Chapter Fifteen
A week later, Fisher woke up drunk again.
It was sometime in the early morning, he knew that much.
He had faceplanted on Rogue’s couch last night and the material pressed into his cheek. He’d have a tweed pattern there when he decided to move.
Only he didn’t want to move right then and preferably not for the next six fucking months.
Staying drunk had not worked.
True to form, some of his memories had come back.
Snatches of hot sex with Justice, then a darkness that horrified him. It was so black that no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t penetrate it.
That meant that something very bad had happened that his mind was trying to protect him.
Still unclear on the facts, he knew without a doubt that Justice had somehow betrayed him.
Every thought consisted of how he could stay inebriated long enough to lessen the sense of betrayal. If he did that, then he might be able to keep visions of choking the fucking life out of Justice at bay.
Above and beyond his rage was the torment of half fucked-up memories. Flashes of images careened around his tired brain and he couldn’t make sense of a lot of them.
The fucked-up part was that prior to this episode, his nightmares had almost become nonexistent. With only the occasional one like the night with Justice.
Now, however, they’d returned with a vengeance every night and showed no signs of slowing.
His eyes stung and it pissed him off.
Justice should have been the one to save him, not the one who’d fucked him over.
Thank fuck, Rogue had come to his rescue.
Rescue?
He held his breath. The thumping inside his temples had him moaning.
Rescue from what?
From what he could recall, Rogue’s voice called to him as if from far away.
“Hang on, Fisher,” Rogue had half sobbed.
His friend’s words had carved a slight path through the darkness.
A few moments later, Rogue had lifted him and carried him away. One thing his friend hadn’t been able to do was pull him from his black-filled torment.
When he had finally come back to his senses, Fisher couldn’t ignore his desperate need to escape.
That part he remembered. Buying the online ticket and taking the flight to Oregon.
Now, however, he didn’t have the luxury of escaping.
Rogue had brought him back and there was no denying the situation he found himself in.
He was spiraling and even he could see it. His friends were patient, but he wanted fucking answers.
Perhaps he should track down Justice and get those answers.
Suggesting it to Rogue, his friend had nixed that idea. Of course, that might have been because he’d told Rogue he was going to cut Justice open to find the answers he wanted.
Fisher was more grateful to Rogue than he could ever repay. Since Oregon, the man had stayed by his side. Echo also came to the apartment to visit off and on.
However, it had been Rogue who had stayed with him while he went on one bender after another.
Patiently, Rogue stayed by his side even though Fisher knew for a fact his friend had his own fucked up shit to deal with.
There wasn’t much difference between their pasts. Rogue and Echo were younger than him, but they had all been trained by Solomon.
Fucking Solomon Mercy, the sick fuck had bought young boys or taken them from the streets to train as assassins all to make money.
Out of the three of them, Rogue had been with Solomon the longest.
His friend had been so tightly under Solomon’s control that Rogue actually believed the fucker had been doing a good thing by taking in young boys.
Yet, there had been one thing Rogue had never had to worry about…and that was the fact that Rogue was a big son of a bitch.
For the slender, pretty, and quiet ones, it had been very different—
A noise pulled him from going down that path of terror and he flopped one arm off the couch. Slowly, he pushed himself onto his side, and from there, he scooted his hips and managed to roll onto his back.
Gazing up at the ceiling, he heard Rogue entering the bathroom down the hall.
Echo had gone home a few days ago but promised to be back. Fisher didn’t blame the guy, Echo had a life to live with his other half.
The lights were still off in the apartment, but the morning sun had started to filter in from the cracked window blinds.
Fuck.
The pounding inside his head was making a racket, but it kept him from thinking too much.
At this point, he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
An hour later, Fisher managed to sit his ass up on the couch and brace his elbows on his thighs.
His cell phone lay on the carpet beneath the low coffee table and he grabbed it.
Several text messages from Savage popped up when he tapped the notifications on the screen.
His boss wasn’t too happy about him missing a month of work.
So the fuck what? Savage could take a flying leap. He was in this state because of Justice. But he couldn’t remember why.
Jesus…
He sounded like a fucking nutcase.
“You awake?” Rogue’s rough voice came from the hallway and he shot his friend a blurry-eyed glance.
“Barely,” he croaked.
“I want to ask you something,” Rogue said.
Fisher gnashed his teeth, but nodded. He wasn’t able to make an effort to stand right away, so he might as well hear Rogue out. After all, the guy had saved him and had put up with his drunken ass. It was the least he could do.
“Does Justice know your backstory?” Rogue said.
Fisher scowled. “He should by now.”
“How? Did you tell him or was he given bits and pieces from other people?”
Fuck no, he hadn’t shared anything about his past with Justice, but the guy had to know. Right?
“He knows.” Fisher glared insistently at Rogue.
“If you didn’t personally tell him about the hell we lived through, how would he know?”
“Fuck this!” He clenched his fists and turned his attention to the blinds across the room.
“I’m not busting your chops. Just think about it, Fish.”
“When the fuck did you become the voice of reason?” he snapped.
Rogue rubbed at the cropped beard on his jawline and gazed away. “We both have our history.”
Fisher’s eyes prickled and that pissed him off. Gritting his teeth, his jaw started to ache.
After a moment, Rogue shook himself and turned his attention back to him. “Feel like doing a job with me?”
“No.” Fisher didn’t feel like doing anything. Plus, he was still drunk, which was the reason he hadn’t tried standing yet. He needed to push through and get his ass up.
Rogue’s lids narrowed and his lips pressed flat. “How long are you going to keep drinking and avoiding this?”
“As long as I fucking want. Why? You going to kick me out now?”
“You can stay as long as you need to. You know that.” Rogue walked into the small kitchen and started a pot of coffee before turning around to gaze at him over the open bar.
Fisher gave his friend a grimace. “I need a shower.” With that said, he finally made it to his feet and disappeared down the hallway.
He didn’t want to talk about anything anymore.
He just needed to fucking forget the little he had remembered.
Forget that he’d been on the verge of trusting.
Forget Justice.
Forget his fucked-up past.
And most of all, he had to remember that he wasn’t normal so how could he have ever thought he could have a normal life?
Hours later that night, the pulsing beat of the club thrummed through his numbing brain.
Fisher stumbled over to snag the drink from a nearby standing table next to the club’s dance floor. The man and two women he’d been dancing with crowded in around him and grabbed their own drinks.
When their glasses lifted high, Fisher knocked his against theirs and tossed down what was left in the glass. The whiskey had long ago lost its burn. Now he chased it for the effect.
One of the women grabbed his arm and pulled and he willingly followed her gyrating hips encased in a black mini skirt. The tight, black mesh top outlined her tits in a pushup bra. She wore black stilettos that put her above his height and her red hair was a fiery wave tossed about her heavily made-up face.
Fisher shook back his long hair. He’d lost his hair tie hours ago. The other woman, a big busted blonde with a charming smile wearing a tight blue dress danced closer. With a laugh, she tugged at his hair.
“I love your hair.” She had to get close enough to shout the words.
He grabbed her around the waist and whirled farther into the crush of dancing bodies, pulling the redhead along with them. They were followed by the other man. Fisher didn’t know their names. He didn’t want to know who they were. All he wanted was what they offered.
With an arm around each woman’s waist, he bumped and gyrated to the beat. The man danced forward, coming close enough for Fisher to feel the heat coming from the guy’s shirtless chest.
There beneath the spinning lights, the man worked open the buttons on Fisher’s shirt. Fisher didn’t bother glancing down at his chest, he knew the scars that were there and had long since given up giving a fuck.
This was who he was, scars and all.
Rather than push the shirt from his shoulders, the guy gave a sexy smile and left it hanging open. Both girls stroked their hands inside of Fisher’s shirt and also over the other man’s bare chest.
The crowd roared when the music changed into the grinding beat of Sam Smith’s Desire .
Fisher dropped his head back and closed his eyes.
And escaped for a while.