Cassidy’s booth empties around one in the morning, but she’s been gone for an hour now. She was no longer there when I finally forced my feet to move and came back to sit with Nico.
It’s just Rush and one of his buddies left there, and just me and my brother left here.
Toby took a cute girl home ten minutes ago, squeezing her ass on the way out. I expected the same game plan from my brother. Once he got rid of Aisha, a nimble brunette took her place and spent an hour dry humping his zipper. She looked like his type, but he sent her away, forfeiting perfectly acceptable pussy for no reason whatsoever.
At least, I hope there’s no reason. I hope Cruella’s presence and the blatantly obvious, seductive glances she was casting at Nico any chance she had didn’t spark a fire in his head, or so help me God, I’ll break his fucking jaw if he even thinks about chasing after that bitch again.
“What’s the deal?” I ask him, moving closer, not to shout over Ava Max and “The Motto” pumping through the speakers. “Why did you send that chick away?”
He finishes his beer in one tug, angling his head to me. “She let it slip that she’s in college.”
“College chicks are wild, bro. You should’ve gone for it.”
He shakes his head once, slamming the empty bottle on the table. “Too young, too clingy, and too annoying. And don’t get me started on Aisha. What a piece of fucking work.”
I smirk, peeling the label off my beer. “Don’t say you didn’t enjoy her. I know you too well.”
“I wasn’t far off ringing her neck, Logan. She’s annoying, to put it mildly.” He snaps, but a very rare, minuscule smile curls the corner of his lips. “Why aren’t you hunting tonight?”
I shrug, drying my eighth Bud Light. “I’m too busy up here…” I tap my temple, “…with the shit grandad wants me to go through before he retires.”
I wish I could tell him about Cassidy. Him, or any one of my brothers. I’m way out of my element, and they always know what to do. I could use their advice, but I can’t talk to them. I’m alone in this, navigating a dark, creepy labyrinth with no way out.
I should’ve never touched the brunette. The kiss was sloppy and off-putting, thanks to the botched lip-filler job. My dick didn’t stir when she curved into me, rolling her hips and rubbing her ass against me.
I felt nothing, even though she was perfectly fuckable.
Jesus. It’s not even been two hours since I told Cassidy we’re done, but I’m gloomy like a graveyard on a wet, misty morning… but luck might be smiling down on me as I spot something that might lift my mood.
Rush heads for the bar, giving me a great opportunity to let some steam off. I couldn’t just get up and nail him while he sat in the booth without making my brother suspicious, but I know how to get my revenge now that he’s at the bar.
All I have to do is provoke the asshole to throw the first punch, and I’ll be golden. I’ll even let him land it.
“You want another beer?” I ask Nico and get a sharp nod in return. “I’ll be right back.”
He pulls his phone out as I get up, cracking my neck and knuckles. The thought of making the fucker bleed eases the chain wrapped tightly around my ribcage.
I stop at the bar, a strategy already in place, as I rest my elbow between Rush and some other guy, shoving them aside and fetching Mick, the bartender. I’m petty as hell, but I don’t give a flying fuck right now.
“Same again, man,” I say, perfectly aware it’s not my turn.
“There’s a line,” Rush snaps.
We never got along, which proves an advantage tonight. I can’t just connect my fist with his jaw without prompting Nico to ask questions or jump to his own conclusions. He’s smart and observant. He’ll figure this out, and then I’ll be the one bleeding.
“You know the rules don’t apply to me,” I shoot back, eyes straight ahead as I watch Mick grab my beers.
“You mean Nico. It’s his club, not yours.”
Technically, Adam Banes is the owner. Nico’s just a silent partner. Or he likes to think so. In reality, everyone in Newport knows he bought Adam out at the start of this year and appointed him the general manager.
Casting a sideways glance at Rush, I shrug. “Tomayto, tomahto. The point is, I get served; you wait. It’s called a hierarchy, and you’re sitting quite low on the ladder.”
Mick slides two bottles toward me. “I’ll pop it on your tab.”
“Thanks, man, and,” I grip Rush’s shoulder, gouging my fingers into the bone, hard enough to bruise as I point my chin at him. “He can wait until you’re done serving everyone else.”
Rush yanks himself out of my grasp and—thank fuck—gets in my face. “What the hell is your problem, Logan?” He grabs a fistful of my jersey.
It’s not a punch, but I’ll take it. I mean, you saw him. He started it, right?
Nico will think so too.
I hope.
Either way, I don’t have an ounce of self-restraint left inside me. I grip his wrist and twist back until his hold on me loosens, and a pained scowl taints his features. “Careful who you put your hands on,” I growl, meaning both Cassidy and me. “Touch the wrong person, and you’ll bleed. Tonight, you bleed twice.”
I move my hand to his neck, sink my fingers into his skin and smash his face against the countertop. He stumbles back, bouncing off a few bystanders, but raises his clenched fists, ready for more. And more he’ll get.
I’ve punched many people in my life, but this punch is the fucking punch. I’ll forever remember how my elbow falls back, then shoots through the air, landing on target.
Not his jaw. Not his nose. Not even his cheekbone. His lips. Lower splits, oozing blood, and both swell immediately.
That’s for kissing her.
I strike again, dodging a half-assed punch he’s trying to land, and my fist connects with the side of his face this time.
That’s for touching her.
“You done?” Nico asks, stopping beside us, ever so casual, the beers I ordered now in his hand. “What’s this about?”
“He cut the line!” Rush snaps, angling his body away from me, fearful, pleading eyes trained on my brother as if he’ll help him. “Just get the fuck off me, Logan,” he adds, gripping my hand that holds him by his shirt.
I shove him back, letting him go, and he hurries away, his order long forgotten. I want to follow. I’m nowhere near done. I didn’t even break a sweat, but Nico clasps his hand over my shoulder, steering me back to the table, so I have no choice.
“You lose your cool way too fast,” he muses, sitting back down in the booth.
I cock an eyebrow, gulping two hefty sips. “Look who’s talking,” I motion to his knuckles, not yet healed after he nailed a random asshole last week at Tortugo.
I still don’t know what that was about.
“Case in point,” he admits, looking over his shoulder to the crowd of bodies moving on the dancefloor.
I nailed Rush, but the facts don’t change.
Cass and I are over.
