all drink ourselves half to death.

I’m so deep in thought, unsettled, and miserable, that the tapping of fingernails against the back of my neck makes me jump. My shoulders rise defensively before a shiver runs down my spine.

“Sorry, baby.” The throaty laughter sets my teeth on edge. The girl responsible for startling me rounds my stool and flops down next to it. I don’t remember inviting her.

When I don’t react, she taps one of those long, pink fingernails to one of the empty glasses on the bar. “What’s going on tonight, baby?” she purrs. “Drinking alone. What happened?”

Right. Because that’s what I do. I sit around pouring my guts out to one of the prostitutes Dad keeps around here.

Dim lighting is the name of the game—it’s easier to forget things like family and financial responsibilities when everything’s dark and shadowy.

Easier to find a cheap, momentary connection with a hooker just looking to earn a night’s pay.

The lighting makes it tough for me to know who I’m talking to. I’ve been with her before, more than once, but I never bother to confirm her name. Haley? Bailey? Something like that. Her name doesn’t matter. I don’t want company tonight. At least, not hers.

“I had a long day,” I mutter, emptying my current drink before leaving the glass next to the others.

“That’s a shame.” Her touch is light, moving up and down my arm.

She’s making my skin crawl—if she wasn’t one of Dad’s biggest moneymakers around here, I would fling her hand away and tell her to fuck off and find somebody in the mood for her fake act.

If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s this song and dance.

Pretending to be into me when really, she’s into money.

Of all people, I would know about that. I grew up around women like her. I know all the tricks.

Now her nails gently scratch the back of my head, combing through my hair.

“Why don’t we go upstairs?” she murmurs close to my ear.

She smells like too much perfume, but it’s the mint coming off her breath that sickens me.

Like she just finished blowing a guy, then came out to the bar to look for her next client.

Of all times for Tamson’s face to show up in my head.

Not that she’s been out of my head all day, but every drink I’ve slammed down my throat has pushed her a little further back.

Now she’s at the front again. Now I can see her blue eyes looking up at me, now I can almost feel the softness of her damp cheeks under my hands.

“Why don’t you go find your next client somewhere else?” I ask, signaling the bartender for another drink. “I’m not good company tonight.”

“But I can make you feel good…” she purrs. There I was, trying to be decent. I don’t want to upset one of Dad’s best earners.

Brushing her off, I mutter, “Get lost. I’m serious.” She rolls her eyes and mumbles something under her breath, but at least I got rid of her. The bartender gives me an arched eyebrow before sliding another glass my way. He knows better than to question my tolerance.

A couple of guys walk in, laughing and elbowing each other like they’re celebrating something. Nico and Dante. They must be coming back from collecting for Dad, going around to the different people who owe a debt. They come up to the bar and sit close enough for me to hear them reminiscing.

“It’s gonna take them the rest of the weekend to clean up.” Nico sounds proud of himself, tapping a beer bottle to Dante’s before taking a long swig.

Dante flexes his fist, wincing. “That motherfucker’s got a hard head.”

Then he notices me and jerks his chin. “This guy should know.”

I’m too drunk and too fucked in the head tonight to catch on. “Huh?”

They laugh before moving closer. “Frank. Has a convenience store? You already laid into him, right?” Dante flexes his fist again, chuckling. “That fucker has a head made of solid rock.”

“And he needs his kid to defend him,” Nico adds with a laugh.

This time, I catch on. “How did she do that?” I ask as my blood starts to pump faster. She’s not stupid enough to get in between them and her dad, right?

“The usual.” Dante waves it off, scoffing. “Begging us to stop, all that shit.”

“Like, it didn’t take one slap to knock her on her ass,” Nico snickers—like there’s something to be proud of. Like he shouldn’t be ashamed of himself for hitting a woman. Especially one who’s so small and defenseless.

But she still stood up to them. Fuck, there shouldn’t be this sense of pride swelling in my chest. She means nothing to me. I shouldn’t care.

Somebody needs to tell that to my heart, because it’s thumping hard and making blood rush in my head.

He put his hands on her. He hurt her. After everything she went through before I went to get her this morning, she had to suffer more.

She had to watch the store get torn up. She had to watch them beat the shit out of her dad.

But there’s nothing I can do about it now. So it doesn’t matter how clearly I can see myself taking both of them by the backs of their heads and smashing their faces against the bar. It won’t change anything.

They must get the idea I don’t think the whole thing is as funny as they do, since they exchange a look before going back to where they started drinking.

That sounds like a good idea to me. I drain my glass again and slam it down this time, signaling for another.

I can handle my liquor. And now I have something else I need to drink away—the thought of her being in pain, curled up on the floor, watching and knowing there’s nothing she could do to help.

I need to stop thinking about it, seeing it in my head. I need to drink her away.

The problem is, I don’t think we have enough liquor behind the bar to make that happen. The glasses in front of me are starting to blur until I can’t tell how many are there. Instead of waning, my anger and discomfort are louder and more intense than ever.

And when I imagine what probably happened to Tamson’s face, I want to break those fucking beer bottles and jam them into those fuckers’ necks.

I have to get out of here. Something bad is going to happen if I don’t. Somehow, I’m still holding onto a shred of sense, but I don’t know how much longer that will be true. I need to leave now, before it’s too late and I do something I can’t take back.

I could go home, but that’s not what I have on my mind when I pull out my phone to get an Uber.

Even the screen is blurry—driving is out of the question.

I remember Tamson’s address, though, and I plug it in as my destination.

I already went without sleep last night because of her.

I’m not going to sacrifice another night wondering how badly she was hurt.

I know anything I imagine will probably be worse than reality.

It had better be.

The car doesn’t take long to arrive, and I’m glad to escape into the dark silence before we pull away from the front of the bar. I didn’t realize until now how loud it was in there. The silence is deafening compared to that, but I welcome it. I can hear myself think.

Not that I want to hear my thoughts.

It’s a good thing the driver is honest, because I can’t keep my eyes from closing as we make the journey from one side of town to the other. The fatigue is starting to catch up with me, but the whiskey is not helping. I just have to see her, that’s all. I have to make sure she’s okay.

Darkness closes in around me, but I’m ripped out of it a second later.

At least, that’s what it feels like. “You all right back there?” the driver asks, stirring me out of my drunken haze.

I blink hard, looking out the window at the house where I left Tamson this morning. I slept most of the way here.