Page 3 of Unmask (Crew of Elmwood Public #2)

KREED

T he cold night air did nothing to cool the fire burning through me.

Nash, Maddox, and Mason followed as I left the warehouse, but I barely registered them as I pulled my keys from my pocket.

Wordlessly, I tossed them to Nash and got into the passenger seat of my car, not even checking to see if he caught them.

I didn’t give a shit, but when he didn’t climb in right away, I glanced over to see what the damn problem was.

Nash opened the driver’s door and hovered just outside, his chestnut brow lifting at me, my keys dangling from his middle finger. “You sure?”

No.

The last time I’d ridden shotgun in my SUV had been when I’d been too drunk to drive. That was nearly two years ago. No one drove my wheels. Not even my brothers. To hand over the control now only spoke volumes about the state of my mental health.

Not good wouldn’t even begin to cut it.

If I got behind the wheel, I’d kill us all. The surge of rage and pain brawling within me went beyond dangerous. It was fucking deadly.

That was how I felt. Like a weapon on the verge of slicing the throats of everyone in my path.

“Drive,” I muttered, shoving a hand through my hair as I slammed the door shut. The others climbed in, knowing it was best to keep their mouths shut when I was like this.

The ride was quiet, the tension thick, stifling. They were waiting for me to break the silence, watching me from the corners of their eyes, expecting me to snap at any second.

They weren’t wrong.

As we crossed back into the southern part of Elmwood, I took a deep breath. “Drop me at the club.” The last fucking place I wanted to be was the house. I didn’t care what my father had to say, not about us running out on the game or failing to bring Kaylor back.

Nash’s brown eyes flicked to me as his fingers adjusted on the wheel. “That’s a bad idea.”

I laughed, the sound empty. “No offense, but fuck off.”

In the back seat, Maddox swore under his breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “We should go home.”

“Can’t.” The word slipped out before I could stop it. My fingers curled against my thighs as I shook my head. It wasn’t just my father I was avoiding.

I couldn’t go home.

Not to the room across the hall. Not to the empty space where Kaylor had slept. Not tonight. Perhaps not tomorrow either, but all I could think about was now.

Maddox sighed, tipping his head back against the seat. “Fine. Then we’re all getting drunk.”

I ground my teeth. “I don’t want company.”

Mason smirked, flipping a joker card between his fingers, a habit he used to channel his excess energy into. He’d been doing it since he was a kid. “Tough shit. You’re not drinking alone.”

I didn’t argue. Not because I agreed, but because I didn’t care.

They could do whatever the hell they wanted.

I was getting into a fight tonight. It was the only way I knew how to work out the shit churning me inside out.

My fists needed to pummel something, particularly flesh and bone. “Have it your way.”

The moment I stepped into the club, the bass thumped through my chest, drowning out the flashing lights, the press of bodies, the thick scent of alcohol, the ringing of the casino room, and the topless girl on the catwalk. The club should have been a distraction.

It wasn’t.

I went straight to the bar, ordered a whiskey, and downed it in one go.

Nash smirked at the bartender as he turned on his charm.

Flirting was the last fucking thing on my mind, but at least she would keep Nash occupied and out of my way.

Maddox and Mason were another story. The twins eyed me as they flanked me on either side, knowing it would take both of them to try to keep me out of trouble.

Good luck. I snorted and ordered a second round.

My fingers curled around the glass Lacy set in front of me, and I frowned at her overly friendly smile, not that I didn’t consider for a hot second taking her up on what her eyes suggested, but I didn’t want sex.

I wanted pain, and in this place, it wouldn’t take long for trouble to find me.

It rarely did. I just had to wait for someone to look at me wrong or say the wrong fucking thing.

A group of guys near the poker tables caught my attention.

Hell, I think half of the club had noticed them.

They were hard to miss with the amount of ruckus they were causing, getting a little too aggressive with the dealer.

Drunk, cocky, stupid. They were less about losing their money and more about seeing if they could get her to take off her clothes.

The club had strict rules. If you wanted to see tits and ass, you went to the lounge.

The girls working at the casino were there to encourage the guests to empty their wallets.

Flirt a little, but hands off. Each section of the club had a job, and the workers knew the part they were to play.

I kept my eye on them, just begging one of them to look at me or to cross a line.

I got my opening as one of the idiots stumbled toward the bar, and I might have accidentally gotten in his way, my elbow sliding into his path, so when he bumped into me, it looked like it was his fault. He was drunk after all.

I turned slowly, setting my empty glass down hard on the bar top, slightly surprised it didn’t shatter. “You got a problem?” I asked not so nicely, lifting a brow.

Mason and Maddox knew my tricks. “Shit,” they muttered in unison, turning on their stools.

The guy scoffed, barely glancing at me. “Nah, man. It was an accident. I’m just here to have fun. Let me buy you a drink.”

This douchebag was about to have the worst night of his life. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost, until I remembered how he had been pawing the dealer, patting her ass, and looking down her shirt. “Lucky for you, I’m in the mood for a little fun too. And I can buy my own drinks.”

I grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the bar.

Despite being drunk, his reaction time surprised me.

The first punch landed before I even registered it, a sharp crack against my jaw, splitting my lip.

I barely felt the sting before my instincts kicked in, sending a vicious grin curling across my face.

Finally.

I didn’t hesitate.

I drove my fist into his ribs—once, twice—each hit sending a satisfying jolt up my arm. He grunted, stumbling back against the bar, his face twisting in pain. His friends lunged, cursing, and the club erupted into chaos.

Someone grabbed me from behind, locking an arm around my throat.

I slammed my elbow into his gut and twisted free, spinning to drive a brutal right hook into his temple.

He crumpled, knocking over a table on his way down.

It crashed, glasses and booze spilling over the floor, a hazard if there ever was one.

Another came at me, swinging wild and sloppily, so damn predictable. I ducked his punch, caught his wrist, and yanked him forward, straight into my knee. His nose shattered with a sickening crunch, blood splattering across my shirt, followed by more fists and more shouting.

I hardly flinched when a glass bottle shattered against the bar next to me, missing my head by inches.

Some dumbass tried to use the distraction to tackle me, but I pivoted, grabbed his arm, and threw him face-first into the counter.

The bartender cursed, backing away, but I barely heard her over the pounding in my ears.

Everything was a blur of movement, adrenaline, rage, and fists connecting with flesh.

The next guy to rush me was bigger, bulkier, but I didn’t give a damn.

I let him charge, let him think he had the upper hand, until I sidestepped at the last second, grabbing the back of his head and slamming him down onto my knee.

His skull bounced off my leg, his body going limp as he crumpled to the floor.

My knuckles burned and bled, but damn, if it didn’t feel good.

“Fucking hell, Kreed!” Nash hollered, glancing at me as he pinned some random dude to the wall.

My eyes located the twins in the thick of it, fists flying, bodies crashing into tables and into walls.

Maddox took down two guys at once, dodging a punch and delivering a brutal uppercut that sent one sprawling.

Mason was grinning like a psychopath as he drove a chair into someone’s back, the wood splintering on impact.

And Nash handled business, keeping his strikes efficient.

He didn’t fight for the thrill like the rest of us. He fought to end it.

Me?

I was just getting started.

A hand yanked on my shoulder, trying to pull me back. I spun, already throwing a punch, only to be caught by a bouncer. “Enough!” Alexus growled, gripping my wrist midair.

I wrenched free, chest heaving, blood dripping from my knuckles. Around me, the fight had dissolved into a mess of groaning bodies and overturned furniture. Security swarmed in, grabbing Maddox, Mason, and Nash, dragging us toward the back, not in the mood for our shit.

They hauled us into one of the rooms, shoving us onto a worn leather couch.

Alexus, the security guard in charge, crossed his arms and glared.

He had dealt with us for most of our lives and was the only person in this club with balls big enough to put his hands on us.

“Sleep it off,” he ordered. “You’re cut off. All of you.”

I wiped the blood from my nose, my pulse still thrumming, my knuckles still tingling with the rush. “Whatever. You don’t have anything here I want.”

Maddox grinned, his teeth stained red. “Good talk, Alex.”

Alexus’s stare hardened as he pointed at me, putting his finger in my face, not the place to be unless you wanted it broken, regardless of how big you were or if you were a friend. “And if you start any more shit, I’m calling your father.”