Chapter 12
Kade
It’s been a week since I was arrested at The Rusty Nail.
I’ve been a good boy, steering clear of the place only because Calder and Sawyer begged me not to go back.
Levi doesn’t give a shit one way or the other.
He doesn’t care about much of anything lately.
Fucked if he would talk to me or any of us about it, though.
Then again, who am I to bust his balls for keeping his mouth shut?
It’s not like I share my feelings, either.
But it’s been an entire week, and I’m bored out of my fucking mind. It isn’t that I miss the world and need to be part of it. I just need to do something, anything, other than sit around and replay ugly memories. A good drink will do it. Or two.
And drinking alone is a bad sign. Even I know that. It’s much better to drink in public, with all the other desperate drunks trying to escape reality for a while. I guess that’s all any of us wants. An escape.
It’s not like I walked into the bar last week looking for a fight. It found me. What was I supposed to do, let some asshole slice me open? No fucking way.
I slide into a clean pair of jeans and a worn flannel, then throw my jacket over the top. It takes me a minute to find my boots, which is another bad sign. I should be out there on the ranch helping Calder. Instead, I’ve been holed up at the main house doing nothing but wallowing.
Now that I have a plan in mind, though, a fresh wave of energy courses through me.
Energy I’ve been lacking ever since my visit to the Porters.
Not something I want to think about.
Every time I do, I see the utter shock on Allie’s face. I might as well have ripped her heart out of her chest while it was still beating and eaten it right in front of her.
She hurt me, yeah, but I crushed her. I ground her down under my heel and kept going even when I knew it was too far. I’m Roman’s son, after all.
Yeah, I need a drink. A whole fucking bottle.
The floral arrangements are still sitting by the front door as I head into the foyer. I wish someone would throw them away.
Keeping them here is a joke. I refuse to believe a single person in this house misses him, including the staff. He was a monster. A tyrant. Shouldn’t we be allowed to move on?
I kick a few of them aside. “Somebody throw this shit away,” I call out. My voice echoes, and the sound follows me until I step outside and close the door behind me.
The ride to the bar is quick. There isn’t much traffic on the road tonight. They’re calling for snow later, and most people hunker down for the squalls we sometimes get. The parking lot is full regardless.
They, like me, don’t give a shit about a few snowflakes. It definitely smells like snow once I step out of my truck. Ozone and a hint of sweetness. I swallow hard to shut out thoughts of Allie and head toward the door, dodging a pile of puke just off the exit.
Raucous noise hits me before I’m even inside. I don’t think there are any major games tonight. This isn’t a sports bar, either, so what gives?
Whatever’s going on in there has everybody losing their shit. Fine by me. I wouldn’t mind losing myself to it. Let the noise pull me under along with the whiskey.
The first thing I see as I open the door is a wall of backs. Men crowd around one of the tables, cheering. I crane my neck to see past the head of the guy in front of me and spot a girl dancing on a table.
She’s wearing a skintight black tank top and a matching leather skirt so short it barely covers her ass cheeks.
She’s got a great body—tiny waist, with just the barest hint of a round belly, more muscle than fat, and full hips and ass.
Thighs a man wants to feel squeezing his head or wrapped around his hips, too.
Damn. I get why they’re cheerin’ for her.
Good for them, but I’m not interested in letting some sweet little piece of ass crush my heart again.
When she runs her hands over her ass and swings around, her hair whipping with her dance, I see her tits are outstanding, too, and almost falling out of her tank.
Then I get a load of her face and stop breathing.
Allie.
Am I hallucinating? Am I drunk? No, I haven’t even gotten a drink yet.
I shove a couple of guys aside, and they move with no more than a grumble. Getting another look, I grit my teeth. No, it’s definitely her. She’s shaking her ass for a bunch of guys, while they clap to the beat of whatever is playing on the jukebox. I can’t even hear the music, just the bass.
“Lose the shirt!” somebody shouts, and that’s all it takes for everybody else to join the chant. “Lose the shirt! Lose the shirt!”
Oh, like hell she will.
I’m trying to boulder through the men when somebody tugs my sleeve. My head snaps around—I’m ready to throw fists—but it’s only Saint.
“Thank God!” she shouts. Her eyes are wide and wild, her hands shaking as she grasps onto me like I’m the only boat in the middle of the ocean.
“How the hell did this happen?” I demand. The whistling and cheering almost swallow my voice.
“Everything was fine. We were talking, and she kept drinking, like a lot. Then she said she wanted to dance, and I thought she meant on the dance floor, but she climbed up onto a table instead. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen to me.
I don’t know what’s gotten into her, but she isn’t acting like herself. ”
“I would say,” I grumble under my breath.
“Can you get her down from there, please?”
“She got herself up there. Surely, she can get herself down.”
Saint shakes her head. “That’s not the point. She’s too drunk to be up there. What if she falls and gets hurt? What if one of those guys grabs her, and I can’t stop them?”
Then I break their fucking arm, and every one of their fingers for touching what isn’t theirs. That’s what I should say, but I don’t. Instead, I shrug. “She should’ve thought of that before she climbed up there and started acting like a fool. I’m not her babysitter.”
Even as I say the words, I know that’s exactly what I’m going to spend the rest of the night doing. Babysitting the Porter Princess. No way in hell is anyone touching her.
“Seriously, Kade? You don’t have to be a dick. I’m not asking you to babysit her. I’m asking you to get her down. She won’t listen to me, and I’m not big enough to shove my way up there and get her myself.”
“Where the fuck is your husband?”
Saint narrows her eyes. “I don’t need my husband’s approval to go out, do I?”
“Okay, fine,” I groan and start pushing through the crowd. I ignore the grumbles and shouts as I shove past people. Fucking idiots. Think they’re getting a free show. Over my dead fucking body.
Once I reach the table, I spot some douchebag in a trucker hat waving a dollar bill at her.
“Give me somewhere to put this!” he begs.
Fuck this guy.
“I’ll show you where to put it.” I shove him, and he stumbles forward and to the side, trying to balance himself. That gives me enough space to give him another push so I can slip into his spot. He hollers something in response, but the crowd around me drowns it out.
I get my first look at Allie then. She’s swaying her hips with a mischievous look on her face.
Her silky red hair flows down her back in gentle waves.
She doesn’t have a care in the world and is oblivious to the hazards of this situation.
The look of playfulness falls off her face as soon as she notices me standing there.
It’s almost like I’ve unplugged the jukebox.
Staring down at me, she hardens her gaze. “Did you come for the free show?”
“You’re making an ass out of yourself. Get the hell down,” I snarl.
“Oh, sorry, I can’t hear you over all the fun I’m having.
” She swings her hips, but stumbles unsteadily on her heels.
Excessive alcohol, unsteady ground, and high heels are the makings of a disaster.
My heart skips a beat in my chest at the thought of her falling and hitting her head or one of these fuckers grabbing her and touching her.
She’s not your problem.
I know this. My heart knows this. My body knows this. But my brain? My brain knows better. My brain knows that anything involving Allie is my concern.
“Get out of the way!” Somebody yells and pushes me from behind, sending me into the asshole crowding my right.
Asshole gives me a death glare and shoves me back. “The fuck is your problem?”
I shove him back harder. “You and all the other assholes in here looking at my girl.”
“Don’t look like she’s yours from where I’m standing.”
This douchebag. “She is. Now move the fuck on before I make you.”
“Guess you’ll have to make me.” He raises his fists, and I do the same, but unlike him, I’m not afraid to throw a punch.
“No problem.” I grit out as I pull my arm back and hit him straight in the chin, knocking his teeth together.
He doubles over and bounces off the table Allie is dancing on.
Of course he had to fall that way. She wobbles, fear flickering in her eyes when she realizes she can’t catch herself.
Her mouth opens, and I’m not sure if she’s going to scream or call for help, but it doesn’t matter.
When she pitches forward, I snatch one of her wrists and use her momentum to throw her over my shoulder.
A shriek of terror rips from her throat. “Oh my God! What the hell? Put me down!” She thrashes around like a lunatic, most likely with the hopes I’ll get annoyed and let her go.
Not tonight, filly. You’ve had enough fun.
I turn and face the exit. Ten to fifteen men stand between me and the door. I stare them down. “Show’s over. Go home or sit the fuck down. I don’t care, but if you stop me from going through that door over there, you’ll regret it.”
A few of them curse me under their breath, and one even grumbles, but they listen and slowly disperse throughout the bar. I’m almost disappointed at how easy that was.
“Put me down right now, or else!” Allie threatens.
It’s adorable because what the fuck is she going to do?