Bullet (Running Duke Book 1) Page 2

  "Get the fuck out of my face. Take your ass and put it back in the upper-class piece of shit and drive back to your expensive fucking life and leave me in the goddamn gutter where I belong. Stop following me around like an untrained bitch." I didn't give her a chance to respond. I noted the shock on her face and had a second to register the hurt before turning on my heels to hit the back door.

  Fuck, it didn't matter if I lost my job for cutting out before my shift was over. I'd lost a lot of jobs after being released. Some were due to me avoiding Trisha; others simply because I fucked up and cussed the boss out, or they fired me after learning I had a record. However, walking out on work didn't bother me. It wasn't easy walking away from Trisha. Every time, I could see my rejections burning a hole deeper in her tough bitch façade. After today, she'd probably stop coming around, which wasn't exactly want I wanted. She asked me to do something impossible, something I wasn't ready to take on. The physical wounds may have healed, but my heart hadn't. Still, seeing her made me have a constant in my life at a time when things had been topsy-turvy and ever-changing. I didn't know exactly what to do. I was torn, and right now, the pressure to make a choice drove me to anger.

  I paused by the storage room and leaned against the wall for a minute. My thoughts raced with all our past confrontations: the yelling, the mutual hurt, my betrayal, and broken promises. I couldn't find a way to not drown in the darkness threatening to choke the life out of me. The guilt of everything was too heavy every day.

  I probably won't see her again.

  I punched the wall, luckily not hard enough to break knuckles or the sheetrock. Shit, I never should've disrespected her. Those spoken words were something I wouldn't hesitate to say to other chicks that tried to get familiar with my dick or fuck with my day. Trisha didn't want my cock and would likely cut off my balls if I even suggested it. She was no longer the girl with flirty eyes. I didn't know her anymore; she was almost a stranger to me now, a damn nuisance who only came around like a bill collector. She was relentless. I shouldn't feel sorry for what I said, not after all the shitty things she spoken to my face. Maybe now, she'll get the memo, perhaps she'll back the fuck off and stop harassing me.

  I don't feel bad, and I don't want her around me at all.

  Grabbing onto that lie, I straightened myself and marched out the back door. Running away from her and the situation had become habitual. I hated that my gait had a noticeable limp the faster I walked. The fucking bullet had made mincemeat out of my shin bone, and I was lucky there were enough pins and bolts to put everything back together.

  I straddled my old beat up Harley and twisted to reach in the back saddlebag, fumbling for the pack of smokes waiting there. Trisha fucked up any resolve I had. Looking at her just shook me up so damn bad it made images of the past much clearer. Every time I saw her, the mental fog dissipated. The visual horrors and phantom pain hurt worse than the actual bullets that tore through my body that fateful night. My exterior scars got nothing on the unhealed holes within.

  Tossing away the half-smoked cig, I turned over my bike's engine and pulled around the front of the shop to hit the main road. I glanced over at Trisha's sporty red Mercedes still parked in front of the garage.

  Fuck me.

  Before I changed my mind and apologized, I peeled out onto the street and hit the pavement as if it would easily leave everything behind. I needed a stiff drink because I couldn't deal with this shit tonight. I would not think about the past anymore, and most importantly, I couldn't think about how I just passed Trisha crying in her parked car.

  Chapter Three

  Duke's Bar on Tybee Island was hot and popping tonight. No big surprise there. The last week of July brought small crowds for free televised UFC fights and their next piece of ass. Most of the chicks paraded around in revealing outfits, ready for the next male to open dialogue with a free drink. The two level building was small but had a dynamic energy that pulsed whenever people gathered inside. The lower level housed a few pool tables and large screen TV's which patrons jeered at when a MMA fighter did a swift kick to his opponent. During the summer, Duke's stayed busy with locals from North Beach intermingling with the tourists that visited the south end or one of the nicer condos on the north end. In fact, I was surprised the bar on the top level had a few vacant seats.

  After carefully skirting by a server with a tray of drinks, I reached the top of the stairs. I glanced out the large pane window to see the last rays of sunlight kissing the ocean waves. I plopped down on the bar stool and immediately grew tired of the paradisiacal view of coastal Georgia. The whole thing tried for cheery and carefree, a far cry from what I felt. Plus, I was used to the slums of The Bluff, close to the heart of Atlanta. Those violent streets taught me how to be a tough son of a bitch and earn a dishonest living in order to stay alive.

  But things were different now. I had no choice but to change or spend the rest of my life behind bars and buried in the system.

  Rapping my knuckles on the bar top, I watched a face resembling my own lift up from the beer tap. His lengthy beard had grown a few good inches since the last time I saw him. My younger brother cracked a sloppy smile, accenting his mischievous eyes. My lack of amusement was noted, and Gable nodded in silent understanding. Gable grabbed a new glass, popped the handle of my favorite draft, and slid it down the counter like any professional bartender would.

  I caught the chilled glass in one hand and lifted the brew up to my lips, but the beer did little to extinguish the ache Trisha set flame to. However, it might be a start to help drown out her and the past. I needed to vent, but wasn't too sure if Gable might be the best option. I sure as fuck wasn't going to a shrink. We had psych shit forced upon us as kids after we moved in with our aunt. I wasn't going to voluntarily seek out some quack doctor to hum and ah over my shit, scribble it down on a notepad, and randomly ask how something made me feel. I need the next best thing to a brother, and since Jamal wasn't here to lend an ear, I had to come for a blood relative. In any case, Gable and I weren't super close, and he was limited on all the details of what happened in my past. I loved him, but Gable came with his own baggage. Being a recovering addict left him with limited and dangerous outlets to placate his personal demons. He didn't need any added stress of my shit to trigger his own problems.

  "Sup, Gabe?" I shook my pack of cigs and lit a fresh one.

  Gable held up a finger, scooped up the fruity drinks he'd made and turned toward the beachside window bar. The two giggly females ogled my baby bro and made it a point to show their bikini covered tits as he served their drinks and took their money. Gable plastered a charismatic smile that could no doubt get him a big tip or a piece of ass for the night. Probably both if he wanted. He was always a charming son of a bitch; just like our piece of shit father who could weasel his way into anything.

  I normally chocked Gable's playful tendencies up to him being the youngest. So when he put effort into owning his own bar, I started to see Gable might be the strongest optimistic cord in our family. Regardless of his past hang-ups and unstable tendencies. While I sat locked up, Gable opened the bar and ran it smoothly without many complications. Prime location helped on the monetary aspect, but truthfully everyone loved the atmosphere of the place and made the drive to have a good time. Gabe brought a sense of southern hospitality within the walls.

  Goddamn, and I can't even keep a steady mechanic job to save my life and this asshole has a functioning bar. When did I fucking become the degenerate brother? The depressing thought was enough to take a few big gulps.

  "What's up, Rysten?" Gable greeted me with a knuckle bump. Shit, I didn't know where to begin, and the lack of response must've been a telltale sign. Gable shook his head at my silence and leaned on the bar. "That fucking bad, eh?"

  "Damn, dude, you all right?" I scrutinized Gable's pallor under the pendant light. He might be able to fool the bar patrons that he was running on a hundred percent, but I could see the red-tinged eyes and the gaunt features on his fa
ce through the beard. The blue-black veins just under the surface of his pale skin meant his body was processing some hardcore drugs. I'd seen a lot of coke-heads in my old dealer days. Gable looked fucking strung out. However, he and his chick had been going to couples therapy for narcotics for almost a year, but addicts do slip up. "You and Amy back on some shit?"

  Gable smirked a little, flashing some teeth. "Nah, its stress, I'm clean. I've only been getting a few hours of sleep before I have to come back to work. Since Amy left a few days ago and moved out to Tennessee to live with her cousin, I have to cover her shifts."

  "Fuck, want to talk about it?" I could see he wanted to say more but hesitated then finally shook his head. I wouldn't push. Hell, I had also shit that I'd rather stayed out of everyone else's business, but he didn't fool me with being drug-free, or that Amy had enough willpower to leave on her own. Not when they enabled each other to relapse multiple times. More than likely, Amy's family checked her into another rehab facility in Tennessee, which Gable wasn't privy to. Amy leaving was more than enough of an urge to make him use again.

  Only addicts can pull themselves out of the gutter, but I still hated seeing Gable in the pits. Nothing I said would be enough to get him to clean up. I learned, long ago, riding him about it made it worse, but he had to quit for his own reasons. "Just be careful. you know how much it sucked when you were fucked up all the time. Don't let Vash find out and let that shit mess up all that's good." I waved my hand around to encompass the bar so he knew what I meant.

  Gable's weak smile faltered into a frown as if he didn't consider anything good anymore. "So what's got you all worked up, Ry? Thirty minutes is a long drive for one free beer and a lecture I don't need." I wasn't happy to change the subject back to myself, but I did at least owe an explanation for the free draft.

  "Fucking Trisha, again. She won't get off my nuts."

  Gable poured himself a shot and drank it before commenting. He sat the shot glass on the counter and twirled it around to where it spun on its axis. "Here's a thought…you ever think about doing what she asks?"

  I couldn't help the incredulity from lacing my words. "Fuck no, dude. I can't, just no. I left all that shit in the past where it belongs."

  Gable nodded solemnly, but I saw the concern in his weary eyes. He didn't get it; Vashton probably would, but our older brother kept a busy schedule, and one I didn't want to be a part of or interrupt with a mundane chick problem. Gable was a young kid when we moved out of the ghetto and into our aunt's suburbian home. He didn't understand most of the outside street miseries Vashton and I had endured in our teens to make it day by day. However, it didn't mean Gable didn't suffer his own version of hell. Still, he turned out better than expected, drug problem aside.

  I was too far gone into my ways for any of my Aunt's saving grace, which is why I went back to work in the streets after I moved out of her house. Vashton was the ruthless one, though. Even I gave our older brother his due respect. In fact, he had been why my ass hadn't been raped and beaten fifty ways to Sunday while in prison. It seemed people knew he was nothing to take lightly, in or out of the pen.

  I'd kept myself distanced from Vashton ever since the arrest. If the Feds started snooping around him because of my illegal occupations, it would lead to some serious consequences if he suffered because of my recklessness. Vashton would most certainly be fucked over by the merciless company he kept if he became a person of interest. Still, I tried to stay in touch as much as possible.

  "You talk to Vash lately?" I asked before finishing off my beer.

  Gable wiped off a water ring from the polished wood and gave an uneasy smile. "Yeah, last week. He was about to head off to Louisiana. He told me to tell you, whenever you're ready, he can get you some work."

  I shook my head. Fresh off my parole and I already had illegal jobs lined up. Hell, I was already living in Vashton's sketchy Savannah apartment. He had so many safe houses to lay low throughout the lower regions that it would seem impossible for him to maintain them all. I took the Savannah apartment just to stay closer to Gable and get the hell out of Atlanta. Meaning, I didn't want to slide back into a lifestyle with guns, blood money, and targets on my back.

  "I'm out of that shady shit man, not even Vash can rope me back in."

  "That's what I said, but you know him. He feels it's his job to take care of both of us. Even if it's liable to kill us in the process." Gable nodded to the new bar patron waving for his attention. "Duty calls. You want another? You know the rules, first one's free, but I don't allow moochers in my bar." Gabe gave me a rakish grin that didn't touch his eyes. This whole thing with him was deeper than he was saying, but if he wanted to talk about the troubles in his fucked up life, he would've opened up about it.

  "Yeah, keep 'em coming. I got a lot of shit to drown tonight."

  Gable chuckled and turned to face the older impatient man waving money in the air. Tonight would be about numbing the pain, something I'd gotten particularly good at. If I could fall into a pit of blackness, it would serve me right. However, I certainly wouldn't be alone. My demons always laid in wait.

  Chapter Four

  I could always find an easy piece of ass from the bar. Tonight was no exception. I collected some fresh college grad in her two-piece bathing suit that drank like a fish and pined for my attention like a peacock. She'd do for the night; just drinking never distracted me long enough. Blondie wasn't my normal go-to fuck, but I wasn't picky when the night was coming to a close. I hoped she wasn't next-day clingy like some of the other ones in the past. I didn't have time for that shit.

  Blondie was all over me, rubbing my cock through my pants, mumbling nasty words against my lips as she kissed me sloppily. My buzz was tidal. At times, I was giddy and enjoying the moment. In the next breath, I could hardly fight off the sickening memory, and Blondie's red bikini top caused me to recall Jamal's blood-stained clothes. Luckily on the ride over she'd covered up with a loose shirt and denim shorts. Covered or not, my reaction to the color red confirmed I was losing it. Perhaps Gable was right, maybe doing as Trisha asked would make the visions stop. Maybe I could finally have some peace. However, I didn't want to go see Jamal. Not after what happened.

  I led Blondie up the stairs to my apartment, wrapped an arm around her thin waist, and pulled her tight against my body. I could feel the blood rushing through my veins as each step closer to my apartment made her more excited. However, my mind veered toward Trisha and how she was fuller in the hips than Blondie, or how her lips plumped up after she nervously gnawed on them while interrogating me.

  My date wasn't anything like Trisha, which might be a good thing. If I could only wrap my head around that and not think about how Trisha outshone every bitch I tried to find attractive. Blondie was just one of many I used to help drown out the one woman who wanted to make my life a living hell. Trisha was starting to swamp my mind, like a wet blanket I couldn't shake. Even with a fine piece of ass on my arm, Trisha's aura seemed to shadow me like a ghost. She was truly fucking up my shit.

  We reached the landing for my floor when a pair of high heels appeared in my downcast line of sight. My first thought: some chick had passed out on the stairs. Vashton's sketchy apartment was a prime location for drunken tourists to stumble in thinking it was the hotel across the street. It wasn't uncommon for there to be vicious muggings or shady dealings in the stairwell. I mostly ignored them because it wasn't my business.

  However, those shoes came attached to two of the sexiest chocolate legs I'd know anywhere. A harsh curse fell from my lips. I couldn't pass this one up and ignore the safety of the patron. A fucking wave of ire coursed through me at a dangerous game she played by not being on her guard here, whether from me or from any thief looking to stab and grab. My tense actions caused Blondie to stop the seductress act and focus on the new obstacle in our way.

  "Old girlfriend?" she asked, looking at Trisha stirring awake at the sound of our voices.

  I didn't feel as though she deserved
a dignified answer. Trisha was my past, present, and I wanted her in my future, but not the way she intended. I wasn't surprised Trisha tracked me here. Heck, with a bat of her full lashes, any of my old bosses could've slipped her the address from my files. I couldn't fathom why she felt so strongly about getting me to honor a promise that meant shit now.

  Trisha stood up with an audible yawn. Her feet were unsteady in the high heels, and her eyes drooped heavily with exhaustion. Trisha studied the blonde woman draped on my arm, and scoffed before rolling her eyes. Pleasure at her aggravation pulled a smile from me, but it didn't last long after my hollowed joy left me in self-annoyance. I was too damn old to be playing these games.

  "We need to talk." Trisha was somber and I felt a hint of bitterness radiating in her words. It had little to do with the late hour and everything to do with the heavy burdens of her changed life. I may have been a hustler and a thug, but defeat were key components of life I couldn't yield to. Trisha was a lawyer and a fighter as well; weakness was also out of her character. I couldn't let it faze me though. I wouldn't bend to her because she barked orders or snapped her damn fingers. Even if she did look fine as hell doing it.

  "Later." I took a firmer hold of Blondie and stepped to move past Trisha.

  Trisha reached out tentatively, and her light touch on my forearm stalled my next step. "Please, just hear me out and I'll leave you alone. Please." The begging was richer than I'd ever heard uttered from her mouth. She normally came on strong but the softness shattered my shield into a million pieces. As her hand tightened on my arm, my grip on Blondie loosened. Exhaling deep, the sorrow in her voice broke my resolve and scrambled my train of thought. I shouldn't care, getting involved with Trisha would make the Jamal situation tougher to deal with. Even if some part of me never wanted to face it.

  I made the mistake of looking in her dark brown eyes and saw her fractured will; the strong woman complex was crumbling. I could kick her while she was down. Saying more shitty things would guarantee she'd never seek me out again. However, Trisha held some sort of energy over me, and I couldn't abandon her in that moment if I tried. First things first, the easy lay had to go.