Page 71 of X's and O's

I took the towel and wiped off my sweat-slicked face. “Fine.”

He gave a tiny nod of approval. “Meet you in the van in ten. Have a fucking shower. I don’t want to have to shampoo the upholstery. There’re alcohol fumes literally leaking out of your pores.”

I dragged myself up on my feet and forced myself into the en suite bathroom attached to my bedroom. It was simple, nothing more than a shower, a toilet, and a sink to wash your hands. But the mirror above it was my least favorite thing. It was impossible to avoid in the tiny room, and the reflection staring back at me wasn’t one I cared to see.

Red-rimmed eyes, courtesy of the bender I’d been on the last twenty-four hours. The skin beneath dark and puffy, courtesy of the fact I hadn’t slept.

How could I, when all I saw every time I closed myeyes was Violet, shouting at me in the middle of Psychos, so damn beautiful and so utterly broken all at the same time.

And all because of me.

I’d deserved every harsh word she’d spit in my direction and so many more.

“You had me.”

And I’d thrown her away like a piece of trash. Just like every other man she’d shown interest in.

Just like her family had when she was a little girl.

No matter how many push-ups I did, or bottles of whiskey I drank, nothing could erase the memory of that hurt on her face. My rejection was just another in a long list that Violet had to endure.

I stood beneath the spray of the shower, letting it wash away the sweat, but there was no removing the guilt. I was yet another person who’d let her down.

The cold shower did little to help my mood, but I didn’t deserve for it to be pleasant. I toweled off, threw on clean jeans and a T-shirt and the club jacket that had somehow found its way back into my room the day I’d moved back in.

Fang was waiting in the van, a cigarette between two fingers while he blew smoke rings into the dark night sky. He stubbed out the smoke and started the engine when he saw me coming.

I hauled myself up into the passenger seat without a word, grateful he wasn’t much of a talker.

Except the silence in the van was torturous. My leg bounced uncontrollably, and I itched to have a drink in my hand or the space to knock out a few more push-ups.

Fang shot me worried glances for the entire drive intoProvidence, but I ignored them all, staring out the passenger-side window, pretending I couldn’t feel his concern. I didn’t need him being nosy. He might have been my best friend once upon a time, but that didn’t give him the right to be all up in my business now.

The way he kept looking at me, like he knew what was going on in my head, was pissing me off. “I’m fine.”

“If you say so.”

We both knew I wasn’t.

The houses outside turned from small, run-down shacks, to the nicer suburban streets on the border of the two towns and then eventually the larger sprawling properties that advertised the wealth of those who lived in Providence.

Fucking rich smug bastards, in their expensive cars and clothes. Just strutting around the main street like they owned the fucking place. The street was busy, cars parked on both sides, and Fang had to stop a way down the street from where the Sinners sign lit up the front of the building.

We both got out and headed along the sidewalk in the direction of the restaurant owned by Hawk’s boyfriend, Hayden. The people on the streets around us gave us a wide berth, eyeing our jackets and boots with disdain that rolled off them in waves. They weren’t even fucking scared of us. Just…disgusted, if the upturned noses and scowls were anything to go by.

“Common criminals,” one man muttered well before he’d even completely passed us.

Anger burned through me, and I stopped. “If you have something to say, at least be brave enough to say it to our faces.”

“Reaper.” Fang’s tone held a warning.

I really didn’t need the man I’d fucking trained silently commanding that I reel it in. I already knew I needed to, but I was past the point of caring. I didn’t give a fuck what these rich Providence snobs thought about me.

I’d been itching for a fight for days, and starting one at the clubhouse when it was the only place I had to go wasn’t smart.

So punching out some rich snob in a suit that cost more than the bike Fang had loaned me seemed like a good alternative.

The grueling workout I’d put myself through had done nothing to take the edge off. I cracked my neck, knowing the feeling wouldn’t go away until I was burying some fucker six feet under.