Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Are you kidding me?” Asher backed up against the wall at the fight club.
“Five.” Sarah held up her palm between them.
“You’ve been here five nights in a row, and I had to hear you’re back in town from Angelo.
” She shook her head. “And believe me, he’s in a lot of damn trouble for waiting so long to tell me you’ve been fighting every night. ”
“Calm down, okay?”
She swatted her hands at his chest. “What happened? You left Mom’s place over a week ago like a bat out of hell, and now I find you here?”
They were near the back exit of the club, Angelo’s private entrance.
“Tell me what’s going on,” she hissed.
“I had to go out of town and handle some things.” He pulled on his shirt over his head.
Her hands flailed again. Palms smacking his chest. “Why the hell are you here? You hate Angelo and this place.”
He wasn’t sure how to answer that. He wasn’t buddy-buddy again with the guy, but he needed this place. He needed his old friend right now.
The days had blurred by.
Fighting. Drinking. Research.
Repeat.
Not always in that order.
He missed Jessica. He’d never admit it to the guys, but . . .
He missed her smile. Her laugh. Her annoyed look when he said something dumb. The way her bottom lip only tucked between her teeth for him.
Hell, he missed the blue balls he got from her eating cherries.
He was pretty sure her absence was why he was losing his damn mind.
That, and every time he closed his eyes, he remembered her in the s-vest. Seconds from death.
Whenever he slept, he woke up to the same dream—cutting the wrong wire and losing her. His life wasn’t like the movies. Nothing was ever like fiction. But his dreams always played out like some major Blockbuster film. Only, in his head, the bad guys won.
Day after day with no word from Jessica and only updates from Luke . . .
He was going stir-crazy. And from what Luke was saying, she wasn’t getting any better.
After every fight he attempted a phone call.
No answer. No surprise.
A few more texts would be sent once he was five drinks in. Maker’s Mark. The good stuff. Yeah, well, the good stuff also made him eerily vulnerable and had him giving in to his desire to message her like some frat boy with a crush.
No Maker’s Mark tonight, he’d already decided.
“You two okay?”
It was maybe the first time he’d ever been relieved to be rescued by Angelo. Of course, the guy was also the reason his sister had shown up tonight. He didn’t like her here, and not just because of Angelo or the fighting—it made him edgy to have her anywhere near violence or violent people.
What am I, though?
He was living two lives lately. It’d been easier back in the day. He’d never walked the fine line. No need to balance.
Now, he was a SEAL by day and an animal by night. A man who turned into a beast in the cage, tearing everyone apart to the near brink of death.
He’d become the man he’d run away from. And all it had taken was nearly losing a woman he cared about, a woman he wasn’t even allowed to have.
“I should go.” Asher heaved out a deep sigh.
“Damn right, you should!” Sarah hit his chest again and then winced. “You made of titanium or something?” A fraction of a smile touched the edges of her lips.
“Sorry I ratted on ya, but I was worried about you.” Angelo shrugged.
“Like I said, I should go.” Asher started to turn but then halted. “You shouldn’t be here, either.”
Sarah stepped closer to Angelo, and he looped an arm around her. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”
Asher grumbled and rolled his eyes, still hating the idea of them together. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t kill Angelo. Could he?
“See you again tomorrow?” Angelo asked.
“What?” Sarah spun out of his grasp and now slammed her palm against Angelo’s chest. “No!”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Probably. His visits to the club had become a welcome routine.
Let the first fighter get in some good shots.
Feel the pain.
Be the pain.
And then unleash.
He needed to leave before his sister hit him again. He’d already taken enough punishment tonight.
Asher grabbed his jacket and boots, and once he was fully dressed he left the club and made his way to the bar he’d been hanging out at every night.
“Damn you, Maker’s Mark,” he said to his glass before he poured the liquid down his throat an hour later.
“You okay, honey?” A woman’s voice crawled over the back of his neck and had him flinching as if someone had gotten the drop on him.
He glanced back to see red nails atop his shoulder. “Not interested.”
She huffed and flitted away. Thank God for that.
He found his phone in his jacket pocket and scrolled through his messages.
Still nothing from Jessica.
Valentine’s Day was in a week, and he hated the idea of Jessica pent up in her apartment on that day.
She deserved better. She deserved the fucking world.
After downing another drink, he tossed his money on the bar and then went out into the night. No snow, but it was the bitter and bone-chilling kind of cold that could freeze a man’s balls off.
He hopped into a taxi and, twenty minutes later, found himself parked outside Jessica’s.
He paid the driver and then tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and lifted his eyes to the third level. “What am I doing here?”
I should go.
But for some reason, he couldn’t get himself to move.