Page 12 of Savage Salvation

“No. I just wanted to watch the fight. But we can go somewhere now to celebrate, your choice, anywhere you want to go.”

“Home.” Wherever the fuck that is.

“All right.” He surprisingly agrees before adding. “Next year, it’s your pick. We can do anything your cold heart desires for your birthday, and I won’t complain a bit.”

The sentiment is supposed to be sweet (I think), and even if his judgment is currently off, I believe it’s coming from a good place. But the only thing I can think is, I won’t be here next year. There will be no celebrating my birthday with Isaac because I’ll hopefully be starting a new, fresh life on the West Coast—and that notion is becoming more appealing by the second.

8

Gage

“I tried to tell you.” The relentless shit for brains remains looming in front of me. My head falls back against the wall as I clamp my eyes shut. The sting from the few blows Pete got in aches a bit. But I still came out on top. That’s all that matters. Yet, Ryan won’t let up. “She’s already fucking with the fights. What’s next?”

“You shutting the fuck up. That’s what’s next.” Normally, I can keep my calm. Remain a solid, in control force who can deal with my pissant friend, but I’m not in the mood right now. Because he’s right. She got to me. I was so fixated on that motherfucker’s arm touching her, my mind left the fight for less than a second. But it’s all Pete needed to knock me on my ass. It didn’t take me long to recover, but it never should’ve happened. I know it. I don’t need to hear about it anymore.

“Here ya go, champ.” Memphis passes me yet another refilled cup that I turn up, drinking down the liquid. I don’t even know what it is because it all started tasting the same hours ago. At least Memphis knows I just want to celebrate, even if that means sitting here and drowning out my fuckin’ thoughts. Which is impossible when Ryan gets going again.

“Next fight, you have to keep your head on straight. I’ll make sure she’s far away from the Den so you can keep your eye on the person trying to beat you to a pulp.”

Her being there wasn’t the distraction; it was her not being there with me that was the problem. “You have it all figured out.” I lift my head, looking to the jackass who thinks he can tell me how to win. “So, show me how it’s done next time.” His nervousness is plain as fucking day. He knows he’d never stand a chance, even in the preliminary matches. “What’s the problem, Wagoner? Show me how to get the shit done since you’re such a fuckin’ expert.”

He’s on his feet already as he says, “Told you she was gonna fuck with you. Why else would you be coming at me?”

“Because you don’t know when to back the fuck off.” My response comes out louder than I planned as several concerned eyes take an assessing look of me, Memphis being one. He steps between me and the stupid son of a bitch who couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper sack. This jerkoff is giving me shit about one bad bloody second out of the entire fight. The fight I won.

“Alrighty. Time out.” Memphis waves his hand, urging Ryan away from me. Wise fuckin’ choice. The unwise choice—moving the field party to my place when it started raining. Now I’m debating between kicking everyone out or just going to bed and letting them have at the place.

There’s nothing in the damn house that I care about anyway. I thought moving out of my dad’s house, getting my own space the day I turned eighteen and gained control over my portion of the company would alleviate some of the wrath I feel. But it hasn’t. The only reason I have any of this useless shit, is because my mom is dead. So, all I’ve done is sit in this stupid place, spinning out and not going in any fuckin’ direction, while my brother is across the country living his life and my dad is across town probably screwing his latest conquest on the kitchen table. The financial independence was supposed to make it better. All of it. Make it easier not seeing his fucking face every day as a reminder of what a dirtbag he is. Help me forget how shitty he treated my mother, even after she discovered she was dying from cancer. Block out all the women he screwed all over the house time and time again, including my ex. He’d fucked her just to show me he could get to anything I had. But financial independence hasn’t eased any of that shit. That’s why I started fighting at the Den. As a chance to exercise my rage, beat the piss out of some dipshit and feel like I actually achieved something. But now, even that isn’t enough.

I resume my bid to unwind, letting my head fall back while I close my eyes. My mind is near giving way to the boozy haze, at least enough to endure the bullshit around me until an irritating voice breaks through. She takes it upon herself to perch her unwanted ass on my lap.

“Aw, I bet it hurts.” Lips feather over my jawline as my eyes open to see Patricia’s needy self all but screwing me as she rocks against my unresponsive dick.

Standing, I shake her off, and her boney ass drops onto the marble floor. “Not interested.” She was nothing more than a tool to rile up Kinsley. And while there seemed to be a smidgen of jealousy there, I couldn’t keep up the ruse. As soon as she leaned into Isaac, her fingers brushing along his busted lip, my strategy was incinerated. I should’ve snatched his fucking face off instead of taking his damn chair beside her. It’ll take more than an eager pussy hanging around to capture and keep her interest. It’ll take something I’m afraid to expose. Myself.

9

Kinsley

Flipping on my other side, I pull the blanket under my chin, my eyes still closed just as they have been for the last two sleepless hours. My current playlist—on its second loop, or maybe third—mixes with the rain hitting the old tin overhang at the back entrance.

A rhythmic knock pulls me out of what tiny amount of drowsiness I’ve mustered in my attempt to sleep. I hear it again, confirming that it’s not the rain. There’s someone banging on the storefront. It’s not Johnny, or even one of the guys. They’d call, text, or knock on the back door, making some stupid gesture in front of the peephole so I’d know it was them. No. This is someone who shouldn’t be here. The store alarm gives me little solace as it will take law enforcement longer to get here than it would take someone to get in. Reaching behind the door, I grip the handle of the baseball bat that Johnny left here but we’ve never had to use. Well, except for the time he “fixed” the printer.

When the pounding on the glass continues, I jump slightly, my grip tightening. Whoever it is has no desire to make a quiet, undetected entrance for sure. Thankfully, the store is completely dark, giving me good cover and allowing me to hide. And while tiptoeing around the pitch-black space should frighten me, or at least bring some unease, I’m grateful for the cloak of darkness to hide in as I crouch down. Peering at the entrance of the store, I see a figure in front of the door. Their arm lifts and bangs against the glass. I’m amazed it hasn’t cracked yet. The person gives up for a second, steps back, then shouts at the secured barrier. Son of a bitch. I don’t need a baseball bat. I need some fucking holy water (or maybe a priest) for the demon I recognize all too well.

Buzzing with adrenaline and irritated that he’d scared me in the first place, there’s also … relief. It’s bold and bright for a few seconds, that reprieve of knowing who’s here, the abatement of danger, then my nerves stand on end, trying to figure out what the hell Gage needs at 4 a.m. What would have him standing out in the pouring rain banging on the window like a madman? And he starts up again, stepping back to the door, slamming his fist on the glass with a muffled shout of my name. I can make out something about how he’s not leaving until I open the door.

I debate for a second on texting Isaac, or even Johnny, but decide against it. Last time, Isaac ended up with a busted lip. And after the events of tonight, I don’t want to invite him to join whatever catastrophe Gage is currently whipping up.

My fingers cling tighter to the cold aluminum bat as I take in a deep breath, closing my eyes as I exhale. Approaching the front door, I stop inches from it and don’t make a move to open it.

Gage stands, gaping at me. I expected to see fury, rage, especially with the way the asshole was banging on the door. Instead, I’m not sure what I see because I think it’s defeat. But that’s not the asshole I’ve come to know and made the sweet kid who used to be my friend nothing but a distant memory. And right now, I need more distance from both versions of him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I shout, watching as he stands, sopping wet, under the small overhang that’s not wide enough to shield the steady rain.

“Let me in.” His demand is stern, but his face is still anguished. It’s not enough to soften my nerves though.

“No. Go away or I’m calling the police.”