Outlaw's Vow: Grizzlies MC Romance(11)

“Hey, asshole.” Two words plus a finger jabbing his shoulder like a spear was all it took to spin him around.

My fist exploded into the motherfucker's jaw before he even looked at me. He was fat, muscular, probably the former bodybuilder type. Bone crunched underneath the meat I'd punched through, and he recovered pretty fast for a drunken, horny hog.

Clasping his hands, he took a step back, and swung. He had a wicked swing that barely missed caving in my skull. The bastard was fast for a fucker who'd seen his share of brawls.

I was faster. My boots smashed into his shins so hard he went crashing down. The girls on the stage screamed, and several drunken jackasses laughed, forming a circle around us.

Goliath got me in the knee as he went down, and I fell with him. Shit.

For a second, I wished I'd taken it easier on the booze before I decided to get into the thick of it. But second guessing wasn't my style. Ever.

The whiskey in my system had its advantages when he got a glancing blow in against my ear. The punch rattled my whole skull, turning everything into a numb, ringing mess, but it didn't make me skip my next punch.

I bellowed like a motherfucker and lunged, kneed him the spine, just the right spot to hold his drunken ass down while I wrapped my hands around his fat neck. He kicked something fierce for more than a minute, just like a tiger going down from a dart.

Asshole nearly threw me off several times. I hung on, pressed my fingers deeper, choking him out, throttled his neck all the way through the last desperate thrashes.

Now, it was time to see my shrink, that killer lightning surging up inside me every time I had some fucker's life in my hands.

I squeezed so hard I swore I could've ripped his head off. Down on the ground, ready to take his life, we talked. I told him shit with my violent, bloody need to kill that nobody else would ever know.

One shaking finger, deep in his throat, for all the times my parents screamed, all the nights the Tacoma PD showed up at the house, all the way up 'til my old man walked out, never to be seen again. Ma died in a hospice her sister brought her to in Olympia a couple years later, and he didn't even come to her fucking funeral.

Another finger for the blood on my soul, a dozen men I'd shot or stabbed or shredded on the road, all devils who deserved it.

One more for Elle Jo, the only girl I'd wanted to kiss twice.

Three more fingernails scratching so hard they drew blood for this fucked up, fake, arranged marriage.

Two more for the satisfaction I'd get watching Gil seethe while I threw back princess' veil and kissed her deep, my hand on her ass, feeling my cock swell for the only pussy who'd ever got away.

Last three fingers for everything I'd never have with her – love, kids, shaking her in bed while she howled out my name like a fucking mad woman.

No, wait. That last one, I wasn't ready to give up on yet. But all that other shit – everything that seemed to come natural to all the brothers who shared my clubhouse?

Fuck no. Not this week, not this year, not ever.

My hands squeezed so hard I could feel the fire in my chest, bringing the crude drunk to death's doorstep.

Didn't let up 'til he was finally limp underneath me. I checked his pulse to make sure I hadn't killed the asshole. Fucker had a heartbeat, however weak.

Maybe somebody would bludgeon him to death another night, or maybe he'd learned a powerful lesson here. That shit wasn't up to me. I staggered to my feet, rubbing my temple and hot, damaged ear.

Fuck. Just my luck that I'd probably have a nasty bruise across my face for the wedding later this week.

I looked up. The girl he'd been groping clung to her pole on stage, staring at me with those fuck me eyes I'd seen on wet pussy a hundred times.

I nodded respectfully and turned around, refusing to look at her again. I wasn't here to fuck, like I said before, and I kept my word.

Two burly bouncers stood behind me, right in the middle of the spectators. I threw my arms out and pushed through them, grinding my teeth as I did.

“Lazy motherfuckers. You're damned lucky I was here to do your dirty work for you. Outta my way.”

When I said jump, they did. Nobody fucked with a man wearing Grizzlies colors on his cut, and Kitty herself would personally have the hide of any employee who did.

When I got back to the bar, I threw my arms out, supporting my weight. “What the hell you looking at? Get me some ice and a fresh bottle. Don't worry, I've got a sober cab tonight.”

“Shit, brother, I want some of what you've had tonight.” Glassy chuckled from the other end of the bar and winked with his good eye.

“Then go off and marry the girl next door for a club op. Shit, maybe you and Stryker can share the next bitch Blackjack wants to use to keep us safe.”

Did I really just say that shit? Yeah, I did.

Glassy looked down awkwardly at his drink and turned away. Well, fuck him too.