“That your lady?” I asked, already knowing the answer. He looked down at the younger girl with a nastiness I’d only seen in men who liked to hit women.
“She’s a fuckin slut. You want her? She’ll lay on the table and spread her legs for a few bucks,” he joked distastefully. “Matter fact, she’d probably suck ya cock for less, the dirty whore.” The vile words that came out of his mouth made me feel sick to my stomach. How could anyone treat another person like that? Let alone somebody they had a chance at being with. The slight girl looked down at her feet sucking back the tears that threatened to spill over from her eyes.
I stood up quickly, knocking my chair over. With one swift movement, I had the assholes shirt in my fist and my face millimeters from his. “You like treating women like trash? Bet you hit her too. Does it make you feel like a big strong man putting your hands on her? Talking down to her and making her feel worthless?” I wasn’t about to hit him first, but I was wild enough that I might just push him until he took a swing. Out the corner of my eye, I saw the young girl grab her bag and make a run for the door. Satisfied she was out of harm’s way, I gave the guy in front of me a glare that would have made most cringe away.
“Bitch ain’t worth talking sweet to. She’s nothing. Now take your goddamn filthy hands of me, fuckface,” he spat, shoving me and taking a swing. His podgy hand connected with my mouth, drawing a tiny bit of blood. I licked my lip and growled low and menacing.
“You talk to your momma with that mouth?” I asked, my alcohol-affected senses a little slower than normal.
“My momma was a slut. Just like yours was when she screamed for my cock.” His voice was hateful, his face a screwed-up mess of scars, sores and dirt.
I pulled my balled-up hand back and let it go full force on his nose.
“You…” I swung again, a satisfying crunch of breaking bones sounded under my fist. “Don’t…” Again this time, connecting with his teeth, driving them directly into my knuckles. “Talk about…” Laying into him, I pronounced every word with another hit to the face. “My momma, asshole!” The last blow knocked him out cold. Blood dripping from my hand, I dropped him on his ass. The scumbag flopped to the floor like a rag doll and Jimmy arrived at my side. I could barely hear his voice over the commotion, but I managed to catch him telling me to get my ass to the backroom and wait there.
Figuring I couldn’t drive and there was more chance of running into a cop than a cab at that time of night, I swiped my jacket from the back of my chair and scooped up the bottle of whisky on my way past.
Once in the back room, which also doubled as Jimmy’s office, I slumped down on the leather sofa and took a long swig of the magic amber liquid in my hand.
“What the hell you doing, Jude?” Trip slammed the door behind him and strolled over to me. “You trying to screw Jimmy over by fighting in his bar now?”
“Fuck off.” Was all I had for Trip for the moment. I knew just as well as the next person that I’d royally screwed up and lost Haven, but still, I was human and he looked like a good person to blame.
“Get your head outta your ass, brother, and start with explaining why I’m here instead of at home loving on my wife?” Trip probably couldn’t have said anything more to annoy me. He had a wife. He had a family, had somebody who loved him. I dropped the bottle from my hand and stood up, charging at him with all I had left. My limbs sluggish and uncooperative.
“Hey!” he cried out when I collided with him. Knocking us both to the ground, the wrestling match ensued. I could take Trip out on my worst day, but today wasn’t just my worst day. It was beyond that. A few minutes of rolling around on the ground, me trying to get at him and him trying to push me away, I was unceremoniously grabbed by the back of the shirt and thrown at the wall.
“No!” Mace roared. I had been so hell bent on hurting somebody, I hadn’t even heard him come in. I dropped my head back to the wall behind me, breathing heavily. I could feel my nostrils flaring and figured I looked something akin to a busted-up bull, by swinging my dick around hoping to slap somebody in the face with it. Short of screaming, ‘I am man hear me roar,’ I was playing the perfect part of a dumbass caveman. And I didn’t particularly give a flying rat’s ass either.
“Fuck this shit. I’m outta here,” I sneered with distaste. Mace and Trip were the last two people I wanted to see. I pushed off the wall and made for the door. Whisky bottle and jacket forgotten about.