Manaconda(43)

I looked around for Patrick, caught him fending off a catfight near the other entrance.

No help there.

Wyatt and I moved through the crowd shoulder-to-shoulder. “There’s a shit ton of people in here that I don’t know, but this chick’s been mouthing off that she’s your guest.”

I didn’t have anyone on my personal guest list except Kenny—and the girl she asked me to add. It couldn’t be the same name.

I dug out my phone and scrolled up to the message I’d sent Indie earlier. “Bethany Jacobs?”

“Yeah, sounds right,” Wyatt shouted over the screams.

I shoved my phone back in my pocket. It still didn’t explain my ex. “How did Vic get in?”

Wyatt’s brow lowered and his jaw flexed.

My hands clenched. “How?” When he didn’t answer me, I looked for answers inside. The main dance floor was packed. A remixed version of “Pounded” was blasting over the speakers.

My eyes tracked the neon tubes followed the art deco brass sunburst pattern behind the bar. Two people in a uniform of neon pink and black flanked our guitarist as he stood on the bar and twirled two bottles of whiskey. He did some weird dance that only Reed could do without knocking over every shot glass as he filled each one. There was a semi-circle of people around the bar, all of them chanting, “Bats,” at an inhuman decibel.

This kind of thing wasn’t so unusual at a party.

The part that wasn’t so awesome?

My ex-fiancée laying on one end of the bar, her mouth open for a special fill up from my goddamn bandmate. Another girl was laying the opposite way, her arms up making the rock-on gesture with each hand.

“That would be the Bethany chick there on the other end,” Wyatt said helpfully.

“Yeah. I figured.”

When Bats got to Victoria, she threw her arms around his neck and shared her shot.

“Hunter, it’s not worth it man.”

That was pretty much when I saw red.

I crashed through the throng of people. I didn’t care who I pushed out of the way. The only thing that mattered was me getting to that bar and kicking Reed’s ass.

I took a running start, climbed on one of the square tables by the bar and skidded onto the bar. My fist was swinging even before my brain registered what I was going to do.

His head snapped back. His arms windmilled, but instead of falling he straddled the bar and back counter crashing into a shelf of wine glasses before he caught himself.

Vic scrambled out of the way, her eyes huge as she cowered behind the bar.

“What the fucking, fuck Bats?”

“She’s not your girl anymore, man.”

“That’s not the point, you ass! She was my fiancée.” I swung again and he ducked, staggering off the back counter and back onto the bar.

He held up his hands. “Just listen, man.”

“Listen?” Was he fucking serious?

“It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, really? It looks a lot like you were about to deep throat Vic.”

Reed jumped off the bar and headed into the crowd. I followed, plowing through people until I could reach his jacket. A circle formed as I jerked him back. He was a few inches shorter than me, but Reed had always been a scrapper. He wiggled out of his jacket and wrapped it around my head.

I tried to back up, but Reed never played fair. There was a reason why we called him Bats. He plowed his fist into my solar plexus and I bent at the waist to drag in a breath.

“If you’d get your head out of your ass, you’d know I would never be so stupid.”

I swung out and hit something.

Reed groaned. “Fucker.”

I pulled the jacket off of my head just in time to see Reed’s fist coming for my face. There was no time to duck. I took it square on the goddamn chin and saw stars.

Reed swung again and connected. I took a knee, praying the room wouldn’t go dark. I shook my head. “She’s going to fuck your head up man. Wasn’t one of us enough?”

“Stop it!”

I groaned. Of course she was going to get in the middle of this. Classic Victoria bullshit. “Back off, Vic.”

“I don’t want you two fighting over me.”

“That’s exactly what you want,” I roared as I slapped the floor. The pain ricocheted up my arm until I could see clear again. I peered up at her, all golden hair, and gold jewelry over a pristine white dress. She was flawless, even after being spread eagle on a damn bar. Her eyes tracked the crowd before she turned for the flashbulbs and discreetly pushed out her chest as she crouched over Reed.

She cupped his head against her chest, her eyes starred with tears. TMZ, TV Line, US Weekly—it didn’t matter which one. I knew what the headline would be.