Ryder
Slamming back my third beer, the alcohol did nothing to soothe my nerves. It’d been two days of silence from Braylen. Normally, I’d give her the time she needed, especially since I was usually the cause of her anger. Although for some reason, this time was bothering me more than normal. Was it because what I felt toward the woman had been intensifying over the past month?
But safety lived in silence and denial. It was how I’d survived this long, and I refused to change because of a woman.
Trying to push aside all thoughts of Braylen Prescott, I focused on gettin’ piss drunk and passing out. And since Trigger refused to serve me hard liquor, knowing damn well what happened when that stuff coursed through my veins, I had to drink what he offered—beer. But as long as it did the trick, I wouldn’t complain. Not too much, anyway.
“You’re unusually ornery tonight,” Trigger acknowledged. “What’s up your ass?” Slinging a towel over his shoulder, he went about cleaning up behind the bar. Trigger was the club’s resident bartender, lending an ear to those who needed it and givin’ shit to those who deserved it. Apparently I was the latter. Tucking strands of his graying hair that had come loose from his ponytail behind his ear, he locked eyes with me and waited for me to engage.
“Ornery? Since when did you start breakin’ out the big words?” I swallowed the rest of my drink, tapping the bar to indicate another. “Did you get one of those ‘word a day’ calendars? Deciding to test out your fake smarts on the likes of us?” My laugh was humorless. Giving someone else a hard time helped to take the attention off myself.
“Just because your dumb ass has a limited vocabulary doesn’t mean we all do,” he retorted, sliding a fresh glass my way.
I never let on that I was a smarty in school. High honors and all that good stuff. School came easily to me, numbers and theories the easiest. It was how I was able to help invest a lot of the club’s earnings years back, setting us all up for life with the returns.
“Whatever.” Focusing on losing myself to the suds in front of me, I zoned out and thought of nothing except becoming sloshed enough to barely keep my head up. But I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy, not planting my ass on a barstool at the club. When I’d arrived earlier, only Trigger was present, the rest of the guys out taking care of what they needed to before gathering back together.
Most days I loved the company, even though I was more on the quiet side, sittin’ back and takin’ it all in. But right then, I wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Those hopes were dashed as I heard Breck, Cutter, Jagger and Tripp stride through the entrance.
“Holy shit!” Tripp shouted. “What brings you here, stranger?” The nomad of the club strolled toward me, clasping me on the shoulder once he closed in on me. “Where the hell you been?”
“I was just here the other day,” I gritted, keeping my simmering temper in check.
“Last week,” Cutter said as he walked toward the kitchen. If I thought I was a quiet one, Cutter had me beat, usually only speaking when he wanted to call people out on their bullshit.
“He’s too busy wrapped up in Braylen’s pussy,” Breck taunted, taking the seat next to me. Does he have some sort of death wish? “Tell us, Ryder, does she have a magic cunt?” He laughed, but it was cut short when I jumped up and hauled him off his chair by the scruff of his neck. There was a quick flash of fear in his eyes, but it was gone seconds after glancing at my drink of choice. Had I been drinking hard liquor, he probably would’ve pissed himself because he knew what I was capable of when it passed my lips. They all did. They’d seen it. Hell, they’d had to beat and restrain me to get me to calm the fuck down. Or pass out. Whichever came first.
“What?” Breck laughed. He was the complete opposite of his father. His unkempt shoulder-length brown hair and beard were way past due for a trimming. The biggest difference, however, was his ability to spout off at the mouth and irritate the fuck out of most of us because he never knew when to shut up. “It’s an honest question. We all wanna know.” He brought his drink to his lips even as I held him tightly in my grasp, spilling the contents down his front when I shoved him away from me. “Fuck,” he mumbled, wiping the dots of beer off his cut.
After chugging down the rest of my beer, I attempted to leave but Tripp stopped me, stepping in front of me and arching a brow. “You good?” Two simple words. Too bad he had no idea how complicated his question really was.
“Yup.”
“Good, ’cause you’re up tonight.”
“For what?” I racked my brain to try and figure out what he was talkin’ about, but I came up short.
“Jagger’s fight. It’s you and me, brother.” A slight smile curved up the corners of Tripp’s mouth, trying his best to lighten my darkened mood. The nomad knew I had secrets, a mistakenly shared word here and there during our convos, but he had no idea what I’d been through before becoming a part of the club. None of them did, and that was how I wanted to keep it. I didn’t need anyone’s sympathy or pity. That would only make it worse.
“Fine,” I agreed, sidestepping his large frame. “Send me the time and location,” I shouted over my shoulder as I approached the door to leave.
Straddling my bike and kicking over the engine, I couldn’t help but be annoyed at the fact that I had to attend Jagger’s fight that evening, simply because I wasn’t in the mood. But before I let the thought rattle me too much, I remembered there was a good chance Braylen would be there, seeing as her sister, Kena, was Jagger’s woman. And far be it from Braylen to let her little sister out of her sight for too long.