Trystan comes around from the back door like I told him. Bob, Trystan’s bodyguard, is nearby. That guy is never far away. If he gets here before this asswipe takes off, no one will ever find the body. I consider it. I want Mark to pay for what he did to Cassie. She was frozen with fear when I walked out. Her face was so white she looked like a corpse. I’m not letting him near her again.

Trystan rushes toward me. “Holy shit, you shot him?” We’re both staring at the dark stream of blood coming from the guy’s leg just above the knee. It soaks his jeans making a big brownish red oval on the denim.

“Walk away, Trystan. There’s no reason for both of us to get messed up with this. Odds are someone reported the gunshot. Cops will be here shortly. Move.” Trystan rushes off, circling the building to wait out of sight by the side street.

"You just made a mistake, son." That dipshit Mark speaks with a Southern drawl, that good ol' boy thing going on all over the place. I want to beat the crap out of him for that alone. He’s a classic prick, the kind of asshole that thinks women are trash. I heard what he said to Cassie and Beth. I knew guys like that. They beat their bitches, using them for pussy then tossing them aside when they finish. I can't comprehend how a girl like Cassie, with her whole virginity-is-sacred thing, ended up with this tool.

I cock the gun again, knowing I’m out of time. “Where’s my bouncer?”

“How the fuck should I know?” He’s pissed, but still staggering backward, away from me trying to stay clear of the gun.

I lift the weapon. “I don’t have time for this, shitface. Where is he?”

He swears and doesn’t answer at first. When I rush him and shove the barrel under his jaw, aiming straight up into his skull, he sings a different song. “Behind the trash. He’s not dead.”

It would be so easy to slide my finger back and pull that trigger. This guy would be out of Cassie’s life forever, and she could breathe easy. Forever is a long time. I’d do it for her. I’d end him and not feel a fucking ounce of regret. The guy is a worthless asshole. I’m suddenly aware of how hard I’m pushing the barrel into his skin, and it takes a few breaths, but I manage to pull it away.

I shove him into his truck, hard. “Get the hell out of here, and if I ever see your cock-sucking face again, I'll put a bullet in your fucking skull.”

As I lower the gun, pointing it at the ground, that douchebag has the audacity to laugh. “I hear it in your voice, Ferro. You think you can handle her, but you can’t. That bitch will stab you in the back if she hasn’t already.”

I lift the pistol again and aim for his head. “I didn’t miss. Your leg was a pity shot, so leave before I change my mind.”

---

The rest of the night races by in a blur. Bob finds Bruce, who, unlike me, has a legal gun. They make up a story and feed it to the cops. Since Bruce has a hole in the side of his head, courtesy of a two by four with a few nails sticking out of the end, the cops don’t have issues believing there was a fight. They want to see the other man, though. We tell them he ran after he attacked Beth and broke her wrist. Cassie hides in the dressing room among the other strippers. The police ignore her.

I can see her face. I know those walls shot up so high that they scrape the sky. She’s never going to talk to me again. I can’t believe that twat got around Bruce. I close the club early, send that blonde to help Beth get her wrist set, and tell everyone else to go home. Trystan hangs around with Bob in case the jackass comes back. Cassie is still here, waiting for me to take her home. I don’t want to face her yet. I failed. I let that asshole get to her. He nearly succeeded.

I rub my palms over my face. I’m sitting in the circle of black club chairs next to the stage. The bar is behind me. Trystan walks over with a bottle of bourbon and two glasses. He pours amber liquid into both and hands me one. “Shitty night.”

I slam the drink back in one swallow and put the glass down on the table beside me. I glance up at him. “You ever make a promise you can’t keep?”

He nods once. “Yep. I have.”

I’ve never heard that story, but he’s not offering, so I don’t press. “I told her I could keep her safe, but that asshole managed to yank her right off my stage. She shouldn’t even be here.”

Trystan is sitting across from me, slouched back into the chair, swirling the bourbon around the edge of his glass. “Where should she be?”

“With me, somewhere else. I didn’t want this.” I point at the walls and stage. “It’s a fucking nightmare. There’s pussy everywhere, but I don’t want any. And her! I sleep next to her, but I can’t touch her either. This isn’t me. I’m an asshole. I’m selfish. I like to dick around, and somehow I linked myself to a prude stripper with a sociopath husband.”

Trystan smirks, his eyes riveted to the whirlpool of liquor. His dark lashes obscure his eyes when he speaks. “That’s not why you’re mad.”

“What?” I snap at him. “I’m a fucking god, and I’m slumming it here with her.”

He shakes his head. “This is what love is at its core. You’d do anything for her, even if she doesn’t care. Even if she’s someone you can never have. For once in your life, your motivation has nothing to do with fucking, and you don’t know what to do with it.”

I glare at him. “And you do?”

“Not a damned clue. There was this girl a long time ago, but I screwed it up. She’s better off without me, but she’s always there, in the back of my mind.” He looks up at me. “Never before and never since. It doesn’t matter how many women I’m with—it doesn’t go away.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and swallow hard. “I did this to her. I sent her away without listening. I thought she stabbed me in the back and sold me out.”

“She did.”

“Did she? The shit the papers printed couldn’t have all come from her. I didn’t realize it until we spoke again. By then years had passed. Cassie wouldn’t have ended up with that guy if I hadn't thrown her out, if I'd just given her a chance to explain.”

Trystan leans forward and sets the glass down. “You can’t live like that. The wasteland of regret pulls you in and never lets you leave. If you want her, tell her.”

I stare at my hands and shake my head. “I can’t. He hurt her. She’ll never want me like that, and I won't force the issue.” I lean back and laugh bitterly. “I’m in love with a woman I can’t be with—I can’t show her how much I love her. I can’t even touch her.”

“Do you need to? I mean, think about it. There are other things, right?” I glance at him out the corner of my eye, not following. “There’s more to life than fucking, Jon. Meet her where she’s at and figure out if that’s enough.”

The suggestion swims in the grief that fills my mind. Would it be enough? I could just hold her, kiss her, and take what she has to offer when she has it to give. I know that should be enough, but I’m not sure what that looks like. Then my thoughts stumble when I realize that there’s one thing I need from her. The rest can fade away, I can live without it, but this—I can’t be with her and not touch her. I have to be able to wrap my arms around her and hold her.

Trystan chortles quietly. I glance up at him. “What’s so funny?”

“Only that the self-professing male slut found something more important than sex.”